Bedazzled Unicorns

“Hi, can I take your order,” said our waitress.

“Hmm, what? I’m sorry?” I say sharply while wrangling my 2 year old and trying to pull the iPod out for the big boy.

“Your order?” she repeats.

Quickly I give her our order, but not quick enough. I saw the little elderly woman eyeballing us and then it happened right as I was about to say “funny face pancake” she abruptly interrupts me, walks over to my youngest, caresses his head {which totally ticked him off} and starts reminiscing about how she had a great, great, great grandfather with red hair. “And oh, I’m sure he got his red hair from his mama.”

I wanted to say, “get your hands off my child and leave us to our funny-face pancake, and by the way I dye my hair.” Instead I smiled, nodded politely and said thank you. 

After I tweeted this little scenario, a fellow redhead replied “You’d think a redhead was a bedazzled unicorn or something, people act like they’ve never seen one before.”

Yep, that’s it! I gave birth to a bedazzled unicorn, and while it’s special and beautiful it can be annoying and a little creepy.

Especially when the lady at the playground tells you that “It’s great to see a redhead after what I read on the internet.”

What?

What’s the Internet saying now?

Well, supposedly by the year 2060 redheads will be extinct. Back in 2007, the Oxford Hair Foundation reported that red hair was going to be extinct in 100 years. 

This finding is a bit suspect, as the Oxford Hair Foundation is funded by Proctor and Gamble, makers of red hair dye. Ummm, yeah...I think my little unicorn and his offspring are safe.

Upon searching the interwebs I found other interesting redhead theories...

Supposedly my little redhead could be the star of his own Twilight saga, as ancient Greeks believed that gingers turned into vampires after death.

G is a spitter, which could be explained by the fact that in Corsica, it’s common to turn your head and spit when a redhead walks by. He’s obviously retaliating.

Break out the broomstick because G could also be a witch, according to those crazy Europeans.

Studies show that redheads have a higher pain threshold, and can tolerate spicier foods. G does love a good salsa.

“While the rest of the human race are descended from monkeys, redheads are derived from cats.” - Mark Twain. This could explain the special connection between our cat and “little red”.

Not only could G be a vampire, a witch and a cat he could also be one of the descendants of Atlantis.

Lots of redheads ruled the world like Queen Elizabeth, Thomas Jefferson, Mark Twain and Galileo to name a few. Looks like my little G, might be a natural born leader.

Of course he could also be a descendant of a giant. Really?

Many people feared redheads probably because they were either giants, vampires, witches or cats. I fear G only when he wants Target popcorn and he wants it NOW.

Even the Neanderthals were bedazzled unicorns, but I bet people didn’t just walk up and start touching their heads.

And of course no crazy conspiracy would be complete without a mention of the illuminate who want to create a super race with my son’s genes. Well, he is super, but he’s ours.

Oh, Internet you are so full of theories, conspiracies and maybe a smidge of truth. 

However, no matter what you read or rumors you hear, G is just my “little redhead” so please don’t touch his hair, or tell me stories about your great, great, great grandfather’s red hair or interrupt our family time, because want to eat our funny-face pancakes in peace.

Brook {without the "e"} is spunky faux redhead who resides in Hawkeye country among the sweet fields of corn with her two boys and fanboy husband. She writes about fashion, fitness and family at RedheadReverie.com.

7 Myths About Homeschoolers

Hello, Bluegrass Redhead readers! I'm excited (and nervous) to be sharing in this space. Sarah and I go way back to 2009 when we met through our midwife and had babies within a week of each other. (My second, her first - both boys.) We've been debating current events ever since!

There are a few disclaimers I'd like to start this post with:
First, I'm a textbook INTJ Gen-X-er, meaning my mantra is "You do your thing; I'll do mine."
Second, I'm not here to debate the merits of any one kind of education. (see disclaimer #1)

We are homeschoolers. Most homeschoolers will tell you they never thought they'd be homeschooling. I'll go even further: I never thought I'd have three kids and stay home with them full-time, much less be homeschooling them. But here we are, and most days we're happy about it.

If you ask ten families why they homeschool, you'd probably get ten different lists of reasons. Still, given statistics from the US Department of Education, the number of homeschooling families is growing and their motivations are changing.

