You don't wear white before Easter

My great-grandmother and grandmother in their Easter finery ... including white accessories.

As a society, we seemed to have very few clothing “rules” anymore. No one wears black for a period of mourning. Women wear pants whenever they damn well please. Very few churchgoers wear hats or gloves anymore.

For the most part, I think this is great. Clothing is a form of self-expression and as such freedom should reign. (Within reason, of course... I’m looking at you dude in a t-shirt at a funeral visitation.)

However, there is one clothing “rule” that I still follow, despite growing opposition.

I don’t wear white before Easter or after Labor Day.

And I’m not sorry.

Apparently, my stance is controversial. I realize the rule was originally a way to make others feel excluded. This is probably why it sparks such passionate opinions still. In fact, when a reader asked me to address this clothing controversy, she private messaged me her thoughts for fear of sparking outrage should she share her views publicly.

Come on, y'all. This is serious but it's not THAT serious.

I follow the rule knowing full and darn well that there are exceptions. No one is talking about white blouses or winter white (a creamier white for anyone wondering) but listen. We have seasons here in Kentucky and seasons require seasonally appropriate clothing.

I feel pretty passionately about this, even though I’ve actually loosened my rules quite a bit when it comes to what to wear in what season. I once had a LONG list of colors and fabrics I would only wear during during what I deemed the appropriate season.

I wouldn’t wear pastels or eyelet anytime but spring. There was no hunter green or pumpkin orange or corduroy anytime but fall. Summer was for bright colors, flip flops, linen, and capri pants and I would only wear navy and gray and wool in the winter.

After explaining my long list of rules one time to a friend, she looked at me and stated plainly.

“You should really use your powers for good not for evil.”

Eventually, I decided she was right and I’ve gotten over most of these rules as I’ve aged. (And by that I mean I wear yoga pants most of the time anyway so what does it matter!)

But, listen, bright white pants just don’t belong in February. They signal spring and summer and sunshine. Don’t remind me of what I’m missing during the dreary days of November!

It’s not that I’ll judge you or love you any less. Just know that if you roll in to a Christmas party decked out in bright white capri pants I’m going to notice… and maybe raise an eyebrow.

What do y’all think? Am I crazy or do you save your white for Easter?

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.

Growing Pains

I miss the blissful simplicity of my firstborn. I know so many people feel overwhelmed by become a parent for the first time but all I remember (with rose-colored glasses, of course) is how right everything felt. 

I knew I was going to screw up. I knew I wouldn’t get everything right. However, I also knew that I was poring my whole self into this little being and it felt so so good. I could cuddle and fawn over him until my heart was content. It was just me and him, him and me. 

Things seem more complicated before you even get pregnant with the next child. You wonder if you’re doing the right thing. You wonder how you will ever love another child as much as you love the first one. You wonder what the gender will be and what that will mean for your family. All of a sudden there is another world of good and bad possibilities opened up because you have another person to consider now. 

And it doesn’t change. With every pregnancy I’ve wondered if I’m doing the right thing. Can I still be the mother I want to be if I add another child to the mix? What if something goes wrong? What if I’m challenged in ways I can’t imagine? What will that leave for my other children?

Then, the next baby arrives and your worries and fears dissipate in a way. It doesn’t matter anymore whether or not you’re doing the right thing because you are doing it. There’s no worrying about the children that came before because now the idea of another child or the blurry images in an ultrasound picture is HERE.

Your galaxy now contains another planet. 

Now, the growing pains that existed in the logical part of your brain shift to the emotional center of your heart. 

Now, you must find space for another source of boundless, infinite love. Except - with this new one, with another one - you have to make peace with the fact that it is no longer a 1:1 ratio. It isn’t you and him and him and you. It is him… AND him…. AND him.

It feels like trying to watch three sunsets simultaneously. The second you look to the beauty of one you miss the beauty of another. You feel your heart stretching and growing and trying so hard to do it all -  for ALL of them.

When Amos was born, I fought it so hard. I was young. I was full of energy. Plus, they were so little. Surely, if I tried hard enough, I could find a way to meet every need of my two-year-old and my baby. 

I tried and I failed and I made my peace with my new reality.

Now, Felix is here and again I feel my heart stretching. I want to read to Griffin and be outside with Amos and let Felix sleep peacefully on my chest all at the same time. I know I can’t. I don’t fight it. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when Amos says, “Momma, pick me up! I won’t hurt the baby.” or when I have to send Griffin to Daddy for help with his homework because I’m breastfeeding. 

It is the most poignant of pain. It hurts because I am in the presence of something so big and powerful and wonderful sometimes the beauty of it overwhelms me.

