Clover Lane

"As a former perfectionist Mom, weeks from being an empty nester, let me give one concept to think on that will bring immediate balance. At least it did for me…but later than I wish it had. Imagine an empty house with your kids all grown. All of the have to dos and perfectionism flies out the door when your focus becomes the moments you have left to hug them close as often as you want and be together as a family. In a couple weeks to get my daily hugs the shortest drive I would have to take is two hours. The other child is already three hours away. Obviously not feasible daily.  I am enjoying the extra time with my husband now but I wish I knew years ago just how much it would pain my heart not to have them close daily. I would gladly tear up my precious to do lists for more of that time back. We all know an empty nest comes one day but we put the thought out of our minds to protect our mama hearts. My suggestion would be to keep an empty nest mindset from the start so that we will appreciate the moments more as they happen. Locking in on more play time and less extra nonsense. I hope that helps someone from feeling the regret I feel now. It went too fast and perfectionism stole too much of that time."

From a comment left on this lovely post which was written by my friend Sandy.

Well I did it!  Two weeks in a row with my weekly book!  (I just know this is not going to last.)

The book I read this week was on the recommendation of my friend Stephanie, whose book-taste I trust like no other.

I saw a mom, much younger in her years than me, in a store the other day.  She had three little ones with her, oldest maybe four, youngest maybe 6 months (of pure lovely irresistible baby chub, I had to do the leg squeeze).  We met each other briefly before (so leg squeeze wasn't super inappropriate?). She was juggling a cart with two kids in it-a late morning run to get something essential I am sure.

And the baby was starting to whine, and the toddler was asking again and again for something (those darn candy aisles!) and trying to crawl out and she was a little frazzled and she apologized.  And I told her how cute the kids were and off she went to start her day.

But I wish I would have told her that she didn't owe me an apology.  In fact, I think she is awesome. I think she is EXACTLY what motherhood in that stage should look like.

Because she is doing the work.  She is doing hard selfless 24/7 work.  And sometimes I find that rare today.  She isn't decked out for an expensive exercise class sans kids, she didn't spend the time it takes to do her hair all up and apply makeup, she isn't dressed up, ready to start her day, the children tucked away elsewhere conveniently.  She is WITH her children.  She is probably pinching pennies and wearing what is in her closet, because she is making the sacrifice to find a way to be present. She looks nothing like the latest celebrity mom, and I bet she has to search hard for the "comrades in arms", the friends that give her support because they are doing the same.

And she is tired.  She has circles under eyes. She was up at night with the little one, who wasn't left crying in his crib, and then up again with the older ones at the crack of dawn I am sure.  She threw her clothes on (maybe the ones on the floor from the day before) and started her day, knowing where her priorities lie. Yes, she is disheveled because she put little people first before herself and there is NOTHING wrong with that, it's admirable, despite what she will be told today, it is darn admirable. It is the way it should be.

But she doesn't know it.  She doesn't know it yet, but she will some day.  She probably feels like she is doing it wrong, she doesn't "have her act" together.  Maybe she has feels she baby weight to lose, she should snap back, take care of herself, put herself first.  She shouldn't let her career slip, or her fashion sense take a back seat.  Maybe she wonders what "the secret" is, when it seems everyone else has seems all put together.  She must be doing something wrong? She is told she should ask for help, lots of it, raising kids is hard work and requires "a village".

I wonder if she feels lonely today, I hope she doesn't, I hope she knows deep in her heart the difference she is making in those children, her incredible importance in being there all those days, every day, putting herself aside and finding joy in those little ones even just a glimpse in those hard days.  I hope she knows how much her children are learning being with her, their mother, at the store, or wherever she goes and how much she is strengthening that bond of trust. I hope she knows how fast this stage will be over, and how plentiful the rewards will be knowing that she gave it her all and saw every stage and sweet moment.  I hope she knows she will look back on the tight budget with nostalgic fondness, wondering how she did it and feel pride that her and her husband made it work.  I know she will not regret one thing that she couldn't purchase or had to put off till later-she traded that for moments that can't be bought.

