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Embracing our imperfections: words for mamas

In a world where it sometimes feels like everyone else has it together while we're falling apart, it is a comfort to know that we're not alone.

That everyone struggles, that everyone is imperfect.

The day I took the photo above I was un-showered, un-fed, and more than a little un-done. But my kids? That saw none of that. With me by their side they had what they needed.

Their mama.

Not my flaws, not my struggles - just my love.

I could learn a lot from them.

Self-love and acceptance is a hard road to walk but a vital one for us all - especially for parents. 

This morning I sifted through my archives and found my nine all-time favorite blog posts about mothering - and also about embracing our flaws.

Nine posts to help you see yourself, your beauty, and the riches of your life when your eyes are clouded.

And today, for Mother's Day here in the US, I give them to you. 

Read them, share them, devour them. Let these words sink in deep.

Happy Mother's Day, friends.

Love,
Rachel

 

For when you lose it (because you'll lose it)

Other mothers: lift me up

Reflections on motherhood: what I did not know

Your superpower

You're doing it right

Are you enough?

Sisterhood of the Messy House

Behold, the power of cropping

Fleeting

 

Magic and messes

Look beside the tree. Can you see her? Flying off to who-knows-where?

I took this picture in a place the kids and I have long called "the Fairy Wood" near my parent's cabin up north.

And it turns out we were right.

Because that's a fairy if we're ever seen one.

And don't you dare tell me it's an insect. Because frankly I'm needing a little magic right now. I'll take all the fairies I can find.

It's been an anxious week and a little fairy dust is good medicine.

 

I think I see magic wherever I look.

It keeps me sane to stay in touch with my blessings and not get lost in worry.

I know well how blessed I am - with love and safety and privilege galore. I get that.

It's just sometimes hard to remember that when you're swimming in too-much-to-do.

 

So it's magic or messes or both.

Usually both.

And yet sometimes I'm totally and utterly overwhelmed.

By the length of my to-do list and the limits of my budget, by the messes, the undone, and how simultaneously too short and too long some days can feel.

Mostly they feel short.

 

And I hope I don't ever come across as painting a picture of a perfect life here.

It's not perfect but rather a beautiful, scary mess made up of my own anxieties, worries, and limits jumbled together with the countless gifts and the blessings that I see every day. Jumbled up with all that magic.

There's always more of the good stuff than the bad. It's just the bad speaks with a louder voice, I think.

I've been anxious lately, feeling in over my head. Out of my comfort zone and skill set as a small business owner, a homesteader, a homeschooler, a writer.

As some days even a person I think.

Some days I feel buried alive in all the undones and I am certain that I'll never, ever dig out.

There is only room for so many irons in one fire and there are days when I struggle to keep all of mine hot.

 

And yet...

And yet.

 

Most days I get up early.

I come downstairs and turn on the tea kettle.

And I look out the window at the awakening world.

Yes, from there I can see my unfinished work in the garden and yard, but my eyes glance over them unseeing, searching. 

For birds on the wing and mist in the hills. For the magic I find everywhere.

 

Today there were oriels and sandhill cranes, goldfinches and robins - all singing their hearts out, somewhere lost in the mist.

Worries are always forgotten for tea and birdsong.

 

Soon the rest of the house awakened and we began our day.

Our messy, imperfect, and yes, magical day.

 

So if you ever feel things are perfect in my world when you come here to visit, remember cropping.

And know that probably what I come here to say is what I most need to hear.

A story of trust, of process, of presence. A story of embracing the imperfection and never getting lost in the need to do it all.

And the story that everything turns out okay in the end.

Always.

 

Because there is magic afoot.

It's everywhere.

If only we remember to look.

 

I hope you'll join me.

Join me in searching for beauty.

Join me in embracing the scary, messy, rich, magical, and imperfectly beautiful life that is yours alone.

Join me in setting aside all the worrying and fretting and struggling - if only for a moment - to see the magic that surrounds you.

Always.

 

Oh, yes.

I'd love some good company here.

 

Love,

Rachel

 

 

 

 

 

Some time at the Wild Restaurant

I think for me parenting is mostly a lesson in balancing needs.

Before kids my needs were usually first. Pete's as well, and our dogs and cats, work and home, but mostly I had the luxury of taking care of myself when and how I wanted to.

But then Sage and Lupine arrived and in that whirlwind of becoming a mama my needs washed under the parenting bridge with the flood waters of caring for a newborn.

We rode the waves until suddenly, now, there is time again.

A little of them, a little of me, a little of us.

Balance.

Or the beginning of it.

 

This week was exceptionally busy. The kids and I traveled across the state so that I could give a talk at the Wisconsin homeschooling conference. I was nervous (nervous!) and we set out days before my actual talk in order to work our way there without losing our minds in a stressed-out hurry.

Because of distance and time we bookended our trip with visits to my parents, their home on the southern route and the cabin on the north. But it was hard for me to just be in that space and not lost in my head. I was anxious to be away from the farm right now (I missed shearing this year on account of our trip), fretting over my talk (what do I possibly have to say for over an hour?!), and flooded with shoulds and anxiety and worry of every sort.

So nestled in at my mom and dad's house I spent some time locked in my old bedroom working on my talk, did a little mindless knitting in the family room, and tried to catch my breath.

I put my own needs first. I had the space for it and was so glad.

But soon I had done all that I could. I was breathing easier and looked to my kids to see how they were fairing.

And then Lupine saw the flowers.

 

My mom's yard is overflowing with flowers and she handed Lupine a scissors and let her have free reign.

Before I knew it my work was set aside and I was out in the yard, harvesting willow catkins, marsh marigold petals, and mustard leaves from the land that was my childhood domain.

Lupine and I began talking to each other in the funny voices we use when we become someone else in a game and we set to work crafting a table and chairs from some logs from the woodpile and setting it with dishes.

And I shifted. I let go for a moment all of that fretting.

And for that I am thankful.

 

I suppose her need to live briefly in this make believe world - and her desire to bring me along with her - helped me set down my adult cares for the moment and simply see the beauty and magic that surrounds her every day.

And I wanted to go there with her. To put her needs first and let her take me into her realm.

 

All the while Sage was curled on the couch, lost in a novel. Not a better choice, not a worse one, but different - older.  Suddenly. Not long ago it was he I made mud pies with out in the yard. But not anymore. For now is the perfect time for novels.

And that sweet memory of playing make believe with my suddenly big son kept me outside playing Wild Restaurant with this second small chef while I still had the chance.

She'd still small today, but I'm not so sure of tomorrow.

 

As for mud kitchen play in general, I can't say enough nice things about it.

It's the original sensory table, minus the table. It is cold and warm, wet and dry, sticky and crumbly, smooth and scratchy - all woven together with threads of unscripted freedom.

But mostly it's about the imagination.

 

So as spring rolls into summer, if you offer your child one extra curricular activity this season - if you sign them up for one soccer league, one summer camp, or one workshop - also offer them time and space to get their hands in some mud.

To get messy and dirty and get lost in a world of their own making.

It doesn't take much. Just a few yogurt tubs or old plates and spoons, some earth, and a handful of flower petals.

Then give them a sliver of your time some sunny afternoon when you have other things to do (which we grown-ups always do) but choose their world instead.

Go with them onto the porch or into the yard or down to the park and dig and play and laugh and get lost in their messy, perfect world.

And know that in that simple act you may give them the richest memory of the season.

 

And yes, perhaps yours as well.

 

Love,
Rachel