I am the mother of three sons. 

But, my universe has expanded and my heart will as well. 

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.

The Story of Nicholas's Proposal

Moments after Nicholas proposed.

Today is National Proposal Day. Due to the fact that Nicholas and I didn’t start our first blog until 2003, the story of Nicholas proposing to me in 2002 is one of the few facets of our lives together that hasn’t found its way on to the internet.

Well, no day like today!

I thought there is no better time than in the depths of caring for our brand new baby and THIRD child to remember how it all began.

In the summer of 2002, Nicholas and I were living together (in sin, as my grandmother liked to say) in Durham, North Carolina. I had joined Nicholas there after completing my junior year at Transylvania University because I simply didn’t want to be away from him. He was working as a research assistant for one of his professors and living alone in a four bedroom house he and his law school roommates had rented. The rest of his roommates were working in law firms in NY or DC so he had the entire house to himself.

I had planned on getting a job once I arrived in Durham and I tried my hardest but I was late to the game. I applied to every clothing store and restaurant in the Research Triangle but to no avail. Since Nicholas worked from home, we basically spent 24 hours a day 7 days a week. We didn’t have a lot of money. Scratch that. We had no money. We ate a lot of Hamburger Helper. We played so much Phase 10 we invented a new form called EXTREME Phase 10. We watched Crossfire every day at 3pm.

It was one of the happiest times of my life.

I spent a lot of that time planning our wedding. Of course, we weren’t ACTUALLY engaged yet. I had already picked out my ring with the expectation that Nicholas would propose towards the end of the summer. I also had the expectation that the proposal would be fantastic, which looking back was a tall order considering I had completely removed the element of surprise and had pre-selected my ring.

Luckily, Nicholas was up for the challenge.

One morning I awoke to find no sign of Nicholas. Instead, there was a note on his pillow that told me to go to the computer. It took me a moment to realize what was happening as I excitedly ran to the computer and found the note above.

At 10, I received an e-card (remember those!) explaining that he was beginning with an email because that’s how we started flirting with each other two years before at Transy. Instead of conversing face to face on a tiny campus with less than a 1000 students, we wrote long flirty messages to each other in the beginning. We’re weird that way.

The email also sent me to a website with instructions. I was going on a scavenger hunt through all the places and activities that had played an important role in our relationship.

The message than told me my next stop would be the movie theater. Going to the movies was not only one of our favorite date night activities (those were the days!) but three years previous we had randomly gone and seen The Insider together. It wasn’t in any way romantic, especially since I had just been cheated on by my high school sweetheart and was heartbroken. I was telling Nicholas all about it (as I was apt to do to whoever would listen) and he looked at me and said matter of factly, “You know what your problem is? You’re trying to reason with idiots and idiots don’t understand reason.” At first, I was appalled. I wasn’t the one with the problem!

Then, I realized he was right. This was about them not me.

It was also the first time I thought, “Hmmmm… this Nicholas Holland guy might be more than I gave him credit for.”

Fast forward three years and I was rapidly discovering Nicholas was still capable of surprising me. At the theater I had very detailed instructions. I was to go to specific posters out front and write down certain numbers from each time.

The numbers created a call number for a book and PAGE at the Duke Law Library. Plus, they weren't just ANY numbers. The numbers were the date of our wedding and the date of our first kiss. 

I was terrified of misplacing a number but luckily I perform well under pressure. I got to the Law Library, which was the next stop because law school had and was going to play such an important role in both of our lives, and found the book. Stuck in the specific page was a map that led me to a secluded spot in Sarah P. Duke Gardens.

The spot where I sat and waited on Nicholas.

Secluded turned out to be important because the television show Dawson’s Creek was filming on Duke’s campus that day. The episode even featured a guest appearance by Jack Osbourne, one of the stars of our favorite reality show The Osbournes. It was a fun little bonus.

I found my way to the spot and waited expectantly on Nicholas. Finally, he came around a corner and got down on one knee. He told me he loved me more than he had ever loved anyone and asked me to be his wife.

Of course, I said yes.

What I remember so vividly from that moment is how nervous he was. He had been running around all morning putting together this elaborate scavenger hunt. He was sweaty and a little bit flustered. Seeing this man put all this effort into proposing to me  - a man who didn’t particularly enjoy romance or seemingly empty gestures (since we already knew we were getting married) – cemented everything I already felt about marrying him. That he loved me unconditionally, that was going to make the most wonderful husband, and that we were going to be so incredibly happy together.

