Be Brave.

This one’s for me.

Because I just don’t want to forget.

We found ourselves deep in the woods, following an old trail. Through evergreen trees, just bloomed trillium flowers were signaling the arrival of springtime.

Your dad was leading the way, finding the best path forward. I trailed closely behind you, closing our pack of three. He joked we were going on a bear hunt, just like your favorite story book.

The forest was quiet. We heard our heavy breaths as we traveled uphill. We heard the crunching of branches under our feet. We heard the occasional bird sing and we watched as the sun fought its way through the treetops to shine on our shoulders. We felt the warmth.

And then I heard you.

You’re so brave, Elsie. Elsie, you’re so brave.

You were just thinking, out loud. Your inner voice apparent.

You’ve got this. You can do this all by yourself, Elsie.

Your hot pink, sparkly light-up rain boots crossed over puddles and through old ferns. My heart swelled.

You believe in yourself. When I tell you how strong you are and how brave you are, you listened. That power is part of you.

I just need to capture this moment. I need to remember forever and frankly, I need to harness that kind of power sometimes too.

We focus so much about the importance and the necessity of positive self talk. And through hearing those words flow so freely from your little body, I learned something else - you taught me something really big in that moment, deep in the woods - that hearing others be kind to themselves inspires kindness everywhere.

Days later, in the car on the way to swimming lessons, I told you that I thought you were so brave. And that if you got scared, just remember how brave you are.

Without hesitation, you replied.

I know.

Knowing you believe in yourself helps me believe in me. It helps me believe in others, and it makes me want to believe in you even more, if that would even be possible but it isn’t because girl, you’ve got this. And I’ve got your back. And I’ve got me too.

XO

Just fake it until you make it.

I'm probably a lot like you.

I'm good at some things. I'm really good at other things. I'm not-so-good at different things, and there are things that I just shouldn't do, ever.

And then there's a bucket full of things that I want to be good, or better at. There are those things that I've put on a list to learn, to invest time in, and that list is somewhere and hasn't seen a lot of action lately. I haven't crossed anything off in years. I could tell you that I'm too busy to work on them, which might be true. I could tell you that after all, I'm just not very good at them, which also might be true. But the truest reason for the inactivity is this: I'm just not confident enough to keep trying. 

There. I said it. I'm just not confident enough.

Earlier this week, our little girl saw the hand-me-down acoustic guitar in the corner of the living room, propped up against the wall, collecting a fair amount of dust. She tip-toed over to it (that's her thing these days and no, I have no idea where it came from), and asked me to sit next to her.

"Mama, sit."

I looked at her, smiled.

"Mama, sit."

So, I sat. I picked up the guitar. I grabbed the pick too. I pretended to know what I was doing. I put the pick between my thumb and finger and began to draw out a few terrible, off key sounds. I took my left hand and slid it up and down the guitar strings, pretending to find chords. I was faking it. But, her face lit up. Her tiny fingers reached for the strings, strumming. Her eyes were wide, looking up at me. We were playing the guitar, together.

"Mama, more!"

As we made awful music and pieced together made-up songs about our day, it hit me. When it comes to parenthood, lack of confidence just won't cut it. And letting my own excuses keep me from moments like these not only hurts me, but it hurts her too. Sometimes, we just have to fake it until we make it.

I may never learn to play the guitar. My list of "maybe someday" activities and talents might never get smaller. In all honesty, it will probably get bigger as I get older. But one thing that will never find its way on my personal wish list is standing back because I'm not the best at something. When it comes to our family, our daughter, I'll do my very best to sit when she says "mama, sit."

Like I said, you are probably a lot like me. You're probably good at some things. You're probably really good at other things. You're probably not-so-good at different things. Let's not the things we're not one-hundred-percent-awesome at keep us from doing them, and doing them with the people we love. Maybe perfection isn't perfect. Maybe, just maybe, perfect, to us, is being there. Perfect is showing up, sitting down, and playing the guitar.

