An open letter to the love of my life and the mother of my child

Dear Katie,

I find it difficult to convey how impressive you are. You are an incredible person, in so many ways and at such a magnitude that I am in awe of you. There is no fanfare for your greatness, which is why I feel like I need to write this and put it on the blog.

You are the Chief Curriculum Officer for a network of seven schools. You breastfeed our daughter four times a day and pump four ounces of milk every day so I can mix it into Eleanor’s cereal. Sometimes, you pump at 11pm, after a long day of endless meetings. You clear your schedule for about 45 minutes to an hour every day so we can have lunch as a family. This is something we wanted to do anyway, but it became a necessity when our daughter began refusing a bottle at four months. You still cook most of the meals in our house (you are a MUCH better cook than I am). And you help me keep the house in order despite the fact that our daughter’s favorite pastime is ripping dvds off a shelf and not putting them back (the nerve of an 11-month-old!).

You maintain a work/life balance that I can’t possibly imagine having to negotiate. You are highly respected within a work culture that values long hours and hard work, yet you advocate for a sustainable workplace and people listen to you. And you work so hard so I can stay home and take care of our amazing daughter, who’s a gift to us both in ways we’re only beginning to understand.

You are an incredible mother. You always have energy, love, and attention for Eleanor in ways that I envy. I love the way you sing to her. I love how you comfort her when she’s upset. I love how you encourage her to try new foods and to get up when she falls.

You also lead a small group Bible study every Sunday -- sometimes, you even provide the snacks, whether it’s baking cookies or making a run to Target for a veggie tray. And did I mention you’re training for a 10K, too? After Eleanor heads to bed, you steal into the guest room for a run on the treadmill, getting ready for the Bolder Boulder.

You are an incredible wife. We have been married almost 10 years (in July), been together for 14 years, and you are my rock. When I started having issues with anxiety/insomnia, after Eleanor was born, you encouraged me to get help. You make a commitment to come home a little early when I have appointments with my therapist. And you let me sleep in a little in the mornings while you get ready to go to work, especially if I’ve had trouble sleeping the night before. You take care of me, when I need it. And you do all of this with a uncommon grace that makes me fall in love with you again and again.

I am so excited that I get to celebrate this Mother’s Day with you, and I feel so fortunate that I have the opportunity to share this life journey with you. We have traveled a long path to parenthood, and I don’t think we would have made it this far without your strength. You deserve every accolade and every kind word thrown your way.

There is no drama in your greatness, which is what makes you great. I wish I had better words. I wish I could really make the world know just how amazing you are, even though those who know you (and many of this blog’s readers do) don’t even need me to tell them.

Happy Mother’s Day. I love you.

--Steve

When do you let them fall?

I never knew that someone can be reckless and tentative at the same time until I met my daughter.

She crawls now, awkwardly. She cruises on our furniture, though she will only pull up if she’s climbing on me. She progresses so cautiously, like she’s rock climbing. It’s like you can see her brain planning the next move -- I’ll lift my leg now, and then I will lift my hand and put it right there and so on and so on.

But sometimes she’s just crazy and I fear for her life.

When I am carrying her and she sees something she wants, she will try to leap out of my arms with no regard for her own safety. Or if she’s standing up, holding onto the couch, sometimes she just lets go. And lately, while I put her on the bed while I get dressed, she seems to think it’s a fun game to crawl to the edge of the bed and peer over. I can’t decide if she just assumes I will catch her, thus preventing the possibility of pain, or if she just doesn’t comprehend the potential consequences.

A session of baby play last week makes me think she views me as both her personal safety net and locomotion assistance machine. She was holding onto the coffee table and noticed one of the tv remotes. It’s small and silver, and she loves to put it in her mouth. She gets really excited about this remote. It’s a symbol of power in the house, I suppose, and she probably thinks it’s magic. Anyway, I decided to experiment by putting it out of her reach in such a way that she would have to maneuver around the corner of the coffee table to get it. I was spotting her, of course, just waiting for her to lose her balance as she tried to get to the remote. Instead, she noticed my hand, grabbed it, and let go of the table to get around the corner. Once she was clear, she let go of my hand, reconnected with the coffee table and lunged for the remote.