We've been at this officially for a year, but our kids have never regularly been to preschool, so we've been at it unofficially much longer. I've noticed the second I say, "We homeschool," folks often look surprised. After years being surprised at their surprise, it occurred to me that the homeschool stereotypes from the '80s are stubbornly sticking around.

So, today I'm tackling a few of those myths. We certainly don't represent all homeschoolers, but in my experience we're pretty average.

Homeschoolers Only Wear Denim (or khaki) Skirts and Never Cut Their Hair

I'm not knocking skirts or long hair -- some of my friends only wear skirts and don't cut their hair -- but the choice isn't synonymous with homeschooling. Sometimes I wear skirts. Sometimes I wear skinny jeans. Sometimes my kids wear shirts with Tie Fighters on them. My hair is short and wild. My daughter's hair is rarely quaffed. I have a homeschooling friend whose kids wear all Matilda Jane all the time. I've got another homeschooling buddy whose kids never wear shoes. Wait. That's my kids.

Bottom line -- homeschoolers look like the people next to you at the grocery, gym, or playground. Or church.

Which brings me to another myth. . .

Homeschoolers Are All Religious Zealots

I'm a Christian. I also vote Democrat. (Except that one time in 1996 when Ross Perot was on the ballot. It was my first time voting, and I wanted to see if that whole "every vote counts" thing was true. Also, I'm always pulling for the underdog.) Oh, and I frequently use the words "FOX News" and "gag" in the same sentence, so there's that.

The first homeschooling groups we joined were secular because those were the only active groups I could find in our area. There were lots of people in those groups. Here in our new town, we're members of Christian co-ops, but they certainly aren't exclusive to Christians. And there are also secular groups here, too. We are friends with agnostic folks, Jewish folks, and Methodist folks. Protestants and Catholics. Atheists. Former Seventh-Day Adventists. Mormons. Lots of them homeschool. We love them all and (I like to think) they love us, too.

Bible education is part of our curriculum, just as it would be in another educational setting. We'd do it at home, just like lots of public school parents do.

We don't homeschool because we are religious zealots, but we do get to spend time becoming more zealous about religion. And math and reading and history. But another myth is. . .

Homeschoolers are Aiming for Perfect SAT Scores

We've got a saying around here: "Academic success does not predict success in life." While academics are important, we believe emotional intelligence is equally (or more) important. Most families I know wouldn't cite academics as the #1 reason they've chosen to homeschool.

We'll prepare our kids for college. If they want to learn a trade, we'll prepare them for that. We will teach them to change a tire, wash their own laundry, and cook meals. We'll teach them to read, write, and do math.

Our goal is help them reach their potential so they can be fulfilled and simultaneously be considerate, kind human beings. My goal is not to help them get into ivy league schools. If that happens along the way, great. But I'll be much more impressed if they learn to rinse the toothpaste out of the sink and hold the door open for the woman carrying the baby.

Another myth: all homeschooling moms do crafts. I had to dig DEEP into my photo files to find this one.

Homeschoolers Think Public Schools Stink

My husband and I are products of public schools - elementary, secondary, post-secondary, and graduate school. We both had very positive experiences all the way through school. I always assumed (and felt strongly) that our kids would attend the neighborhood schools.

Then we changed our minds, as people often do.

It has nothing to do with the quality of our neighborhood school. We are lucky enough to live in a district with high-performing schools that are safe and easily accessible. (An elementary school is within sight of our house.) As a former teacher (university, community college, and sub for elementary/middle/high) myself, I have tremendous respect for teachers. My mom works in the public school system. Public education is crucial to our country's livelihood.

There are certainly problems with public schools, but we feel lots of kids (including one, two, or three of our own) can succeed there. Mostly our problems with it are more systemic -- problems with bureaucracy and arbitrary one-size-fits-all standards.

I can't speak for everyone, but folks I know choose home education for more complicated reasons than "public schools stink."

Homeschooled Kids are Sheltered

Well, now, this one's not a myth entirely. I consider it my job to shelter my kids from things I feel they aren't developmentally ready to do. Does it mean I don't allow them to face challenges, protect them from all unpleasantness, or only allow them to socialize with certain groups? Absolutely not.

When we moved here 18 months ago, my husband and I hit a rough patch in our marriage. (Ahem. Understatement.) Our kids witnessed a marriage in trouble. They've watched us reconcile and repair our union. Our cat died, and the boys helped dig his grave. At least once every couple of weeks they have a tiff with a buddy they have to work out. Their school work is tough at times. They deal with consequences, both natural and manufactured by us, on a daily basis.

