motherhood

Babies can sleep in the car, but most would agree it’d be rather cruel to deny an older kid an after-school activity to preserve nap time. Families seem to walk more naturally to the rhythm of their eldest child, and ours is no exception. I became increasingly sensitive to this as our family grew, compounded by the fact that the eldest kids in our family are not mine by birth. Perpetually committed to finishing things well, I’ve actually gone a bit overboard trying to provide a home in which the big boys find joy.

I’ve followed the the three little pigs around with a wet rag, determined to erase all crumbs, trails, and evidence. I’ve done three o’clock clean-up scramble, chucking every toy into a closet just before the bus squeaks to a stop in front of our house. I’ve shushed the little ones incessantly, banishing them to play in their rooms when they’ve gotten loud or obnoxious. Heck, I was recently reprimanded at Ames’ well visit because the kid could barely hold a pencil. I hid all of the arts and crafts supplies, to keep stains out of the carpet and resources available for the big boys’ school projects.

I’ve done a pretty good job at proving my love and commitment to my stepsons, but I’ve also fallen short at enjoying my tiny ones right where they’re at. So I’m turning over a new leaf this year. My big boys know how I feel about them, and they know they belong. This is their family, too, and it’s my job to model how to treat the least of these. It’s okay to let the dirty toddler laundry fly a bit. Let’s get a little messy. Let’s get a little loud. It’s time to celebrate these tiny creatures a bit more.

A little challenged in the creativity department? Find yourself getting bored while trying to engage your kids? Not sure how to keep the TV off and the house in order? Look no further. Get your TogetherBox here.

I haven’t been doing this parenting thing for very long, but I’ve learned to pick my battles. When I saw this talk, I felt my heart scream amen. There are three quiet, underlying themes in our home. If you’re a Kincaid kid in trouble, it’s because you committed one of the three D’s – disobedience, dishonesty, or disrespect. If it doesn’t fall under one of those categories, we typically let it ride.

I’ve learned that parenting cannot be about living through our children, where we push them to reach goals we never did. It cannot be about unrealistic standards, where we expect them to behave like adults and think on our level. But parenting also can’t be about setting them up for failure, where we permit them to develop unsafe or unhealthy habits. So here’s where I start stepping on a few toes.

Manners are mandatory in my home. When my kids first learn to talk, they learn please and thank you. When they sit in time-out, smack dab in the middle of their sinful nature, they learn repentance. They must say I’m sorry to the sibling whose hair they pulled or whose toy they stole, before they can get up. Of course they’re not actually concerned with politeness before a snack. Of course they’re not actually sorry they’ve transgressed someone. I’m not asking them to be. It’s fake and forced at first, but I don’t have a problem with that. After all, isn’t that how healthy habits are formed as an adult? Groaning at the early wake-up time for yoga or time with the Lord? Blocking out distractions for a meal-planning session, to stay within a grocery budget? Repeating the new year’s goals over and over, until things start to feel natural?

I understand the argument that children shouldn’t be strong-armed into showing appreciation or sharing toys or practicing submission all of the time. I get it; I really do. I want to raise creative, independent kids. That’s why two of our boys have hair past their shoulders, and the third one keeps his short. I want assertive communicators and world-changers in my home. That’s why we encourage healthy, heated discussion when there’s tension. But I want kind kids, too. I want kids who open doors for people without even thinking about it. I want to watch my children visibly struggle to put others before themselves now, so they can easily make the right choice when it matters down the road. So when it comes to manners, when it comes to living in community… my kids can practice the fake stuff until it turns into the real thing.

Because I’m not scared of a little forced fruit.