She got it. And just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, I set up the experiment again. Same results.

It’s an odd position to be in. Sometimes, I feel like she won’t ever try anything new unless I push her. But how does she learn consequences? I can’t just let her fall -- not yet. She’s not coordinated enough to keep from hurting herself. But how will she ever learn to do things on her own?

Part of me is happy that my daughter feels so secure that she just assumes I’ll always be there. It makes me feel necessary in a way I’ve never felt before. But how do you teach your kids resilience? How do they learn to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and try again?

When do you let them fall? How often do you let them fail? Is it too early to even worry about this?

Those who read this blog and others who know me might say I have been known to worry a little too much.

I obsess over my daughter’s naps, her development, her weight (she’s on the skinny side for a baby), her health (she has her first ear infection right now), her lack of teeth and hair, and just about anything else you could possibly worry about when it comes to a perfectly healthy, happy child. During Spring Break, for example, we were staying at my wife’s parents’ house. Eleanor was sleeping peacefully in a crib in a different room than our own. But before I could go to sleep, I just had to go in her room and check to make sure she was breathing. Seriously? I hadn’t done that since she was about three months old. I thought I was past that level of ridiculous, irrational fear!

Well, as I figure this out, I’ll keep spotting my daughter in her quest for independence. For now, I’ll catch her as many times as she needs me, but I’ll try not to get in her way. Maybe she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

P.S. I wrote the first draft of this post on Thursday of last week. In the intervening days, she has learned to go around corners by herself and pull up on some low level furniture. She even crawls up and down the two stairsteps in our house, and she has started to walk a little bit only holding one of my hands. I am in awe of her new skills, and I am having a hard time processing the speed of change. Now, if she could progress like this and still take her normal naps (absent the last three days), that would be great :)

The duality of it all.

(Guest post from Tara Lindburg)

So let me start off with it...my greatest challenge. My greatest challenge is to be able to do it all, knowing it isn’t possible. When I write the word “all,” I mean the duality of being a full-time working parent.

I love how a superhero can move in and out of their life and their persona with such ease. Diana Prince is able to turn in circles and become Wonder Woman. I spin in circles at times, hoping that it will turn me into Wonder Woman and make the challenge of “trying to do it all” easier...I just keep getting dizzy. I want to be able to switch between being a working adult and being a parent. It is so different in my world.

Before I became a parent, I had high expectations that being a full-time working parent was going to be easy...totally fine. I would drop my child off at daycare, the one I picked for the amazing-ness it had, and go to the career that I loved and felt fulfilled by. The best laid plans, as they say.

The kink in my plan came when I met my child.

I doubt my experience is as unique as I would like to think it is. But, when I met my baby for the first time...I was forever changed. (Meeting my second baby for the first time...still had that “forever not the same thing” going on.) I gained a new title...Momma. Not as impressive as CEO or President, but still pretty cool, right?

I have been doing this full-time working parent gig now for almost five years. The challenge lies in the duality of it all. Early on I lived with guilt that I was missing out on some milestone. What if she crawls while I’m at work? What if he says his first word to someone else? I hated that guilt and worry. I have chosen to believe, and maybe this is my denial of reality, that my kids did all their milestones in front of me and their daddy first. I have the baby books to prove it.

I also worried what others would think of me working and I let what some said defeat me and guilt me. “Are you upset that you are letting someone else raise your child?” “Do you feel like a part-time parent?” My early years of guilt for every moment spent working and not with my child has passed into periodic moments of guilt when my kid is sick and I can’t take that sick day due to my work schedule or when what is needed is for my child to sleep in but that is not in the schedule -- I can’t be late. That guilt I am still working to overcome.

There have been days, after the kids are down for bedtime, that I am in tears sitting on the couch because I have not “done it all” nor have I “done it at all well.”