I'm not naive enough to believe our lifestyle doesn't shelter the kids just by its nature. We live in a small, suburban Midwestern town where my husband can't go to the grocery store without seeing his Kindergarten teacher or middle school best friend. It's the kind of place where kids still roam the neighborhood on their Huffy bikes, families take afternoon walks, teenage boys play football in the open field nearby, and girls sell Girl Scout cookies door-to-door without a parental escort.

Our kids likely aren't going to have someone break into their house and walk by them as they sleep on the couch or see a vial of crack in middle school. (Both things I could've lived without experiencing.)

I don't believe kids have to be "toughened" to get real-world coping skills. We've moved beyond believing bullying is a "right of passage," and we should move beyond believing there's only one way to prepare kids for The Real World. 

Homeschoolers are Unsocialized or All Traditionally Schooled Kids are Socialized

I almost didn't include this one because it's just so outdated. But for some reason it's still the first question people ask. "Are you worried about socialization?" It's the first question our doctor asked, and it's the first question family members ask. It's the first question adults who've been homeschooled get asked, too, I'd imagine.

If it were up to me, we'd live on a mountain, raise our own food, and only come down once a quarter to buy essentials like toilet paper. (Maybe.)

I'm kidding. Sort of.

Most homeschoolers I know are involved in co-ops or other groups of some kind. There are lots of organizations available in most communities: field trip groups, play groups, Classical Conversations, fine arts groups, farm class (we did this in NC and it was awesome), etc. Then there's the other activities: sports, academic clubs, libraries, civic organizations, church, arts organizations, nature centers, etc. Then there's the neighborhood. Then there's the socialization of being with immediate and extended family.

Our kids are more social than I ever was.

Homeschoolers are All Alike

Maybe this isn't a real myth, but I thought it'd be a nice way to sum things up and remind you that we're just one homeschooling family, and I'm only an expert on us. Homeschooling families are just as varied as traditionally schooled families. There are dozens of methods of educating at home, and most families choose an eclectic version of methods. 

If you're curious what our day looks like, I've written a whole post about it. While you're there, you can cruise around and find lots of evidence of bad grammar, worse math, and other reasons I probably shouldn't be homeschooling our kids. Come see me on Instagram, too -- it's my favorite (virtual) place to hang out.

Thanks for having me, Sarah!

Michelle Martini spends early mornings running, days homeschooling, afternoons decompressing, evenings wifing, and late nights sewing. Sometimes she blogs about any or all of these things at Handmade Martini, but more often she shares snapshots on Instagram.

To Freeze or Not to Freeze

Photo Credit: CarbonNYC [in SF!] via Compfight cc

Over the Holidays my mom decided she wanted something extra special for Christmas. After watching an episode of Today Show, she shares with me the process of freezing eggs. Having received cartons full of her homegrown chicken eggs on a weekly basis for over 3 years now, I assumed she was telling how to freeze chicken eggs so they last longer. As someone who occasionally worries that I’ve had the eggs in my fridge too long, I thought she was on to something. I intently listened as she described the process of taking the eggs, storing and freezing them, until she got to this part in her story… “then you throw a party, like a baby shower, but for frozen eggs”.Then, I realized that she wasn’t talking about her chicken’s eggs, she was talking about MY eggs!  

I admit. I’m a junkie for ambition. I want to accomplish a great number of things. I’m 32, recently married and working to build a software company from the ground up. I have aspirations to get a doctorate degree, run for political office and continue to be active in my community. Many books have been written to help people like me realize that having children doesn’t mean you lose the opportunity to be an ambitious person. While I believe this in theory, I wonder how true it will really be for me and my husband. I’m grateful for the friends and mentors who have paved the way and continue to remind us that having children doesn’t really indicate “the end of your life”. 

And the classic “have fun while you can” advice isn’t always the case. You can have adventure and be ambitious while having children. But how does all of this really shake out? Are these frozen eggs the solution to following your dreams THEN having kids? 

Turns out the frozen egg cocktail party (what my mom describe as a baby shower) is either an informational gathering bringing together fertility doctors, egg storage companies, and women who are interested or who have experienced the process OR an event where you announce to your friends and family “don’t worry about my ambition, take the pressure off me, I’ve frozen my eggs”.  

