Posts Tagged ‘love’

The hardest and best job

Monday, July 20, 2015
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First, let me say I don’t consider parenting a job. But many times it can be like a job, in that work is involved. And it’s often compared to a job. So, if I’m going to compare parenting to a job, here it is:

Parenting is hard work. (I know, I know – deep stuff right here.) Being a parent is without a doubt the hardest job I have ever had or will ever have. I know I’m stating the obvious…or am I?

I always thought motherhood would come naturally to me, because I always knew I wanted to be a mother. But I’m not sure if being a mother does come naturally to me or not, some days it doesn’t feel like it. And other days it does. What I do know is that I work hard to try to be a good mom; it’s a job that demands both my body and my mind. I’m exhausted at the end of every day.

That said, to quote one of my favorite bloggers, Glennon Doyle Melton, “We can do hard things!” Hard is a good thing. It’s a great thing. Yes, being a parent challenges me in ways I never thought possible…

But being a parent is absolutely the best job I have ever had or will ever have.

That’s it in a nutshell – parenting is the hardest, most rewarding, most emotional, best, most wonderful job ever.

I love being AJ’s mom (now that’s stating the obvious). I absolutely love it. Although sometimes I’m not sure if I’ve got it all right, I always know I am where I am meant to be. I’m exhausted and contented at the end of every day. I work hard because I want to, because I love her, because my instinct tells me to.

AJ’s first birthday is in less than a month. This has been a whirlwind year (but I’ll save those emojis for another post). I wouldn’t trade a day of it. I’ve learned to do hard things, and I am loving this role in my life. The hardest things have the best rewards. Being a parent is the hardest and best job.

Kelly Weikle and her husband Chris are navigating the uncharted road of parenthood with their infant daughter, AJ. Kelly shares the ups, downs, laughs, and cries of new motherhood on The Mommyhood every Monday. When not discovering what everyone else who has a child already knows, Kelly works full time in corporate communications.

First Mother’s Day

Monday, May 11, 2015
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As many West Virginians know, Mother’s Day was founded by West Virginian Anna Jarvis. The first Mother’s Day celebration occurred in May 1908 in Grafton, West Virginia. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson made it an official national holiday.

Anna Jarvis came up with the idea of Mother’s Day as a way of honoring the sacrifices mothers made for their children. She also believed there were not enough holidays honoring women, arguing that most American holidays recognized male contributions. Her vision of the day was one where families would spend time together and thank their mothers. Sadly, later in life she actively campaigned against the holiday she had created, because she was disgusted with the way the day had become commercialized.

Despite her despair about the commercialization of the day, I believe Ms. Jarvis’s original vision for Mother’s Day remains in tact. It still is a day where we recognize the sacrifices our mothers, our mothers’ mothers, and those who are like our mothers make for us. It’s a day we say thank you for the little things; the things that we often take for granted. Mother’s Day is a chance for us to recognize the small acts that make up motherhood – waiting to eat last at family meals, getting up early to pack lunches, booking doctor appointments, sewing costumes, kissing boo-boos, and working behind the scenes to make sure the family gears stay in motion.

This year was my first true Mother’s Day. Now that I have a teensy bit of clarity around the sacrifices my own mother made (and makes) for me, I am even more in awe of her and all the other amazing women I know who have raised such wonderful people. Motherhood is without a doubt the hardest thing I have ever done, and my baby is not even a year old! But, here’s another thing I’ve learned – all those little sacrifices our mothers make are not sacrifices to them. I would do anything for my baby and do it gladly. It’s not a sacrifice; it’s the purpose of my life. Becoming a mother has made me who I am meant to be.

May we all remember the sacrifices our mothers and caregivers make for us not only on Mother’s Day, but every day. And may we as mothers let our children know that we don’t consider what we do a sacrifice, but a blessing.

(Although I knew the history of Mother’s Day, I referenced this page to make sure I got the details right.)