I am not always as nice to my kids as I desire to be. Sometimes, my kids move at the pace of snails and refuse to cooperate in the morning. She doesn’t want to wear that shirt because she doesn’t want to look like a baby. She can’t find the shoes she wants to wear, not the pink ones, the Hello Kitty ones. He can’t find Iron Man and once he finds Iron Man he needs his name on it because they have to have their names on their stuff to take it to preschool. Pack the backpacks, fill the water bottles, break up a fight over the water bottles, and pack the car. “Let’s go we are going to be late!” She has to go potty and he needs to be changed. Finally to the car and she forgot her backpack in the house. He is angry to be buckled. She is having trouble buckling and is now crying in frustration. I may just join her. Driving to school, disagreement because she is looking out his window, mediation. I sigh as we walk into preschool. I feel like I have already had “a day” and we just got here.

Before all you read is me “crying in my beer”... I have, I hope, in the last five years, figured a few things out. A community of people, grace and forgiveness are staples to the life of a working parent.

A community of people. My kids are better for the community they are a part of. Their community includes my husband and me, as well as extended family and friends. Their community also includes my work community. Early on, one friend took care of my daughter after I came back after maternity leave and brought her to school every day at lunch for me to feed and spend time with her. I have had more than one family pass on clothes their kids have outgrown (it is nice stuff.) Just the other day, I had a mom I know stand at my car with both my kids buckled and let me run back inside to grab something I left in my classroom. Her response when I asked her for help: “Go, I’ve been there. They’ll be fine. I’ll sit in the car with them.” That mom saved me 20-30 minutes of getting my kids out of the car, walking into the building and walking back to the car and buckling.

My kids interact daily with adults that love and care for them. I am a teacher at a school that has a staff preschool. My kids are in preschool with other staff kids. Their classroom is across the hall from my classroom. I am able to stop by and see my kids once or twice a day just for hugs. My kids are thriving in preschool. My daughter is so well prepared for Kindergarten next year.

A community of people loving and caring for my kids.

Grace & Forgiveness. At times I think my kids must think, “Momma is difficult.” I know I have times I think my kids are difficult. I have to give myself grace when I am difficult with my children because I work. And grace and forgiveness for my kids, knowing they don’t understand this whole working parent thing. To them, I am just Momma. I also have to ask for forgiveness from my kids, when I am not quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry (James 1:19) because I am “trying to do it all.”

So, my greatest challenge still remains in the duality of it all. Before you read this and say, “what a downer,” please know that even though it will continue to be overwhelming at times, I will survive. The great moments with my kids are worth it all. My encouragement in the duality of it is please find a community or be part of a community for someone else. Also, let grace and forgiveness freely flow in your house, in your car and in your relationships.

Tara Lindburg is a teacher at Academy Charter School.  She shares her house with her great husband Chad, her two amazing kids, Annika and Soren, and 3, (yes 3) greyhounds.

“Are you having a fun day with Daddy?”

If I leave the house with my 10-month-old daughter during the day, and I go somewhere in public with her, someone will ask her this question. On behalf of my pre-verbal child, I mumble a platitude in response (I’m not a very outgoing, social person), and my daughter beams her billion-dollar smile and then she waves bye-bye and we continue with our day.

These people mean well, even if they don’t realize the assumptions they’re making. Even the people who seem to be judging the way I’m handling what they think are my baby-sitting-for-a-day duties mostly mean well...Because that’s what a lot of people seem to think I’m doing. They think the time I’m spending with my daughter is an aberration. Surely, she normally must spend all day with Mommy or with her nanny or in her daycare.

Even in Denver, which is a pretty progressive town, gendered roles still fuel people’s expectations of the scene they think they’re witnessing: The harried, uncomfortable dad, lugging a bucket carseat perched on his hip with a cool, ungirly diaper bag slung over his shoulder walks into a coffee shop, or a grocery store, to take care of an errand that Mommy didn’t have time for. Or, if we’re in a restaurant, it must be a special Daddy-Daughter Day. Maybe I’m giving Mommy a break for the day, because she’s must be the one who does most of the parenting work. I, like all men, just show up to help sometimes.

If you think I’m exaggerating, watch this Wells Fargo ad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87y6d3SwX_I

This ad seems to pass for progressive, but it’s seriously called, “Dad’s Day Out with Baby.” And it just has to include a scene where he goes to a breastfeeding mommies club and feels uncomfortable. That doesn’t even make any sense. Why would he even be there?