Instead of the pressure to hurry up and have kids, I now have the pressure to freeze my eggs. But I’m only 32. Isn’t the 30’s the new 20’s when it comes to having children?  Can’t I just be 32without the pressure of having a kid or planning the future of having a kid by freezing it in a box until “I’m ready”. After all, most people, when giving life advice, also say, “You’ll never be ready”.  So who’s to say I won’t freeze my eggs then wake up when I’m 55 without children but with a container of my 32-year-old eggs that can’t be used?  

Can I not be ambitious while having children? Is this not possible? The assumption is that I will be the one to do the heavy lifting in our family when it comes to raising a child. What if my husband is willing to pick up that load so I can be ambitious and accomplish all of my goals without having to give them up? What if he is ok with being the one our kid runs to every time he/she gets hurt? This blurb from a Guardian article in response to Sheryl Sandburg’s approach in “Lean In” hits the nail on the head. 

“It’s a normal assumption that women will have kids, and that mothers will become the primary caretaker over the father. It’s also normal these days to modify “mother” into “working mother”. But “father” is also a “working father,” yet we don’t seem to use that term very often. It’s normal to see the well-worn media image of a tired, hard-working father loosening his tie as he walks through the door to greet his wife and kids late in the evening, but a woman coming home late from the office is more often a punchline. It’s normal to call a woman neglectful for hiring a nanny, or lazy for taking maternity leave. It’s normal to make wild assumptions about women as a whole, regardless of the wide variety of individuals that the female gender encompasses.

The assumptions must be absent from the beginning. It must be accepted that a woman’s place is wherever she wants to be. The final frontier of gender equality is individualism. Just as a man is allowed to decide where his happy balance of home and work life is, so should women. Women’s place is no longer in the home. We all need to stop assuming it is.”

— Sheryl Sandberg

I don’t have a profound solution on this topic. I’m still wading through the advice and options and deciding if I go with the “kids won’t ruin your life and ambition” or the “I better freeze my eggs in case they do” version. I welcome your thoughts.

I Never

Let’s play “I Never.”

No, I’m not about to take us down memory lane to a junior high slumber party. I’m talking about examining those things we said we’d “NEVER” do when WE had kids… and then laughing out loud at how naïve/idealistic/very well-rested we were before we became parents. Ha ha. We were adorable. 

The church I used to serve shared space with a wonderful preschool. It was the only program in the whole metro area that was co-op, so they were always full, with a waiting list. I used to laugh at the parents who came the night before registration and camped out in lawn chairs to get their kids into a class. Like it was Springsteen tickets or a new Star Wars movie. I would get up really early on registration day and take donuts and coffee to those mothers who braved the elements for their kids' education. But I also thought they were nuts. 

I still kind of think they were nuts. However—last week, I went a full hour early to pre-K registration, because my little guy is totally attached to his school, and I really wanted him in a particular class that is convenient to our schedule.

So, what I'm saying is I SAID I'd never wait in long lines to get my kid into a school or activity but...

In the spirit of getting over myself, (which is a healthy spiritual discipline), here are a few more things I swore I’d never do/allow, but had to eat, eventually: 

1. Let my kids watch more than an hour of television per day.
2. Buy a toy when it is not Christmas or their birthday. Because sometimes you are on a road trip, and $7 can buy you a whole lot of peace and quiet. Like, at least 20 minutes. 
3. Give in to a tantrum. I know! Don’t respond to terrorism! Mostly, I don’t. Mostly. But some days, it is still a long way to bedtime and everybody’s coping skills are shot, and I have to acknowledge that I, perhaps—in my weakened state--played a significant role in the epic meltdown that I now have to endure. That being the case… I’ve been known to cave. And recognize that I probably would have said yes in the first place, if I weren’t being such a grouch. 
4. Let sugar become a food group. I never aimed to be a ‘no sugar’ house. My brother had a friend from one of those houses, and that poor kid would come to our house and dust off an entire bag of Oreos in about 90 seconds flat, because he was so deprived. It was kind of sad. Birthday cake and warm cookies and Halloween candy are among the greatest joys of childhood. Still… I never meant for sugar to become a daily guest at our (nearly) every meal. And yet, there it is. I try to keep it in check with healthy stuff, and then I give us some grace to enjoy dessert. Because life is short. And delicious. 