It was a Christmas morning of firsts. This is the only “real” photo I’ve got, but it was one of those mornings I will never forget as long as I live. I ate cinnamon rolls and bacon on the floor. I doled out presents. I danced to Christmas music. I videotaped everyone coming down the stairs. I watched my kids exchange hugs and squeals and laughs. I clung to their joy, desperate to soak it up. I tried to forget the fact that our well pump had died two days before, and I tried to stay positive when we walked outside to find that our Suburban wouldn’t start on Christmas Day. In the midst of what has since been labeled one of the toughest weeks of our lives, we still celebrated. And these kids did it so well. For a few hours, nothing else mattered. I was just honored to be amongst these people.

Signing off for a bit, folks! Merry Christmas from the Parade.

You’ve probably heard the joke about the men being chased by the bear in the woods. When one stops to tie his sneaker, the other one looks at him like he’s crazy. But the man replies, “I don’t have to be the fastest… just faster than you.” As I progress through life, I’m convinced that is concept is the reason some people get through the programs and land the jobs and promotions they do. It’s how some people stay married as long as they do. They just stick it out. They simply show up, day after day, while others quit or move on to do different things. They outlast.

This life lesson was ingrained deeply in me as a child. So, so deeply.  It affected every activity, every project, even a random whim to open a lemonade stand on a Saturday afternoon. My little brother and I were taught that we did not have to be the best. We did not have to finish first. We just had to finish. We absolutely had to finish. We were taught to outlast.

During one of our recent bedtime battles, one of the twins put up a particularly valiant fight. She lost her voice and I lost my will, but I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t give in to her anger and I couldn’t leave. I’ve done both in the past, but this time was different. She had clearly lost control, and she needed me to wait it out. I had to outlast her, to show her that I’d still be here to love her when it was over. I had nothing to say to her but I sent everyone out of the room, refusing to shame her. I felt this desire to keep the others from seeing her so vulnerable, so rock-bottom. Finally, she whispered that she was all done. And then she crawled into my lap. Because I was there. I hadn’t given up on her.

Society tells us over and over again that it’s okay to quit. If you don’t like your job, find a new one. Maybe it wasn’t a good fit. If your friend hurts your feelings, drop her. There are more out there and you didn’t need her anyway. If your kid pitches a fit in a store, give him whatever it takes to quiet him down.

I’m not saying that these are terrible suggestions. But I want things to be different. I want to be part of a generation full of women who know how to dig their heels in. I want to be faithful in my work and in my relationships. Sometimes, that type of faithfulness involves being super productive and forward-thinking. Other times, it asks me to hang on with white knuckles while the other stuff passes by. In those cases, I’m simply an outlaster.

I don’t mind gushing about the newest baby, because it hasn’t always been this easy. I try hard to be transparent when I write, but that must include the good stuff too. I’ve never been this at peace with a newborn. I’ve never felt so alive as a mother. We’re nearly five months in and still pinching ourselves daily. Is this real life? Hadassah Lee is a game-changer. This girl is absolutely unbelievable, and her entire world is in love with her.

I can’t tell if she’s sleeping through the night yet because she spends a good chunk of it in my arms. I crave her warmth and scent tucked under my chin at night. When she’s not sleeping or eating, she’s smiling. It feels good to hear people compliment those cheeks. Never in my life have I had a baby on the growth chart. It’s also strange to have a baby who’s hitting milestones on-track, and even early. This week, Haddie started pushing up on all fours and rolling to her tummy from her back. Slow down, baby! She’s a dead ringer for Chris’ baby pictures, so I have a baby girl who looks just like her daddy. I love that.

Recently, I overheard one of the big boys talking to Hadassah Lee as he held her, “Look at those pretty blue eyes! There’s so much world to see!” She tracks her brothers like a hawk when they’re in the room, and her face lights up when anyone smiles at her. The little ones ask to see “Baby Dassah” as soon as they wake up. Nobody minds her squawking through our meals. She’s already fitting into some of the girls’ old outfits, and I can catch little glimpses of the memories they’ll all make in their bedroom someday.

The days and weeks are flying, and there’s nothing I can do to slow them down. I finally understand what it means to live those bittersweet moments with a new baby. I’m sad to watch them pass, but oh so grateful that I get to experience them.