Kelly Weikle and her husband Chris are navigating the uncharted road of parenthood with their infant daughter, AJ. Kelly shares the ups, downs, laughs, and cries of new motherhood on The Mommyhood every Monday. When not discovering what everyone else who has a child already knows, Kelly works full time in corporate communications.

To the person who keyed our car

Monday, February 23, 2015
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“It’s not our job to toughen our children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It’s our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless.” – L.R. Knost

Sunday was a special day for us. It was AJ’s baptism. She was getting baptized in the church where I was baptized; where we were married. I was nervous.

The baptism was wonderful; our friends and family joined us in celebration. When we left church to head to my parents’ house for a special lunch, we found your mark.

For some reason or another, you decided to key the word “rude” on our car. First of all, I’m sorry if we did anything that you thought was so rude that you needed to do that. Because of the snowy day and our necessary early arrival, there was no one around when we parked and walked in to church that morning. We don’t know who you are or where you came from, or why you did what you did. Was it something we did? Or did you happen to pick our car at random?

I would be lying if I said that what you did didn’t hurt my feelings. You tainted our special morning. But my feelings have been hurt by others before, and are likely to be hurt again. We quickly forgot all about it once we joined our family to celebrate.

I’ve been where you are. I’ve been angry; and when I was I behaved worse than you, for rather than lashing out at strangers, I lashed out at family and friends. I’ve hurt others by my own actions, and although I’m sure those whom I hurt thought I was personally targeting them, I was not. I was being insecure and dealing with my own problems in the wrong way. I’m sure I will slip and hurt someone else again; it’s human nature.

It would likely be easier for me to call you a jerk and be done with it. But that’s not the example I want to set for my daughter, and that’s not how I want to live my life. Instead (and maybe because it’s Sunday), I forgive you.

I don’t know why people do what they do. I might be making this a tad overdramatic; after all in the grand scheme of things, this offense was very minor, and you are probably just someone who was bored. I’m just trying to make a point. I cannot control what you or anyone else does. I can only control my own actions. And I choose to forgive and move on.

So I forgive you, truly. And, if you are hurting, or need love, I invite you to take 10 or so more steps next Sunday and walk inside our church. I promise you will be welcomed.

Sincerely, a fellow human being.

Kelly Weikle and her husband Chris are navigating the uncharted road of parenthood with their infant daughter, AJ. Kelly shares the ups, downs, laughs, and cries of new motherhood on The Mommyhood every Monday. When not discovering what everyone else who has a child already knows, Kelly works full time in corporate communications.

A Baby Changes Everything

Friday, December 26, 2014
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The lights were dimmed; the house was quiet. The presents were opened, the turkey carved, the cookies eaten. We were home after a long and joyous day of Christmas festivities. As I slowly rocked AJ to sleep, I started singing one last Christmas carol. “A Baby Changes Everything” (Faith Hill) was the song I couldn’t get out of my head.

Last Christmas, I was newly pregnant and even though I had been dreaming and hoping for a baby, I was scared. I took a new interest in the Christmas story, for now I was looking at it from Mary’s point of view. How scared she must have been! I drew courage from her courage. I knew my life would change, but I didn’t know how it would change.

A baby does change everything. This Christmas season was unlike any I’ve had before. It started out extra hectic. Holiday traditions like decorating the home and baking mass quantities of cookies are a tad more difficult with a baby around; and I’m sure almost impossible with a toddler. Shopping with a stroller takes serious skills, skills I do not yet have, and so this season I quickly gained a new appreciation for online shopping.

Our Christmas Eve was different too. No late night parties or midnight church service for us this year. We spent our evening watching It’s A Wonderful Life, and I was so exhausted I didn’t even make it to the end of the movie.

Christmas Day was spent as usual with our families (we are lucky to have both sets of grandparents close). As expected, most of the gifts we received were for AJ and not for Chris or me. Baby clothes replaced adult clothes; toys replaced gadgets. And that was exactly how I wanted it to be.