All this said, there are still some “nevers” that I maintain. I know that kids change and the world is complicated and stuff happens. But still, it is important to know where your boundaries are as a parent. This means articulating values, checking in with your partner, communicating the ‘whys’ of things with kids … and knowing where you will compromise, and where you won’t.

Here are the things that I (still) won’t do: 

1. There will never be a dvd player in my car, or a computer/iPad game at the dinner table. While we give in to the occasional laptop viewing on a long trip, the car is a place from which to view the world. Kind of hard to do if there is a screen permanently affixed to the roof over your head. Also, meals are for conversation. And even if I didn’t care about talking to my kids at dinner (which I do) I would still care that they are definitely going to spill chocolate milk on my Kindle. So there’s that. 
2. “Busy” will never be a family value at our house. I know there will be seasons when we are rushed, over-booked, and exhausted. But as my kids get older, it is important that we have downtime together built into the rhythm of our life; and that we don’t let our collective self-worth get wrapped up in how much stuff we ‘do.’ 
3. I will never call my daughter a princess. I will never tell my son to “man up.” 
4. I will never compare my children to each other, or pit them against each other for my approval or affection. 
5. I will not force religion. This one is especially tricky, because I am clergy. Church, and the Christian narrative (at least, our progressive, inclusive version of it) is a big part of my life. I want it to be a big part of my kids’ life too. But more importantly, I want them to feel safe in their own home. I will do everything that I can to make church a safe place for them too. But if ever, for some reason, it is not, I will not sacrifice my relationship with them for the appearance of having them in the front row on Sunday mornings.  Of course, I plan to drag them kicking and screaming for as long as I’m able… it’s biblical! But if ever it starts to feel like a fight about who they are, and not just how they spend their time, I’ll gladly forfeit for the sake my kids’ trust. 

What about you? What did you say you’d “never” do that you can laugh about now? Where do you still draw limits and place priorities?

I’m sure our lists are as different as our families, but our evolving boundaries all have the same intent—to build lasting, meaningful connections with our kids; and to make them feel so safe and loved at home that they will be able to do anything, out there in the world. I’d love to hear what your ‘list’ looks like.

Meanwhile, I’ll be over here putting war paint on my face, cranking AC/DC and pounding coffee to gear up for dance class registration. I know I said I’d never wait in line for such a thing, but y’all… It’s a jungle out there.

Rev. Erin Wathen is the Senior Pastor of Saint Andrew Christian Church, Disciples of Christ, in the Kansas City area. Her husband Jeremy is a stay-home dad to their two kids, 4 and 6. Erin also has a blog on the Patheos interfaith network. http://www.patheos.com/blogs/irreverin/

Why #TBT and Timehop Are Good For Moms

Ah, the early nineties.

When it comes to social media fads, I'm a little bit of a party pooper. I won't re-post the graphic that says "Sisters are the best! Share if you also love your sister!" (even though I do, in fact, love my sister). I don't change my profile photo to raise awareness for the cause du jour (even if I support it privately). And when my entire family got in on the #icebucketchallenge, I refused to post a video proving that I poured ice all over my head (which I did do, eventually).

Why?

I guess I'm a bit of an online introvert, preferring to watch from the sidelines and post only when I feel really motivated to share something; and I definitely have a streak of trend-aversion in me, making it less and less likely that I'll jump on a bandwagon the bigger the bandwagon gets (I'm looking at you, Serial).

But there's one movement taking social media by storm that is right up my alley: Throwback Thursday (or #TBT).

If this is your first day on the internet (welcome!), Throwback Thursday is a weekly opportunity to dig out tacky high school photographs of yourself and share them with the world. People post old "throwback" pictures on Facebook and Instagram, inviting their real life and online friends to laugh or smile at a virtual quick-trip down memory lane.

And I love it.

That's me wearing a nursing tank top in public, one of a few mistakes I made in the first few months of motherhood.

I love seeing images of newer friends in their "old" glory days. I love digging up snapshots from my own glory days and surprising my childhood friends with a post tagging them and making us all laugh. And as time whizzes by with increasing speed in my life as a mother of small children, I love looking back at the changes in my own family over the last seven years.

I'm also a big fan of Timehop, an app that gives you a "on this day in history" record of all your social media activity. For those like me who have been Instagramming the heck out of my kids for several years now, it's a great way to get a glimpse of time gone by.

hat baby burrito is a wild and crazy toddler these days.

