My child, my teacher: my messy beautiful

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

When I envisioned myself as a mother, I had images of myself as a wise-all-knowing and yet still extremely hip/fun and relatable modern woman. My kids would turn to me with curiously piqued, thoughtful questions bubbling up inside them and there I would be- armed with years of education, professional and personal life experiences at the ready. Parents are the first teachers, isn't that how the saying goes? Uh, if so, my family is royally screwed. Sure my kids ask questions nonstop (and always at bedtime) but they're never the questions you're prepared for:

• When will you die? 
• How will I die
• Does God see me all the time

You get the idea, the EASY stuff. In the past 5+ years of being a parent I've earned a masters degree in tap dancing or the DC approach of a non-answer: what do you think sweetie? Interesting question, let me think about that, or my favorite: ooooh look over here, something sparkly/on fire!! 

In reality, my kids have taught me so much more about myself: where my insecurities are, what my fears are, what I'm beating myself up about. My 5 year old son has suddenly gone from extrovert with charm and self esteem to spare to having major bouts of major self consciousness: WHY IS MY HAIR RED AND CLUMPY? I WANT MY HAIR TO BE FLAT AND WHITE. (SOBS). And the kicker: I DONT LIKE MYSELF. Damn. That hurt. Yes it hurt to see him sad but It also felt a lot like  MOM failure, to let my little guy be so vulnerable like that. 

This fear to be different, to stand out, to not be accepted by your pack and loved for just being you resonated with me. It actually hit me in the gut like a punch. How many times had these same thoughts gone through my own adult head? How much time did I waste, do I still waste, wishing   things were different? Wishing I were different?  Wasn't I just upstairs trying on a new bathing suit and unleashing a tirade against myself so bitter and damaging, it would stop a playground full of feral 5 year old boys in their tracks? How could I teach him to love himself just the way he was when I was still trying to learn this damn lesson myself?!

I obviously don't have the answers. But I know that when I hug him and tell him that everyone has days where they feel like this, it's the truth. I tell him his feelings are real and that I hear him, love him no matter what. We read Stinky Face who's mother loves him despite a host of perplexing conditions that beset the poor lad.

 I give him an extra dose of love and try to remember to save some extra patience, love and admiration for myself. If modeling the behavior we want to see in our kids is an effective tool, and I believe that it is, it looks like I have some of my own work that I need to do. 

Thanks for the lesson oh wise one, my adorable, hilarious red headed teacher.

Just Stay on the Bike

It seems appropriate that just when my 5 month old starts to sleep through the night, I find myself laying in bed with a million and one thoughts, lists, questions and worries running through my head. A recent favorite: my daughter is almost 6 months old - that's half a year for those of you that are slow on the math like myself. She is not a newborn and yet...my body is nowhere near where I thought it would be at this stage and while I don't have a ton of energy to do anything about this revelation. I can't stop beating myself up about it either. The voices in my head duke it out in the juxtaposing voices of a zen master and a cross between a mean girl and a drill Sergeant. For example:

 - "you are right where you need to be right now. love yourself. rest your body. nurse your baby. lie on the couch and let your husband bake you warm cookies - you are an amazing goddess that created a PERSON plus you're back to work and did I mention, YOU'RE AMAZINGLY AWESOME JUST THE WAY YOU ARE."

ahhh, but wait. there's also this one- 


 - "yeah, does it really seem like a good idea to eat that right now? when's the last time you saw that booty from the back - it is not going to fix itself. yes you had a baby but so has pretty  much everyone gracing the cover of a magazine and by the way, THEY HAD THE BABY YESTERDAY AND THEY LOOK AMAZING! you on the other hand, sorry to say, do not. How can you set a good example for your kids, your daughter for pete's sake if you  don't: find a trainer, find a gym, start to run, get back to yoga, get in shape, get back to your "old size"?? In other words - FIX YOURSELF woman." 

Some days, the accepting & loving voice (and the cookies) win. On others, like today, the drill Sargent wins.  And that my friends is how I found myself clinging to a spin bike at 6:15 am at Zen Go, a new cycling studio in Bethesda that said all the right things to lure me out of bed at 5:00 am to pump, dress in the dark and miss that all-important morning time with my little ones. It promised to be a no-judgement zone. A place where everyone was welcome to connect with their inner self while also getting a killer workout. Instead of celebrating my accomplishment of getting out the door, into the class and on to the clip-in pedals, I found myself silently berating my lack of speed and endurance. I used to be a type A exerciser. I used to be in the front of the spin class spinning my legs as fast as I could to burn as much as I could so that I could get on to the next part of my day. Today however, not even the mood-lifting candles or the way-too-loud music could drown out the negative voices in my head. Instead of sprinting, I found myself willing myself to "just stay on the bike." And then the tears came. Thank goodness the room was dark and my face was already soaked with sweat. Thank goodness everyone else was locked in their own private battles with their bikes or bike shorts or whatever.

The tears were less about physical pain and embarrassment and more about the realization that I need to relearn how to be an encouraging friend to myself. Stopping the negative self talk is easier said than done. It's a habit I've had my entire life and up until now, it's served me well - offering up motivation, drive and the gumption to get stuff done.

 But guess what? The gig is up. I'm tired of getting beat up by me. Today because I know it's not realistic for me to acknowledge all that I do for my kids, husband, family, friends, work, etc, I will simply acknowledge that this morning I stayed on the bike.