This Christmas, we started forging new traditions, traditions that include the newest member of our family and our greatest gift yet. As I put AJ in her crib and said goodnight, I thought about how I will experience the wonder of Christmas through her eyes in the years to come. We still have a few Christmases to go before AJ can appreciate the magic and excitement of it all, but I’m already looking forward to how different every Christmas will be as she grows year to year. A baby changes everything, in wonderful and unexpected ways.

The Charity Case

Wednesday, December 24, 2014
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I was ready to shut down my computer, turn out the lights and leave my office for a much-needed holiday break.

Then, our office doorbell rang, and I knew I had to answer it. With less than 36 hours before Christmas, I also knew I wouldn’t be able to help whomever was at the door. The Christmas donations had been distributed, our emergency assistance dollars were expended, the case manager was gone until Monday and the immigration attorney, who fills limitless roles, was on her way out the door with me.

I answered the door anyway.

To my surprise, the person ringing the bell wasn’t a client. Instead, it was Kathy, a volunteer who was working with a homeless woman who had no place to go for Christmas.

Fortunately, I was able to help Kathy access the necessary resources so the woman would have a warm room for the holiday. With that done, I was once again ready to leave my office. That’s when Kathy asked in a rather off-hand manner if I knew a man named “Ed.” When I said his name was familiar, she gave me a knowing smile.

She described a homeless man who wanders through our community wearing open-toed shoes even in winter.

“He’s living in a barn,” she said. She described his circumstances, I expressed my concerns and we parted ways.

Only when I was driving home did I appreciate what she had told me. There is a homeless man walking around my community wearing open-toed shoes, living in a barn and teaching people like me a lesson.

I needed that lesson.

I spent the last few weeks looking forward to the holidays not because they remind me of the blessings of charity and love but because I’m exhausted and ready for some time off work. I’ve told myself that I’ve made a career of charity and therefore deserve a break. I’ve been ignoring the fact that, for the most part, my life has been one big break.

For some people, a break isn’t the luxury of a few days of sleeping in, the opportunity to curl up with a good book or time with family.

For some people, a break is a hot meal, a warm bed or a kind soul who spends time listening.

For some people, a break is help paying an electric bill so the power isn’t shut off during the holidays.

And for some people, a break is an opportunity to pay it forward.

People who pay it forward are the reason I even have a job.

Just a few weeks ago, a check arrived from a man who received assistance from Catholic Charities WV (where I work) when he was down on his luck. The check was for the exact amount we had helped with his electric bill.

There was no note attached. His check said everything.

It said that charity is rooted in the words “to love,” and  that love demands that we share our gifts with others.

It was also a reminder that each of us, at some point in our lives, is a  charity case.

Some of us might be homeless.

Some of us might need help with our electric bills.

And some of us might get so caught up in the demands of daily living that we  forget how fortunate we  really are.

Thankfully, all of us, no matter what are resources or circumstances, are just as capable of giving and receiving charity.

This holiday season, I wish everyone that joy.

The daycare dilemma

Friday, November 14, 2014
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We started daycare this week – that is, AJ started daycare.

I was a wreck on Sunday. The weepy kind of sad. Yes, I had been back to work for four days. Going back to work wasn’t as hard as I imagined. But there was just something about her starting daycare that really got to me.

Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in a long time I felt old. Whenever we hit a milestone in our lives, even a joyous one, it can cause the melancholy feeling of time passing too quickly. When I found out I was pregnant I felt young instead of old. Even when I had AJ and became a mom, I never felt like I was getting older. But taking her to daycare for some reason made me feel ancient.

Maybe it was that I was worried about entrusting my child to people who don’t love her. Sure, they will like her, but they don’t LOVE her like I do. They don’t physically hurt when she cries. They don’t know how to get her to sleep when she’s fighting it. They have other babies they need to pay attention to.