Do I sound bitter? I’m not, really. I am just still baffled by how much baggage we bring to social interactions. No one would ever make those assumptions about my wife. I also would like to get through a day where I don’t have to decide if I am just going to let the comment go or to say something that corrects the perception. If I say something, I sound sanctimonious and snotty and I make someone feel bad, or at the very least uncomfortable. If I don’t say anything, then I am reinforcing this perception in our culture that men can’t be primary caregivers for their children.

I don’t want to be an exception to the rule, because I don’t do what I do for a living because I’m trying to make a political point. I do what I do because it made the most sense for my family. One of us (my wife) makes enough money that one of us (me) can stay home and take care of our daughter. If I was the one that made more money, my wife would be home. If neither one of us made enough money to do this, our daughter would be in daycare. Gender and sex got nothin’ to do with it.

What’s more, the traditional roles don’t even apply to our society in as large a way as people think. According to an article in the New York Times, “In 2011, only 16 percent of American households contained a breadwinner husband and a stay-at-home wife, according to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics.”

To throw out another statistic: In the last decade, the number of stay-at-home dads more than doubled, to 176,000...By the way, did you happen to check out the headline of the article I just linked to?

“Mr. Mom Era: Stay-at-home dads doubled over last decade.” #eyeroll

I want to be clear: I’m not writing this post because I’m upset about my lot in life. I love what I do. I am around for every milestone and I am building a bond with my daughter that will last a lifetime. That’s not to say that other moms and dads who work don’t get those opportunities; most of my friends are working parents, and their kids are awesome and they love their parents.

But the next time you see a man out and about, with a baby, alone, don’t jump to conclusions. Treat him like you would a mom with a baby. That’s all I’m asking for.

A parent's first Easter

Sorry for the dearth in posts, folks. Katie, Eleanor, and I spent a lovely Spring Break with my wife’s family in Charleston. We had a great time, but traveling with a 9-1/2 month old is an exhausting process, which, combined with the great food and great company, meant that I had little time for writing.

Also, in an attempt to supplement our income (to pay for the coming-soon music lessons, swim lessons, etc.), I have begun putting out feelers for freelance writing/editing work. That means I’m putting together resumes, writing sample passages for prospective companies, and generally trying to pull my professional self together. More posts are coming soon.

In the meantime: Churchgoing with infants? Discuss.

Eleanor’s first Easter was hard. Our beloved daughter looked gorgeous in her first Easter dress, and I wore a suit for the first time in six months. Katie looked beautiful in a blue dress of her own. We even brought a camera to church so we could take some fancy Easter family pictures.

Eleanor didn’t last five minutes into the service before she started crying/whining. I still don’t know what happened, but we didn’t even bother socializing with friends after the service was over. We scooped the kid into our arms, threw her into her car seat and drove home, during which time she promptly fell asleep for an hour and a half. We guess she was tired?

Going to church with a baby seems to get harder the older she gets. She can’t sit still. She wants to stand, sit, creep, crawl, walk, cry, be carried, socialize -- all at once. Sometimes, the music is too loud for her, or she can’t keep quiet during the Pastor’s sermon. And it’s not like we can silence her. She’s pretty advanced socially (she even has a social laugh, which she pulls out when other people are laughing but she doesn’t know what they’re laughing about -- it’s incredible), but she doesn’t really understand social graces and proper church behavior. So, Katie and I take turns leaving the sanctuary to change a diaper or to let her run around in the lobby and investigate the plants scattered around the church.

I’m hoping this gets easier again, soon, but I have my doubts. I love our church, and I love going to the service, but sometimes it feels like it’s really hard to get something out of the experience.

My wife had a great conversation with her mom on the phone after our difficult morning:

“Mom, I honestly have no idea what the Easter sermon was about,” my wife said. “Something about hope?”

“Umm...maybe it was about, ‘Christ is risen?’” joked my mother-in-law.

Kidding aside, the point is well taken. We don’t always get everything we want to out of the “church experience.” Sometimes we’re distracted. Or we have to leave because our kids are having meltdowns. But we still go, and sometimes, that’s enough.

Why?