I know she will figure out "the secret"-that we learn as we go and we learn as we do the work, and the more we are there, present for our children, the easier it gets.  The more we embrace the "mess" and stop looking for the answer outside ourselves (where we will certainly get every answer but the right one) and do the work at hand-dive into the work at hand, surrender to it all and heck squeeze those baby thighs, she will hit a stride and come up for air-and maybe go under for the next one, yes, but she is smart and she will learn to trust herself.  She will figure out that the more we embrace the need for unselfishness and sacrifice, the more we stop wanting something "else" that we are told we must have to be happy and whole as mothers, be it a career, or a sofa, or a body shape, we will finally mother with joy instead of resentment, instead of being inconvenienced by our children.

What a beautiful thing to embrace-our children's childhood-fleeting, precious, and never to be seen again-there won't be second chances to live it all over again .What a beautiful thing to find joy in. The truth is, that "secret"? "The mess", the work, is what gives the greatest reward, no other accomplishment or life experience will compare, and it needs no apology.

I've set up a goal for myself to read a book a week-quite unrealistic, but it keeps me reading.  I am on a WWII binge.  Last week I highlighted a book I ended up buying I loved it so much.

This week I read:

I loved this book!  Each chapter starts with lots of history but I skipped that part (not that it's not interesting just that I wanted to get to the good parts before I nodded off) and then was full of letters written by sons and daughters, and grandchildren of veterans, or veterans themselves in response to Tom Brokaw's first book called The Greatest Generation (which I want to go back and reread now.)

SO inspiring, and also tissues needed-these incredible sacrifices made by these women and men-mothers, wives, children, and the men and women veterans themselves.  So many lives lost.  I turned down a few pages of little quotes I wanted to remember.  I also found myself even more disillusioned at the present state of our political race.  It's a shame really-an utter shame considering the lives and sacrifices made for us to live in this wonderful country, all the son buried all over this world, never to be hugged by their mothers again..  The words 'embarrassing', 'ignorance', and 'circus' and 'shameful' come to mind to describe it all from the candidates to the media covering them to all the ridiculous talk and outright immature games being played to the money to the scandals-it's basically the opposite of every value this Greatest Generation embraced.

Anyways, here are a few little excerpts from various letters I wanted to remember from the book:

This one really encompasses so much and I want to write more on this later-things I am seeing that made me so angry when it comes to parents as role models, and a short conversation I had with a grandmother about honoring parents with good dutiful responsible behavior for LIFE.

"The Depression was a leveler too. I grew up in what was considered a middle-class family-by today's standards we would be considered poor, but nobody came around to tell us so.  Everyone was in the same boat, and extended families helped each other. I wore many clothes that had belonged to one of my cousins or my big brothers.  Getting some bit of clothing of your own that was new was a big event.  There were many people who had much less than we did, but they never let on and we never knew. The community sort of stuck together and family was very important. Parent were role models. I remember getting into a lot of mischief when I was growing up but nothing really bad.  In the back of my mind was always the thought, "Don't ever do anything to bring disgrace to your family." I never thought of "me first" or "do your own thing," and neither did anyone else. I am sure that these traits helped us in combat to stick together and look out of each other."

This little series of letters was heartbreaking, but it stood out to me because of the young young age these men (kids really) left their homes to fight the war.  Most of them seemed to be married young by today's standards-early 20's.  Wonder why that has changed and if it is for the better, especially after the last book I read, it really has me pondering all that.  It seems like these couples built a life together early on and were "grown-ups" must quicker than happens today and were so much more grateful and satisfied with their own small home and food on the table and a decent job and their children.

"Dear Mom-You shouldn't bake cookies with tears in your eyes, Mom, you know that isn't good for you.  Charlie and I will be all right, so don't you worry.  When we are back in town you'l never even know we were away.  And how are you doing Dad? You had better watch out when they get you back in the army, I'll admit that they do need a lot of guys like you that know their stuff, but the army has changed.  See you all later, Good nite, good luck and God Bless You, Art."

Another written by Art:
"Dear Mom and Dad-
Bettie and the girls left on Sunday nite too, but they should have gotten there sometime this morning because nothing could move as slow as the troop train we're riding on. I don't know just how she is going to like the place, but if it's very bad, I'm going to send her home. I'll hate to see her go because since she's been out here with me, I've had the happiest time of my life. I know that I got the pick of the lot when I got married, and you should see me, I've changed a lot.  Did you know that this is the longest I've been away from Bettie since she's been out here. That shows you how much we've been seeing each other. We've been married for seven months, two weeks, and four days and I'm just as much in love now as I was the day we got hitched.
Good nite, good luck and God Bless You All Art."