Or maybe it was that I was more worried that her caretakers WOULD love her. They will learn how to get her to sleep. They will shower her with affection. She will get to know them. They will tell me what she likes rather than the other way around.

Chris and I both went to drop her off on her first day. As I pulled out my list of instructions, one of the caretakers started asking me questions. Before I knew it, she had covered everything on my instruction list. These people know what they are doing. They are the experts (and by the way, they are great!). I am the one who is new to this, not them.

AJ looked around in awe as we unpacked her diapers, extra clothes, and other items. As I handed her over, the tears started flowing. I couldn’t hold them in. I kept apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m being so silly,” but really I shouldn’t have apologized. There is no need to apologize for being sad to leave your child.

In the parking lot, I hugged my husband and more tears came. Although I am confident of our decision and know it is what is best for our family, it was still a hard day. This was a milestone in our lives, and the feeling of time passing too quickly overwhelmed me. Our baby is only three months old, but I felt like she was already growing up. Her newborn days, the days I swore I would not miss while I was going through them, have passed, and I do miss them. Every day I look forward to watching her grow and at the same time mourn another day gone of her being so small. Every day I wonder how I am going to “do it all” and yet I do “do it all.”

And now, I have something new to look forward to every day – picking her up after work and seeing her smile.

Turning the Tables

Wednesday, November 12, 2014
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My daughter was sharing her latest insights and opinions with me, but apparently I didn’t react appropriately.

“You’re thinking about writing about this conversation into a blog, aren’t  you?” she said accusingly.

Actually, I wasn’t. Instead, my sudden and unusual silence was a result of my worry about our cat, Skitty, who is staging a hunger strike after our recent adoption of a new kitten, Artemis.

“No,” I responded. “While I love listening to your thoughts and opinions, I wasn’t thinking about writing about you or this conversation.”

“You better not just be saying that,” she said.

I wasn’t.

I’d had a tough week and wasn’t in the mood to write about much of anything, particularly about the conversation we were having. But, based on Kendall’s adamant protests, I promised that I wouldn’t write about anything she said or did.

I admit I may be breaking that promise (slightly) right now, but that’s only because I have to give credit where credit is due and Kendall is quite the inspiration to me.

She may not believe me, but I remember how sensitive and easily embarrassed I was when I was 13. I also remember thinking that the only thing more embarrassing than my mom sharing stories about me was having to endure her behavior in public.

Even now, my children sometimes ask me to tell “grandma stories.” They laugh at tales of  grandma trying to ride the school bus home after leaving her car for repairs, her argument with a theater manager after trying to sneak in her own popcorn or her plunge into an irrigation ditch after being “chased” by horses on her way to a board of education meeting.

But I also know that my children will have similar stories about their own embarrassing mother.

While I didn’t fall into an irrigation ditch last week, I did fall into a creek during what was supposed to be a simple walk to the park with my German Shepherd, Rodney.

The problem was, I couldn’t get to the park.

The road from my neighborhood to the park had been closed for construction of a new bridge. A highway sign indicates a detour for moving vehicles, but that detour isn’t safe for pedestrians. My determination (also known as my obsessive-compulsive personality) was not going to let the lack of a bridge prevent me from getting to my destination.

At first, I thought I could easily cross the creek. There were, after all, large rocks spaced in strategic locations across the approximately eight foot span of water. Unfortunately, those rocks weren’t stable, and my ginger steps across them weren’t enough to keep them, and me, from rolling.

As I plunged into the creek ,  I fell on my left wrist – the one that I hadn’t fallen upon, shattered, and had surgically repaired last winter when I was “determined” to walk Rodney during a snowstorm.

After popping my wrist back into location, I did what any embarrassing mom would do.

Realizing I was already soaked, I decided I might as well continue across the creek. When I fell again, and I recognized that my nearly 5o year- old body had to find an easier route to the park.

I didn’t.

After slogging through mud and getting caught in the arms of bushes with thorns, I gave up and walked home covered  in wet, muddy pants with bloody scratches on my face.