We go because it doesn’t matter if we’re always paying attention to every detail about the sermon. We are in the Lord’s house, and that’s what matters. We go because this is our community. We go because we are surrounded by people who love us and love our daughter, even when she’s going crazy. We go because we follow Jesus. We go because there’s always a part of the service we can cling to, whether it’s a hymn or the Lord’s Prayer or the bits and pieces of the sermon we can focus on.

I want my daughter to grow up in this church community. An interesting point: Katie took Eleanor up for the Children’s Message, which featured a clever take on The Very Hungry Caterpillar. She was rapt with attention. She might have gotten more out of that message than we did for the whole service.

By the way, we did get those fancy Easter family photos. I took them. In our house. With the timer on the camera. After Eleanor’s nap.

And you know what? They turned out pretty good.

When God is Silent

These words were discovered on a wall in the German concentration camp, “I believe in the sun even when it’s not shining.  I believe in love even when I can’t feel it.  I believe in God even when God is silent.”

We have journeyed through six weeks of Lent.  Six weeks of remembering what it must have been like for Jesus, God’s son, to know he would die for the sins of all mankind.  At our church, we have been preaching Jesus’ seven last words (really phrases.)  In these phrases, we have looked for what lessons Jesus’ words teach.  He teaches we are to forgive, accept the grace that God offers, take care of our family – neighbors – church family, pray even when we feel forsaken, reach for Jesus and his love so we will thirst no more, know that through Jesus’ death he saved us and commit our souls to God each day – put our lives in his hands.

This is the crux of our faith.  This is where the rubber meets the road.  Jesus was born, lived and died for us – so that our sins would be forgiven and we would live eternally with God.  It’s a little overwhelming to think about.  How God loved us so much that he sacrificed his son in order to save us.  It’s also overwhelming to think about all the lessons Jesus taught us while he was walking on this earth.  He taught of love, forgiveness, sharing and caring.  It’s nice to think about that Jesus and the “teeny, tiny, baby, Jesus”, but what about the cross?  What about all that Jesus taught then?  What does that mean for us now?

As parents or those wanting to be, Jesus’ death is excruciating.  #1 – how does a parent sacrifice his child for others?  I suppose military parents deal with this question more than we would like to admit.  #2 – how does Jesus cry out to his parent while he’s dying and hear nothing?  Many times we cry out to God in the midst of fertility issues, heartbreaking miscarriages or stillborn births, sicknesses of our infants, struggles with our children, struggles with finances, marital relationships, work, etc, etc, etc.  We cry out or maybe we don’t cry out, because we think no one’s listening or no one cares.

Jesus cried out and prayed the Psalms.  He prayed Psalm 22 and Psalm 31.           Psalm 22 says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?  Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?  O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest. YET you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.  In you our ancestors trusted; they trusted and you delivered them.  To you they cried, and were saved; in you they trusted and were not put to shame.” 

Psalm 31 says, “In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in our righteousness deliver me.  Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.  You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge.  Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.”

We can cry out too.  We can pray even when God is silent!  We can seek God’s refuge in the time of terrible storm.  Through Jesus’ unspeakable pain and death, he calls out and so can we through our grief. 

Remember, there is resurrection.  After Good Friday – the pain and the death, there is indeed resurrection.  The resurrection and new life may not be exactly what you prayed for, BUT there will be a resurrection and new life in yours. 

Lauren Boyd
Director of Programming and Membership at PHUMC
Partner to Candi and Mother to Miller who is 5

How I learned to stop worrying and love storytime

(Eleanor’s here today, Eleanor’s here today! We’re all so glad that Eleanor’s here, let’s all shout Hooray!)

The first time I went to a library storytime, Eleanor was three months old.

It was terrifying.

We sang six songs and read three books in 20 minutes. We sat in a circle in the children’s library in the downtown Central Branch of the Denver Public Library. We sang a song to welcome each child to the group. We waved scarves while playing with egg shakers and bouncing our children and clapping their hands and stomping their feet. And after it was all over, the man leading the group unlocked a cabinet where several tubs of plastic toys were stored and proceeded to dump the toys onto the floor. The older babies eagerly creeped, crawled and walked over to the toys. Eleanor stared at everyone and occasionally smiled. I held my breath and considered my exit.

