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motherhood

Don’t fight the spot.

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Hadassah Lee has been sleeping in the dining room for a few months now, for that in-between season until she sleeps through the night and joins her siblings upstairs. We set up a pack-n-play behind the big French doors, in a nook beside the fire place. From the hallway, you can’t even tell she’s there. But it’s her spot, and she totally owns it. Night after night, nap after nap, I watch her burrow down into the corners of that little place. If she’s not ready to sleep, she lets us know. But most of the time, she doesn’t fight the spot. Her posture is perfect – belly down, hind end in the air, ankles crossed, thumb in her mouth, chubby finger grasping for wrinkles in the sheet. She knows her place, and she embraces it. She knows how to rest in it. She isn’t scared of this in-between season.

When she’s on my hip, she studies everything and everyone. When she’s curled up next to me, nursing down for the night or first thing in the morning, she strokes my arm with contentment. When she’s tackled and tickled by her dad, she cackles and flirts. When she’s passed from brother to brother, she doesn’t fight it. When she’s dragged all over creation for family events that don’t involve her, she falls asleep in the car seat without issue. It’s like she was born for this role. She seems to be perpetually at peace. She knows her place, and she embraces it. She knows how to rest in it. She isn’t scared of this in-between season.

Every single time she’s stuck, or alone, or upset, someone comes for her. She can burrow down into her present, unfazed by her future. She knows where she belongs.

Lord? Let me learn from my tiny daughter? Help me to not fight the spot, the in-between. Show me the beauty found in burrowing down into my present, unfazed by my future. Remind me that You always come for me.

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life lately motherhood

Spring break!

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One of our most cherished traditions is having breakfast together. We don’t get to do it very often, but when we do it’s sweet. Ames shouts FAMWY BWEAKFAST at the top of his lungs, at a volume and frequency that drags the sleepy big boys from their beds. Sometimes it’s an eggs & bacon kind of morning, and other times it’s just Trader Joe’s cinnamon rolls. But there’s something special about starting off the day with your favorite people. A fresh start, a new beginning with folks who don’t flinch at your most vulnerable.

The words spring break don’t typically mean a whole lot to us. After all, most of my kids aren’t in any sort of school program, and my husband works from home. As for my own schedule, it’s variable and flexible. But the beloved break has arrived for the big boys, and we managed to schedule a free day or two for all of us. I’ve also taken a rather extended Spring Break of sorts myself. I’ve been writing less and less here for the last few weeks, taking some time to refocus and freshen things up. Thanks for hanging in, and happy Spring Break!

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motherhood

Riding in cars with boys.

I frequently find myself having chats with friends curious about large families, especially when it comes to relational investment. How do you make your kids feel valued? How do you  ensure they get the attention they need? How do you afford the energy for it all? The truth is, it can get tricky; even trickier with a blended family. Regardless of how many children and what kind of dynamic your family has, it is important to develop relationships with your kids, relationships that are unique to just you and them. The easiest and most fun rhythm I’ve found for this? Dating my children.

Getting alone time with the kids is crucial for me. Sometimes, it’s as extravagant as a cooking class. Other times, it’s as simple as a grocery run. I haven’t started this tradition with the twins yet, but it’s become my favorite day of the week if I get to sneak away with one of the boys for an hour or two. The quieter time while we drive and the slower pace while we’re out create a breeding ground for juicy, life-giving conversation. I smile when a kid asks a sensitive question, grateful that he’s brought it my way instead of wondering or worse – searching the wrong places for answers. I laugh when a kid points out something that proves he’s noticed me, even when I thought he wasn’t paying attention. I hold my breath when a kid shares something he’s been thinking or dreaming about, honored to be solo audience to a thoughtful soul and a wild imagination for a few minutes.

I come away from these little dates floating a little higher, honored with the responsibility of motherhood. There is something powerful in seeing a child respond to the realization that they’re being seen, heard, and valued. These opportunities tend to overflow into the hard places, too. Patience springs up when I need it, because I know each of these kids is a treasure chest waiting to be opened and explored and celebrated.