I think the appeal of #ThrowbackThursday to me is that it pulls our focus out of The Now (yes, I know we're supposed to live in The Now, but hear me out on this one) and reminds us how quickly time passes, how slippery the years get as we slide toward middle age, and how this season of life we're in is just that: a season, one that will look as awkward and poorly outfitted in hindsight as the late 1990s do right now.

Not only is this a trend I'm happy to get behind, I think it's actually a really healthy one for mothers of young kids.

So much of what the internet has to offer is potentially toxic to moms. Let's panic about measles! Look at my Pinterest-perfect craft success! Check out how many calories I burned today! Here's a list of all the things that suck about motherhood! It's easy to get sucked into a game of comparison, self-doubt, and negativity - and it's even easier to forget that the lives behind the avatars we interact with online are more than just what their latest post represents. Looking backward - whether it's 30 years or 3 - forces us to step outside that cycle of online comparison and competition and see the bigger, and often funnier, picture.

File this one under: Shirts That Cannot Be Worn After Age 25

It reminds us that our peers - even the ones who seem to have it all together - have histories too. Histories that include terrible haircuts and wild nights out in college.

It reminds us how quickly time passes. College boyfriends become handsome husbands. Chubby babies become leggy first graders. High school best friends drive minivans and become attorneys.

It connects us to our mothers and our grandmothers, our future grown children and their children. Taking just a second to note the passage of time reminds us how cyclical this life is, and drives home the bittersweet truth that these days are numbered.

My grandparents in 1952

So while you probably won't catch me joining in on the next big social media fad (which lately seems to be making homemade parody videos to Taylor Swift songs?), you can always find me with a smile on my face on Thursdays, throwing it back.

Sarah Powers lives, writes, and wrangles three kids in Southern California. She loves high ponytails, broadway showtunes, and using her kids as an excuse to stay in and go to bed early, which she would do anyway. Find Sarah on Twitter, Instagram and occasionally at her blog, Powers of Mine.

Overwhelmed

Photo Credit: okushnarenko via Compfight cc

When you’re pregnant, the word “excited” comes up about 70 times a day. It’s almost reflexive in conversations. 

“You’re pregnant? How exciting!”  

“Yes, we’re excited.” 

“How far along are you?...You must be excited.” 

“It’s a girl! I bet you are so excited.” 

“Oh, you’re starting to dilate. EXCITING!” 

I’ve been reciting the exciting chorus while struggling with a dark secret: Here, at the halfway point of my second pregnancy, I’m not excited. 

For months, I’ve been on the verge of tears at every moment. We are finishing our basement, and, normally, I’d be tearing through Pottery Barn catalogs, pinning color schemes, researching fixtures. I can’t do it. I can’t think. I’m struggling at work. I can’t sleep. I’ve had trouble considering names and haven’t thought about nursery furnishings. I don’t want to leave my house. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to talk about any of it. Even my usually comfortable and comforting yoga practice feels like a stranger. I’m just surviving. 

And every mention of excitement adds a layer of guilt. 

Maybe it’s that I’ve been through this before, and I know that as wonderful as the baby will be, she will be accompanied by an unmatchable level of fatigue. There will be sweetness and love and joy, yes, but also sitting on frozen peas post-labor, the stress of pumping at work, poop explosions. All of it is worth it (and, you know, blah blah blah—I really wish we could just allow parents space to be honest without the retrospective moralizing. Admitting that it is hard does not diminish my ultimate gratitude for the privilege of parenting)—but all of it is A LOT.   

Or maybe it’s that I know adding a child to the family will necessary change our dynamic. Or maybe it’s that I fear the physical uphill climb after the baby is born. Or that I know the next couple of years will be a blur and that it will be very hard to make major changes in our lives for a long while. Whatever it is, it’s paralyzing me emotionally. 

I told my mother some of this and expressed my concern that I’m depressed. Mom listened for a few minutes and said, “I don’t think you’re depressed. I think you’re overwhelmed.” 

Moms know. 

It’s been helpful to have that label, which I think is accurate. It’s also really daunting. “Overwhelmed” is not a word that has come up much for me. I have, in many ways, defined myself by my ability to not feel overwhelmed. I stay calm. I juggle. I keep things in perspective. And now that I’m not doing any of those things, I don’t know what or who I am. 