I didn’t know we were going to have to sing songs, and I certainly didn’t know anyone would be focusing on me or my daughter. I enjoy attention, but on my terms. And my terms never include singing in public.

That first storytime may have been the most intimidating, overwhelming experience of my life. I’m not joking. I felt like my life was on fast forward and I had no control over the remote. Or, you could say, I felt like I was a step behind everyone else -- I was trying to learn the songs and sing them at the same time as trying to master the motions and manage Eleanor, too.

(All around the cobbler's bench, the monkey chased the weasel...)

And through it all, I had a sinking feeling: if this was what I was supposed to be doing at home in terms of baby stimulation, I was failing badly. (This sinking feeling recurs repeatedly, no matter how many months pass in my life as a dad).

Eleanor was the youngest baby there by a few months. After the chaos was over I understood why. Not for Eleanor’s sake -- she seemed to enjoy it -- but for mine. I was exhausted (and, truthfully, so was Eleanor -- she fell asleep before we even left the children’s section of the library).

I clearly wasn’t ready for parental socialization. Because that’s what it is when you have really young babies. In a way, much of what you do as a parent in public, at first, is try to connect with other parents, because they know what you’re feeling and they’re just as scared as you are. That’s a comforting feeling when you have no idea what you’re doing.

I felt awkward bringing such a young baby, but I was determined to make this stay-at-home dad thing work, and to do so I needed activities, structures that gave me something to do and look forward to.

(The noble Duke of York, he had 10,000 men, he marched them up to the top of the hill and he marched them down again!)

Back then (six months equals two-thirds of Eleanor’s life, so I reserve the right to use such a qualifier), I had a calendar and everything: Mondays we went to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, Tuesdays it was storytime, Wednesdays were for walks, Thursdays were for the Zoo, and Fridays meant that it was time for the Meetup playgroup.

That schedule lasted for about two weeks, because, well, I had a baby who has her own mind and wanted to do things at her own pace and in her own time. I couldn’t go to storytime if Eleanor was napping. I couldn’t make the playgroup if I was meeting my wife at work for Eleanor’s lunchtime feeding. I couldn’t go to the zoo if it was 15 degrees outside.

But this isn’t really a story about how scary library storytime is. It’s really about how much I love storytime and the Denver Public Library system.

(Zoom, Zoom, Zoom! We’re going to the moon! Zoom, Zoom, Zoom, we’ll get there very soon!)

It took a couple more months of adjustment (Eleanor's and mine), particularly in the nap department, but now storytime is an essential part of my life and my daughter’s life. We both look forward to it. So much so, that I am pretty sure that my daughter’s first word (aside from her indiscriminate use of “mama” and “dada”) is “library.” She usually says this word -- or something approximating it -- on Mondays. It’s like she’s anticipating the Tuesday adventure we go on every week.

Nine times out of ten, I’m the only man there, aside from Mr. Chufo, the kindhearted, bilingual, guitar-playing leader of storytime. Oddly enough, it’s also one of the only places where I am in the stay-at-home dad role but no-one seems to find it “odd,” or “different,” or “great” that I am taking care of my daughter while my wife works. At storytime, we’re all just parents, trying to do the best for our children and to reach out in solidarity.

Now, I feel like an old pro at storytime. I see new parents in the circle every once in awhile, and I understand how they feel. Eleanor’s practically a veteran, too, and she loves it. She has a smile on her face the whole time, whether she has napped well that morning or not. She likes interacting with the other 6- to 9-month-olds -- she even steals their toys...I remember when she was younger and the tables were turned.

The library is a glorious place, and it feels like a second home to me as a stay-at-home parent. There are no words for how much I appreciate having a (free) place to take Eleanor where she can be safe, stimulated and happy interacting with other babies. And before storytime starts, I love trawling through the stacks, looking for cool books I can read to her at home and for books that will satisfy my own intellectual curiosity.

Every week, I look forward to Tuesday. I’m ready, now. Singing six songs and reading three books in half an hour? No problem.

(I’m a book baby, book baby, I love to read! Read at the library!)