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health & wellness life lately marriage motherhood

family night healing

Let’s do something fun for dinner, Chris says. The weather is warm. Let’s shoot for a place outside. There’s room in the budget, remember? He hasn’t forgotten that I canceled our Valentine’s Day date. His favorite burger place is just up the road, and he’s only dropped the hint three or four times that afternoon. I agree and head for the car. The idea of no prep and no clean-up sounds really, really good. The big kids load up the little ones, explaining the concept of honor roll and how they both nailed it this quarter. Everyone is in a good mood, with almost-springtime electricity rippling through the truck. The music is up and windows are down. Chris reaches over and grabs my hand with a squeeze that says I love you. You’re going to be okay. Look around you and breathe this family in. 

We choose to sit inside at the restaurant, where there’s a table big enough for all of us. I hope it’s okay that we’re here with this big crew. We’ll try not to bother anyone, I say to the hostess. She laughs. We love kids, and you are all welcome here! We sit down with the usual shuffle, crayons and seat preferences flying. May we please have Sprite? Do you want to try the fried pickles? Of course, and sure.

We place our orders, working out the who-shares-with-whom details. I’m trying the special tonight – some sort of tuna burger. The fried pickles arrive. I wink at the boys who guzzle their sodas, and I thank the waiter who fills up the little pigs’ water bottles. The baby nurses and nobody in the joint bats an eyelash. The twins wave and smile at every person who walks by. Ames learned to wink this week, so he doesn’t hesitate to try it out on the waitstaff. I smile as Avery shares his personal space so well, serving the girls tastes and gently shoving grubby hands from his plate. Lucas asks to get Hadassah when she’s done eating, and he props her up beside him. She’s like the most perfect-est baby ever, he says. She gets her first taste of lemon tonight, much to everyone’s entertainment.

The food is delicious and the vibe is joyful. We finish the meal with a game of tag around the fountain outside. Avery impresses everyone with his ability to run the perimeter and avoid falling in, even while getting pushed and tickled  by the rest of us. We load into the Suburban and turn up the tunes once more, moaning about how full we are. As we near the house, Chris misses the driveway on purpose. I can’t pull in while this song is playing, he says as he claps and sings along to Happy at the top of his lungs.

As we park and pour out of the truck, Chris smiles at me. That did your heart good, right? Yes. I can feel it… the thawing of this winter season, both outside of my home and inside of my heart. The Lord is near to the weary, y’all. So, so near. It’s just that when we’re tired, sometimes we have to open our eyes a little wider.

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health & wellness motherhood

The cry for help.

It had been building for months, but I swore up and down it wasn’t postpartum depression. I still do, to an extent. Everything about Hadassah Lee fills me with joy. I cherish everything about her, even down to her nighttime antics which give me little sleep and no rest. I swore up and down it wasn’t hormones, either. Nor was it winter. I can handle the cold and the dark. But still I was angry most days. All day. I cried a lot, at the drop of a hat. There was a lot of yelling, slamming, leaving the house. I figured out how to dump quickly and efficiently on my husband, and how to mask everything from the kids. My kids are perceptive. They ask me what’s wrong. They give hugs. In the loud places, I stonewalled. In the quiet places, I crumpled. I tried to think rationally through situations and describe my emotions, to take away their power. The only word I kept coming up with was rage. It was bright and blinding.

And then came the cry for help. The event that set off the alarms. A big blaring sign that read GET HELP, RACH.