Also? It makes me mad that I feel this way. Objectively, my life is good. I’m blessed with loving people, all that I need and more, meaningful work, great opportunity. People around me suffer real tragedy all the time. It feels wrong and ungrateful, privileged in the worst way to cry because my maternity jeans don’t fit right. 

It makes me mad, and it feels cliché, and that makes me madder. Being a hormonal wreck seems so…sitcom-esque. I’m not interested in bringing the mommy mayhem. I want to be She-Who-Has-Her-Stuff-Together-Always. But I decidedly do not have my stuff together today. Now what? 

Fortunately, I have a Zen master in my life in the form of my four-year-old daughter.  

In our quietest moments together, the ones when I’m fighting tears for no reason at all, she looks at me so intently. She reminds me that I don’t get to just be overwhelmed; I am, intentionally or not, teaching her how to handle being overwhelmed. How do I want her to behave? How do I want her to move forward? More importantly, how do I want her to feel? I don’t know the answers to those questions, except that I want her to accept the emotion.  I want her to give herself permission to feel what she feels without judging herself for feeling it.  

So, I’m required to model that, which is also overwhelming. I’m trying to just be where I am. That means sometimes allowing myself to sob in the middle of dinner. It means admitting that I need an 8 p.m. bedtime or a nap in the middle of the day or a very long shower or a few hours alone. It means canceling appointments and losing my temper over stupid Internet comments and saying out loud that I feel disrespected or unappreciated or foolish or inadequate. It means asking for help and asking for hugs and asking for Thai takeout because I just can’t face the chicken breasts that I had planned to turn into dinner.  

All of this is so painful to me. But as I watch myself do it, I realize it might be the healthiest example I’ve ever set for her. It might mean that when I get past overwhelmed, and I will, I’ll carry a little less pressure to stay calm and juggle and keep perspective. It might mean that I’ll be able to introduce my new daughter to a much more honest version of her mother than has previously existed.

I can find a way to be excited about that.

Beth is a mom, wife, sister, friend, and HR executive. She's also on a journey to become a yoga teacher. She likes watermelon, reality television, and politics.

3 Things To Say To A Teenager Who Is Struggling

Having a grown child and three teenagers at home, it’s safe to say I’ve navigated my share of young adult turmoil. Hearts hurt by friends they trusted. Classes, teams, activities where they are stumbling to keep up. Poor choices that leave them feeling a stranger to themselves. And this constant, exhausting battle between excitement and anxiety for the future.

Through dozens of conversations with my kids over the years, I’ve learned that parents have a unique opportunity - and responsibility, even – to offer balm when their children are hurting. Here are three phrases I have found to be particularly helpful when talking to a teenager who is struggling.

I know this has been hard for you.

As parents, we carry our own burdens and worries that might make what a teenager deals with seem less significant by comparison. We might even look at our own adolescence and think to ourselves “if they only knew how good they have it.” But when my teenager is struggling, it’s not about me – it’s about her. And sympathy is always my first choice. It costs me nothing to set my ego aside, and I can always offer perspective over time. I find that validating their emotions creates a safe place where my teens can identify and discuss their feelings, and I’ve been surprised at the emotional intelligence they have learned over time because of it.

I believe you can move past this.

When things have been really hard for my kids, I desperately want to tell them “It’ll all be ok.” But, I don’t know that for sure. And if it will be ok, I don’t know how, and I don’t know when. But what I do know is that my teenagers each have the ability and strength to control how they respond to and move beyond their struggles. This belief empowers them to make choices and take steps towards being happy, instead of waiting for it. I have had great opportunities to remind my teenagers of their strengths, and even what they have learned and endured through previous struggles. In doing so, it helps them see all the mental and emotional tools they already have to help them through their current struggle.

This won’t change what I think about you.

Your teenager may never admit this to you, but they crave your good opinion of them. They will probably always take as a given that you love them, but they desperately want to know that you like them, too. This is the one thing that my teenagers have said to me time and again as they’ve stumbled and made mistakes – “I just don’t want you to think any differently of me.” You can’t imagine how humbling it is to hear them be so vulnerable with me. They put their heart in my hands, and with blind trust hope that my faith in them will be sturdy enough to protect it. This one revelation in raising has teens has taught me so much about unconditional love. Because it’s not just about loving, but also hoping for and expecting the best out of people, no matter what.