To me, my appearance was that of a warrior.

To my children, it was that of a pathetic middle-aged woman who can’t act normal.

I understand their feelings. I remember the horror at the sight of my own mother, dripping wet in her checkered, red and white seventies era pantsuit after falling into the irrigation ditch.

But here’s what my own children don’t  understand about me and what took decades for me to understand about my own mother.

Embarrassing our children is a good thing because we have to teach them that behaving within the normal parameters of societal expectations never changes anything. We can never find an alternative path across a creek if we aren’t willing to take risks and look a little silly. We can’t inspire others if we are never willing to take on our own fears and challenges. And we certainly can’t tell our children to pursue their own happiness if we can’t demonstrate that being true to ourselves is where the path to happiness starts.

I, like my own mother, may be an embarrassment, but I’m fairly confident that a willingness to wear that description with pride is a job requirement for being a mom.

At least, I know it is for me.

 

Being Present

Friday, November 7, 2014
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I went back to work this week.

My last day at home with AJ was Monday, and we had such a special day.

We did the same things as we did in previous weeks, but this day was different.

I made the conscious decision to be as present as I could be – to not worry about anything and simply enjoy spending time with my baby. For someone whose hobbies include making lists and organizing anything, this was a quite a challenge. I didn’t plan an agenda, I didn’t have a list of chores, I didn’t even worry about what was for dinner. And, maybe more importantly, I didn’t pick up my phone (except to snap a few photos) and I didn’t get on social media. It was wonderful.

I spent the day savoring little moments and observations – the curiosity in AJ’s eyes when looking at my hands, how her smile is already verging on flirtatious, her determination when trying to roll over. We played, cuddled, “talked,” and simply enjoyed each other’s company. Her little personality shines through more each day, and I watched her figure out the world. Unlike many days of my maternity leave, I didn’t worry about things like crying or naps or what time we needed to be home for her to eat.

I really think AJ could sense my mood and it wore off on her. She didn’t cry at all and was all smiles all day.

It was an ordinary day, but it was one of the best days of my life. This might sound like an exaggeration but I promise you it is not. I will cherish the memories of that day forever.

Not every weekend or day off will be like my last day at home. Bills won’t pay themselves and the dishes and laundry will pile up. Errands will need to be run and chores will need to be done. Responsibilities must be met.

But I learned a valuable lesson Monday – sometimes we need a “pause” day. A day where we pause our busy lives and make the effort to be completely present, physically and mentally. A day where we put all our worries aside, turn off our phones, and enjoy what we love most in life. These days will without a doubt end up as the best days.

Unforgettable Fun

Wednesday, June 25, 2014
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I made a huge mistake last Friday. I asked my daughter if she wanted to do something fun with me on Saturday.

I had forgotten that, in Kendall’s almost 13-year-old mind, there is only one situation that involves both mom and fun: shopping.

But she didn’t just want to go to the nearby mall where we usually shop. She requested we go to a much larger mall in the D.C. suburbs, and she only wanted to shop in stores that have clothes fashionable enough for nearly 13-year old girls. For the record, these are the exact same stores where she shops at the nearby mall and, from what I could tell, the clothes were exactly the same too.

The day was hard on pocketbook, hard on my feet and hard on my patience.

But I tolerated the shopping trip knowing that the next day we would be having real fun.

We were going hiking.hiking - Copy

But in Kendall’s almost 13-year-old mind, there is absolutely no situation that involves fun and hiking.

At first, I think she forgot that. As we were getting ready to go, she asked what she should wear. (For some reason, she asks me this every day. When I make a suggestion, she rolls her eyes and tells me what she thinks of my suggestion. Then, she wears what she wants and we repeat the routine the next day.)

I advised her to wear a t-shirt and sturdy shoes.  Per usual, she ignored my advice and wore  a newly purchased floral top, matching shoes and new prescription glasses she wears to see long distances. She asked if I liked the look.

This time, I rolled my eyes.