It was a typical midweek morning. Chris was still unloading his gear and his thoughts from Sunday’s services while simultaneously preparing for the next one. I’d worked the previous day and stormed through the house, cleaning and fuming with what had become the usual fury. We were trying to get out of the house for some reason, but I can’t remember the plans now. I asked Chris to get the girls’ boots for them while I finished getting dressed. After a few minutes of searching, it was discovered that one pair of boots was missing. We looked in the usual spots, to no avail. Instead of just rolling with it and letting Chris grab another pair of shoes for the forlorn twin, I lost my junk. I refused to the leave the house until the missing boots were found, letting it take me to tears. Tears, over some missing boots. I made the kids sit on the couch while I stomped around, convinced that nobody else could find the missing boots as well as I. And besides, they’d just get in the way. I was on a mission. The muttering below my breath became loud and forceful, words and emotions flying as if this were truly the end of my world. I could feel myself, see myself acting absolutely crazy over something so small and yet… I couldn’t let it go. The boots were eventually found nearly an hour later and we loaded everyone up, late to our destination. Chris hadn’t said a word the entire time, but I could feel it. I had crossed the line. I had become fixated on the something trivial to the detriment of my mood, my day, and my family. And this wasn’t the first time. But I knew it needed to be the last.

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motherhood

Buy the expensive popcorn.

Being able to bless our kids with a fun night out is just as important as being able to teach them how to enjoy a boring one in. Living large with a large family is all about planning ahead, setting clear expectations, and keeping conversations going. We talk about money often, even with the little kids. We use numbers and point out those who have more and less than we do.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a date night or new shoes for the kids, I tend to space things out. I might reschedule an outing for an upcoming quiet week, or hide a just-purchased outfit for a grumpy afternoon. I try to roll with the punches. As parents, we’re forever battling a sense of entitlement in our children, right? We must pace ourselves. I laugh and groan when I buckle the kids in and start the car, only to hear them arguing about where we’re going for a TWEAT. I want to take them by surprise on a regular basis. I don’t ever want to withhold, but I want my kids to understand the gravity behind the things we do for them. It’s not about the money. It’s about the memories we’re creating, the character we’re attempting to build in each one of our children.

We recently took the three boys to see the Lego movie. We’d waited for the perfect time, and it had been on the calendar for quite some time. In fact, I started talking to Ames about it back in January. Remember my recent holiday post? I’m all about the hype. As I stepped up to the ticket counter, I received a pitch for some sort of frequent movie-goer discount card. I laughed, as it had taken me over a year to collect these tickets through a program at my hospital. Chris & I just aren’t movie theater folks, so I sat on each one until I had enough to take the family. But that’s not the end of this story. This isn’t about that time the family with too many kids finally took those poor children to a movie. We didn’t roll up there with our free tickets, crackers and fruit snacks and water bottles hidden in my purse. Once we got there, we went for it. We upgraded to the 3D film tickets, and we bought the largest popcorns and drinks they had. When it’s time to do it, we do it up right.

Plan it out. Spread it out. Talk it out. Then… go big or go home!

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health & wellness motherhood

I’m coming out.

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Hadassah Lee has been the easiest, happiest baby I’ve ever known. It’s become a running joke in our family, that she’s everyone’s favorite Kincaid kid. When I look at her, I literally feel as if I’m floating. When I hold her, I feel grounded and sure. She was the bright spot in a difficult year, but she did not overcome the darkness entirely. This little chubby smiling thing is not enough to restore the joy that’s been threatened, as I’ve muscled and fought through difficulties in nearly every other area of my life. And she shouldn’t be enough. I accept that nothing here on earth can seep into all of those cracks, enough to heal wounds and frustration and anxiety. But what happens when you know the One who is enough, but you still feel sad and angry most of the time?  What happens when you know the Truth and can’t seem to get it to sink in?

Over the last several weeks, I’ve felt my resolve slipping and my heart sinking into a depression. In the past, I’ve written about these postpartum seasons after emerging from them, but I feel a little differently about it right now. Maybe sharing thoughts and feelings and realizations during this process will bring a little more life to my heart and to a few of my readers. As I mentioned last week, I started seeing a counselor for the first time ever. I already feel myself thawing a bit after just one session. I’m looking forward to feeling like myself again, but I’m also taking the time to soak a bit in this pain and see what the Lord has for me here. I hope that makes sense. You guys are incredible. Thanks for taking this journey with me. And thanks, Joules, for this amazing sweater. I wear it too often. For real.

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