There are a few more letters from this collection, written by a boy that sounded just like all of ours do-excited to be young, excited to see the world, missing home and you can sense the heartbreak and worry and pride his parents are feeling.  And then there is this:

"My Dear Mrs. Nicholls-
With profound regret I have learned that your husband, Second Lietuenant Arthur Herbert Nicholls, missing in action on May 13, 1943, has since been reported killed in an engagement..."


How many thousands and thousands of letters like this were sent back and forth?  It is truly heartbreaking and humbling and we must be filled with gratitude and a sense of duty and respect but it seems to me like we've forgotten it all and certainly haven't done a great job of teaching it to our children (I know I could do better!).

This one little sentence by a veteran summed up so much of The Greatest Generation:

"Coming of age during the great depression and the Second World War united us with a common purpose and common values: 
duty,
honor,
economy,
courage,
service,
love of family and country,
and responsibility for one's self."

There you have it-and there is what we have a duty to uphold and what I would call our country's values of yesteryear that we have lost or are losing or feel like we must fight for from WITHIN, which is terribly frustrating and plain wrong.

Another excerpt written by a veteran:
"I agree that a majority of those who endured the Great Depression, World War II and helped rebuild this country, were folks, inculcated with a deep sense of honor duty, patriotism, loyalty, work ethic, and respect for God, country and self. I do respectfully disagree however that we are the "Greatest Generation".  I tip my hat the generation preceding us, our parents and grandparents, who instilled in us those principles of honor, duty, loyalty and patriotism and respect as well as the work ethic. They taught us to "make do" and to get our joy from out companionship and loyalty to and from our friends."

A video worth watching:

The Fallen of World War II from Neil Halloran on Vimeo.

I forgot to tell the story about this cake, and I want to remember it.  I have a history of cake stories-nightmares/terrible cake turn-outs/toddler stepping square in center etc. and here is one for the books,.

I found this gem on Pinterest and knew it was perfect for Jeff.  It ended up being a little bit of a hassle because my normal grocery store wouldn't do it-something about no free-hand drawing (which would apply to the underwear?)  I had to stop at another store and show them the pic I wanted and all the bakery ladies cracked up and said, "Sure we will do this."  I am not picky about colors etc, just wanted it off my list!  When I went to pick it up (with kids) they had forgotten to write Happy Birthday Jeff and I asked if they could do it then.  The only person working was not someone who looked like she wanted to be working anywhere, and she scribbled it quickly and it looked awful (this is from me who is NOT picky at all!)  I went to leave (I hate complaining) but then said, "Heck I'm having it redone, it looks awful and costs a pretty penny."  I found a different bakery lady because I didn't want to hurt the original "scribbler/no effort" girl's feelings and this nice older lady fixed it up so it matched and one could read it. I had to wait another 10 minutes though.

I'm thinking, "All for a darn cake, I have a million things to do!"  such as make an entire dinner for 50 people.

We finally got home and I took in the groceries and someone is relaying a phone message to me and it's all chaotic and I hear a little voice at the screen door in the garage saying, "Mom, mom, can you help me?"  And I peer out the door and Janey has the entire HUGE sheet cake in her hands and is trying to set it down while she opens the door and climbs up the steps to come in.  She actually managed to finagle the box out of the trunk of my mini-van and walk all the way from the driveway into the garage with it.  It was twice her size!!!

I said, "Oh no no no no no.  Mommy will do that."  I said it quite energetically I am sure.  She said, "Mom I'm just trying to help!" in an exasperated tone.

The cake AMAZINGLY was NO worse for the wear-maybe a little side-smudging on one side but I was thanking my lucky stars.  This one will go down in my cake history as my lucky break.

I always have the intention of reminiscing on each of my children's birthday about the day they were born and what they were like as babies and beyond.  But sometimes the festivities of the day put a cramp in that plan, and before I know it the day is over and we are moving on.  My intentions are good, but celebrating the day takes precedence over nostalgic reminiscing, but I love it when I get a chance, and I want to try harder to do that-I think as time passes all the babies births begin to blend together in my memory and I want to hold those days dear.