Though these are the three phrases that have served me (and my teenagers, I believe) well over the years, I know there are many more things a parent can say to offer love and support to a teenager who is struggling.

What would you add to the list?

​Stacey Nerdin is a mom of 5 (and soon-to-be-grandma!) living near Portland, OR. She's a book nerd, a tech geek, a nap lover, and an LDS convert. You can find her on Twitter at @StaceyNerdin, or her personal blog, The Scenic Life, where she writes about parenting, entertainment, travel and more.

Naming It

It’s been a long, messy process, but I’ve finally learned to read some of my own cues. When something is bothering me, for instance, I tend to consume food and drink straight from the container. The quantities aren’t excessive, but it’s definitely not normal.

So when, in December of 2013, I found myself leaning against the kitchen sink and staring at a blank wall, a bag of chip crumbs in one hand and a nearly-empty bottle of pinot noir from the previous week in the other, I was surprised.

What was there to be upset about? We had just gotten Collin’s diagnosis. The one we had been pursuing for almost five years. Hooray. Right?

Then why had I taken the phone call from the geneticist in the closet? And why hadn’t I shared the news with my visiting family? And why did I keep hugging Collin until he squirmed?

It wasn’t a particularly tragic diagnosis: not progressive, not life threatening in the direct sense. I knew parents facing infinitely worse. In fact, the diagnosis didn’t tell us a single thing we didn’t already know about Collin other than which of his genes has the quirk. With fewer than 10 children with the same syndrome in all of the published literature at that time, there wasn’t even a clear picture yet of what the condition entailed.

What the diagnosis did do was give us a name. Wiedemann-Steiner Syndrome. 

And what I realized was that I didn’t want to name my son anything other than Collin.

* * *

I had become very used to Collin’s mysterious nature by that time. We knew virtually nothing about the origin of his various disabilities, and I was okay with that. So having these tethered names for him to take as his own was more unsettling than relieving. Who was this Wiedemann? This Steiner? What did they know of my miraculous son, who defies classification?

They felt like intruders in our household, those names. What would they do, now that they wouldn’t be leaving? Toy with our expectations? Tease us about our hopes? Plant some small, dark dread?

Once I had the chance to think through my reaction to the news, I realized that there were two main reasons I was resisting the naming of “it”:

First, I had latched onto the open-endedness of Collin’s situation as a reason for hope. Without a name, there was no concrete “it”. With no other cases to look at, no one besides Collin himself could show us his potential. It kept me from dreading the future, because I could say honestly that I had no idea what it might bring.

And second, I had come to take comfort in our isolation. It was my normal. What would it mean to be part of a group of people, some with older children who might show us a shadow of Collin’s future? Or, maybe worse, with children Collin’s age or younger with significantly milder symptoms?

On the phone, the geneticist had called the diagnosis a breakthrough. But as I stood there alone in the kitchen while Collin laid waiting for me contentedly in his bedroom, I had to wonder: A breakthrough to what?

*  *  *

Since the beginning of Collin’s life, my husband and I have had a credo we repeat to each other whenever we face an unwelcome revelation: Collin is the same as he was yesterday. Which, translated, means: Nothing has really changed; now we just know more. That night in the kitchen, I repeated it to myself.

And – eventually – I realized that it was true. Even though we had named his genetic anomaly, nothing had changed about Collin. I didn’t have to fear what other Wiedemann-Steiner kids might show me about my own child. Even within this very specific group, only Collin could show me what would unfold for him.

Even though I have yet to meet any other parents of children with Wiedemann-Steiner Syndrome, the diagnosis also makes me part of a community. In the early days, I used to feel jealous of the parents of children with Down Syndrome because of the amazing, family-like group that welcomed young parents, offering support and guidance. But now I’m a member of the Rare Disease community: a group of parents alike in their rarity. Who understand what it’s like to know more about your child’s condition than his or her doctors. Who find companionship among others living nearly impossible odds every day.

I have come to see Collin’s diagnosis – just like his therapies and health care professionals and specialized equipment – as a resource. A tool. It’s a handle I can grab onto when someone asks. 

My son has a rare genetic disorder called Wiedemann-Steiner Syndrome, I can say. 

His name is Collin.

Annie Kratzsch is a mom, advocate, knitter, and reader. She writes about the struggle and joy of living a full life while raising a child with rare disease and disability at This Rare Day.