By the time we actually arrived in Harper’s Ferry, she was already complaining that she didn’t want to waste her whole day on a trail.

While my son forged ahead, she was demanding an explanation about the purpose of the hike. When my husband told her that someday she would appreciate it, she scoffed at the idea. IMG_3502When we joined up with a large pack of Boy Scouts at the overlook, she stopped complaining and seemed to enjoy the view and the company.

Then I made the mistake of suggesting we complete the hike along the ridge, which added additional hours to our time  in the woods and on the mountain. While I enjoyed the challenge, nobody else in the family did, especially my daughter. The only solace I could provide was the promise of a hot dog and ice cream at the end of the trail.

The hike, and subsequent meal out, were hard on my pocketbook, hard on my feet and hard on my patience.

But despite my daughter’s complaints, I thoroughly enjoyed the day and the memories we made. Something tells me my daughter will also remember the hike long after she forgets the trip to the mall. I’m also fairly confident that those memories will be good ones.

That’s how life works.

Despite our disagreements and dislikes, stepping outside our comfort zones and testing our endurance always builds our confidence. When we do it with people we love, it’s even more meaningful.

And when we do it together with family, it’s unforgettable.

The Empty Lot

Tuesday, June 10, 2014
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The small house was torn down only a few weeks ago, and already there are few signs it ever existed. Grass and clover cover the empty lotare growing where the foundation once was, and there is no indication of the fence that bordered the small yard.

Now, it is just an empty lot.

Maybe someday the area will be used for  a garden or a new structure, but the space will never be the same again.

The destroyed house shouldn’t even be on my radar. When it was standing, it meant no more to me than a random stop where my dogs sometimes greeted the dog on the other side of the fence. Soon, I won’t even notice the changed landscape during my short, daily commute to work. I will accept the space for what it is: the status quo.

Yet, the destruction of the house has been weighing on my mind like the rapid progress of time, the growing independence of my children and the aging of my parents.

Maybe that’s because its destruction was timed perfectly with my son attending his first real graduation party – not one for a family friend but one for a friend no one else in our family knows.

Dropping him off at the party reminded me of dropping him off for his first day of kindergarten almost eleven years ago.

For months, people had been asking me if I was ready, and I blew off their concerns. I didn’t understand why they thought kindergarten was so significant. Both of my children had been in day care since they were toddlers, and I thought kindergarten was no different from day care.

Only it wasn’t.

On that first day of kindergarten, his teacher didn’t know my name. The school personnel didn’t know my son’s unique issues or about his contagious sense of humor. He was just another little boy who needed to be taken out of his car seat, encouraged to wave goodbye to his mother and walked into his classroom.

And I, his mother, couldn’t even watch him walk away. The woman working the carpool line frantically waved me to move on as the tears trickled down my cheek .

Now, my son’s public school education is quickly coming to a close. This coming school year, he will be a junior, which is considered an upperclassman. He is already talking about colleges and moving out of our house – which is exactly what I want him to do. I have no desire to have a 30 year-old son still living in my basement and depending on me to do his laundry.

And yet, there is a part of me that is sitting in my car watching my 5  year-old son take a teacher’s hand and walk into doors which lead to a world over which I have no control. And I can still feel the tears trickling down my cheek as I realize that my children, like time, grow, change and move on without me.

I can’t control my children’s growth or the rapid flip of the calendar any more than I can control the landscape I pass every day on my way to and from work.

What I can do is appreciate the potential.

Roses might bloom in that now empty lot. Or a  young couple might build a house and start a family there. Or the lot might remain one of few empty green spaces where people can walk their dogs while enjoying fresh air.

But I have no doubt that the space is destined for something meaningful that will make the world a better place.

Just as I believe my children are destined to make a positive  mark on this ever-changing world.  And like the empty lot, their quickly fading childhood needs to be appreciated rather than mourned, celebrated instead of regretted and, most of all, serve as the foundation for something even greater.