Abbey turns 20 today, and I DO remember little things about her birth.  I remember I cried when I found out I was pregnant again-not because I was at all disappointed but I was so afraid of the hyperemesis, and I had an extremely difficult birth with Isaac and I said to Jeff, "I don't know if I can do it again!"  And he said, "Yes you can, it won't be that bad and maybe you won't get sick."  Well of course I did get sick so he was wrong on that, and of course he was right on the birth-still posterior, still difficult but not crazy awful hours and hours of pushing, just a couple and so much better managed.  I found an awesome midwife near me and she took such good care of me through the sickness and through the birth. A funny little side note to that is that my sister-in-law was pregnant also, but we both hadn't told anybody (or maybe just I hadn't told anybody?  I don't remember) and we JUST missed each other coming into and out of that very same office!  We still laugh about that.  Her little sweet baby girl was born a month earlier than Abbey.

I remember being certain she was a boy.  I thought that was just perfect, and Isaac would have a brother close in age and I knew what to do with a boy now-had all the clothes and toys and how perfect.  And what would I do with a girl?  That would complicated things, maybe I wouldn't be a great girl mom.

Her birth was easier than Isaac's, but still posterior and still a lot of painful pushing.  My midwife was awesome, I do remember her reassuring me so much during it all, and I also remember a stubborn anesthesiologist coming in and tempting me without even being asked (must have wanted to get all his epidurals done at once or something?) and her pointing her finger at the door and telling him to "get out right now, we will call you if we need you."  He did rather quickly, I laugh about that and love it too, because she knew what I wanted and was willing to make people mad to carry it out for me, that's a sign of an awesome midwife.

And when she was born on a beautiful sunny September day and they said, "She's a girl!" I was filled with the most joyous feeling ever.  I think I told Jeff, "I always wanted a girl!  I'm so glad she is a girl!" and he probably just thought I was a tad bit crazy for all my boy talk before.  It was just this overwhelming excited beautiful feeling of "this is awesome."

I remember it took 2 days to choose her name-Jeff liked Gabrielle and we both liked Abbey and it took us awhile to decide, but we didn't care much about the indecision.  She was just here and beautiful.

Abbey was so so sweet.  I remember being shocked and grateful that she only nursed every 3 hours, what a break!   Something about 2 hours or less vs. 3 is such a difference sleep-interruption wise.  I do remember she was very very sensitive with sleep-well with everything, which Janey was also-minded being wet, minded scratchy clothes, minded being hot or cold, so different than Isaac (and the rest of the boys.)

The thing about Abbey I will also always remember is that to me she seemed like her brain didn't match up with her physical development.  Like her smarter brain was trapped in her baby/toddler body-she just had that look about her that already "knew" everything.  She figured out things fast, she observed closely, she studied things, she knew what was up.

And also how she wouldn't sleep without me laying down next to her even though I read every book on sleep, everything majorly failed (and I so regret the crying out thing I tried once, and vowed to never do it again and never did) and I remember that was a big lesson for me.  Every child is different and basically (sorry) *screw* what the "experts" say, or anyone else, I'm doing what is right for my child.  She taught me that.

And oh how sweet she was!  She was very easy, she loved her big brother, she played and played and played with everything as she grew.  She loved packing purses and bags, stuffing her drawers full of little things, empty little cereal boxes, basically pieces of what anyone would call garbage, I 'd open her desk drawers and think, "What IS all this stuff?"  Anything little she loved.

As she grew she loved creating-she played with dolls, but not babies like Janey. She loved her American girl dolls (started with Felicity for a long while) even into junior high she would sew clothes for them, her and Mary and Kate her little friends, would just play and play with those things.

I remember as a toddler when she would get upset, which was very rarely, maybe when she was scared or nervous, she could NOT settle herself down. She'd do the gasping, hyperventilating thing, and I'd have to hold her and rock her and tell her to breathe.  She still did that a few times quite older-get herself worked up about things.

When we moved to Second Street (the house we moved to here from and the one she still wants back :) we lived only one house beyond rail road tracks and the trains were loud.  I trained myself to jump out of bed when I heard a train far away, and run to her room, because she was petrified of those trains for months and months after we moved in.  Finally she was used to it, but she was very sensitive especially at night time.

I will stop there, as we have to get up and moving, we made lots of sugar cookies with plenty of frosting, her favorite and are heading out for a day visit on this beautiful sunny cool September day which is exactly like the day we were lucky enough to have you come into our lives.  Happy Birthday to our Abbey.