The Mathematics of Motherhood

I'm just going to put it out there. I'm a closet-math nerd. I thought I hated the subject in middle school. I rolled my eyes at the teacher and I wore out the eraser on my number two pencil pretty regularly. But then I got it. I am a problem solver. I like answers. And spreadsheets. And I actually really like number two pencils with fresh erasers. I am a math nerd.

Our lives are full of problems that need solving, and circumstances that demand answers. Friends, have I got a doozy for you.

The math problem for today is this: You have 24 hours in the day. You have one toddler, one husband, one house, one dog, two sets of in-laws, one set of parents, a daycare schedule to figure out and a whole lot of random things will pop up that need your attention. You must work your full time job, ensure everyone in the house gets a decent meal for dinner, plan the details of the next day, find some time to unwind, connect with a friend or two, and visit dreamland for a solid amount of time. Is this probable?

The answer is yes. But wait, there's something that needs a little more definition.

You have a toddler. So that one hour of grocery shopping becomes two. That thirty minutes of getting ready in the morning becomes sixty. The quick trip to the coffee shop requires double the time because you have to pack up half of your house just to get out of the house, along with a kiddo who doesn't want to leave. Your full 24 hour day doubles with need and you get zero extra hours in the day. What do you do?

You subtract. You subtract the time with your husband, you remove your unwinding time altogether, you opt for sweatpants and wine instead of happy hour with your friends, and your full time in dreamland becomes negotiable depending on what the day decided to dump on you. That's the Mathematics of Motherhood.

My 24 hours looked different when I was just me, before I was a person someone called mom. Those hours included an ample amount of sleep, gym classes, happy hours, date nights, late days at the office, early morning yoga classes, long vacations, quick getaways and spontaneous romantic times with the hubs. Yup, times have changed. I was spoiled, but I'd argue that I'm a different kind of spoiled now.

Our weekend trips aren't quick getaways. We don't just throw a bag in the car and drive. We don't lazily go for brunch and spend afternoons reading. (Let's be honest, we didn't do that anyway). But instead, a weekend trip includes planning. Hours and hours and days and days of planning. Before we leave, we grocery shop for snacks and meals because our toddler doesn't do so well lazily brunching. We pack a bag for ourselves, a bag for the kid, a bag of activities and supplies and a bag of diapers. We pack and over pack because that one thing we desperately need in the middle of the night can't be something we forgot. We cannot be spontaneous anymore. That is not part of our equation. Spontaneity is not part of the Mathematics of Motherhood.

We have spent some time down the road of weekend trips with the toddler, and I have three important things for you to remember in this season of life.

1. It's just a season. There will come a day where we are saddened by the scarce amount of planning, the lightweight reality of our bags, the empty sounds in the air.  This time is just a season, and we need to love the heck out of it and take albums full of mental pictures of the sweet, the hard, the good, the bad and the beautiful. We are doing it all, and with only 24 hours in the day.

2. Slow down. This is important for me. Let us not rush our kids to be faster, to move more quickly, to keep up with us. Let's walk at their pace. Let's learn alongside them and appreciate right next to them. Let's be children in our hearts forever.

3. Plan. A lot. Because taking care of details for a weekend outing on a Wednesday afternoon will make you feel better about leaving for a weekend outing. And with each set of plans, things will go wrong, and that's when we learn and get better. It's in the hard times that we get stronger, smarter, and it's when we step outside of our comfort zone that we can grow. So plan. A lot. But be flexible and find the lessons when things go wrong.

There's no easy answers. I write a lot about how motherhood changes our identity, and challenges us to remember our past-selves. But with how much we might miss our abilities to do absolutely everything in a packed 24 hours, we are lucky. We are lucky. And our kids, husbands, families, jobs, homes, pets and all - they are lucky too.

What does your 24 hours look like? What do you subtract to make it all work?

XO

Meagan