And I as I lay down next to that man every night, in a home filled with love and laughter and three beautiful boys, I know that the proposal of marriage was fun and unique but the marriage itself is the real story. 

What's the story of your proposal? I'd love to hear!

My Postpartum Paradise (or why you should always accept help after giving birth)

Postpartum bliss after Griffin was born.

After Griffin was born, we stayed at my mom’s house for two weeks. At the time, it was a matter of necessity. We had been living with my parents for several months upon moving back to Paducah and had not yet moved in to our new home.

My mom is a public school librarian and she was off for the summer. So, I basically had around-the-clock care even after Nicholas went back to work. My mom brought me water while I breastfed, did the laundry, cooked our meals, and held the baby while we slept.

It was glorious. 

Two years later, as I prepared for the arrival of baby #2, I assumed I would give birth in my own home and maybe my mom would stay with us. My mom is notoriously protective of her space; so, imagine my surprise when she said it would be easier if I had the baby at her house again and moved back in for a couple weeks with our toddler in tow. 

Again, it was fantastic. My mother isn’t the grandmother signing up for babysitting at the drop of a hat but, let me tell you, when you actually NEED her, she’s a rock star. Her and my stepfather’s help was a godsend as we adjusted to caring for two children, especially since my journey as a mother of two got off to a rocky start. 

So, there was no hesitation once Felix was born. All FIVE of us moved right back in. Felix even had the good sense to arrive during a snow storm and my mom was off from school for over a week. We snuggled in with our precious new arrival, as amazing friends and family brought us food. My stepfather entertained Griffin and Amos, while my mom took care of me and the baby. 

I just kept thinking. This is a postpartum paradise. 

Adjusting as a family of four.

It is also a pretty exceptional experience.

The World Health Organization describes the six weeks after giving birth as the most critical and yet the most neglected phase in the lives of mothers and babies. Here in America we shove a newborn in the arms of some one who has just experienced a physical trauma, pat her on the back, and leave her to her own devices. 

It's not like that everywhere. In Southern India there's a practice known as jholabhari, in which the woman moves in with her mother before giving birth and returns home to her family several months after the child is born. In Mexico, the postpartum rest period, or the cuarentena, goes for 40 days. The same is true of China and other Asian countries. 

It wasn’t always like this here. My great-grandmother stayed in bed for several weeks after the birth of my uncle (her FOURTH child!) while female relatives cared for her other children and home. My great-grandmother did the same for my grandmother and great-aunts and my grandmother insists this care is the reason she and her sisters never had any reproductive problems.

However, her advice to “never lift anything heavier than your baby for six weeks” is pretty much impossible if you are left on your own to care for an infant. 

My mom introducing Griffin to baby Felix.

When I tell people I move in with my mom after giving birth, people generally have two distinct reactions.

1. You’re so lucky!
2. I could never do that!

Yes, I am incredibly, insanely, beyond belief blessed with this arrangement. Every time I've given birth I've been enveloped by my family and my community allowing me to heal, to bond, to adjust to one of the most transformative times in a woman's life. It truly has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. My heart breaks for any new momma who don’t have family close by or family at all to come help her during this important and intense time. 

What I hear from people who say they could “NEVER” live with their mothers is either they think the interactions between them and their mothers would be too stressful or they have an intense need for independence. It’s as if they have something to prove.

Imagine that! American mothers feeling they have something to prove! 

If only I could make all these new mommas understand, the most important thing you can prove as a new momma is that you are willing to ask for help and accept it when it is offered.

Maybe your mom does stress you out. But guess what? At 2 AM when your boobs hurt, you can’t stand up straight, and the baby won’t stop crying, you’d accept help from that bitch in middle school who called you fat to your face if she could get the baby to sleep. How much worse could your mother or mother-in-law or grandmother be?

It’s not as if I don’t understand the emotions behind choosing to go it on your own. EVEN in my postpartum paradise, I’ve struggled with asking for and accepting help. With all three boys, I’ve had trouble with passing them off to my mother while I got much needed rest, especially that first night. With Amos in particular, I pushed myself so hard to still do everything for Griffin AND take care of a newborn I teetered right on the edge of postpartum depression.

Luckily, I had wise and wonderful friends and family who put the smack down on my hormonal butt and sent me to bed.

We all want to believe that as mothers no one can meet our children’s needs the way we can and, in a certain way, that is true. However, the awe-inspiring nature of motherhood is not only found in the relationship with our children but also in joining the women who have come before us on this amazing journey.  

Not only joining them, but accepting their love and support and help as we take those first precious but difficult steps. 

What was your postpartum experience?

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/