sarah's motherhood tips

 

Mothering advice: 

 ~ Once, when my girls were 5 months and 18 months old (and, needless to say, I was barely keeping my head above water) my mom told me simply: “Raising a child is like digging the Grand Canyon.” Those words sank deep that day, and they’ve echoed in my heart ever since. The Grand Canyon— so vast and such a wonder— felt like a very apt analogy indeed. One shovelful at a time. One push on the swing, story told, dinner served, worry calmed at a time. (Keeping the Grand Canyon in mind helps when both overwhelm and/or monotony set in.)

~ Kids aren’t programmed to hurry; developmentally speaking, they have limited understanding/capacity for rushing. Honoring this reality helps quell my frustration when they don’t keep up with me. I remind myself “My kid isn’t dawdling, they’re just taking things at a kid’s pace.” (This can feel painfully slow compared to our adult rhythms, but it’s not their fault). For people always running late (ahem, yours truly) it’s helpful to reframe and instead of trying to change my child’s behavior — “hurry up!” — I try to change my own (ie start getting ready 15 minutes sooner than I think I need to). 

~ Wash hands a ton. Every time you come home from an outing: School, the park, church, the grocery store; plus after going to the bathroom. It’s tedious to hoist a little one to the sink, but if you start young they will develop the habit and do it themselves from a young age. 

~ My sister changed my life when she said in a casual conversation, “well, raising your kids is your number one job.” She was saying it to help me not worry about dropping the ball on one of my other responsibilities, but it struck me as a fundamental truth and it has shaped my priorities, attitude, and behavior ever since. I worry less about how much we’re getting done and more about how well I am mothering them through the task at hand. Getting the dishwasher emptied isn’t the priority, helping my child develop work ethic (and maintaining a peaceful relationship with her in the process) is. Again, I think about this quote every. single. day. and it shapes my parenting in a major way. 

~Read!!!!!!!!!!!!! Read read read read read to your kids. Don't worry about getting them to learn how to read, just focus on cultivating their love of reading with stories of all kinds. There are books and blogs and podcasts bursting with reasons why reading is so massively valuable and nourishing, so I won't get into it here. Just do it! (Also, the public library system is one of America's top 10 best features, don't sleep on it!) 

~One of THE BEST, most succinct pieces of parenting advice that I apply literally every day is, again, from my mom. “Parenting is the art of distraction.” So much of dealing with tough emotions (fear, disappointment, anger, physical pain, etc) can be handled swiftly and effectively by redirecting their attention to something that makes the happy, curious, excited, and/ or soothed. (Tip: Preemptively distracting away from things that will lead to meltdowns is just as good if not better than distraction as a remedy!)

the children in this house

in this house there are children i don't know

i spend endless afternoons

between half-unpacked bags of groceries

and paused bluey episodes

mastering you

studying and squeezing and memorizing you

and then you wake up

new

who?

you mick
you graduated from the swaddle, you want your arms free

quietly left newbornhood, rolled over, smiled at me, not sorry for getting big 

my brilliant bubble of a boy, a rainbow, a sudsy mouth with a bursty laugh

but i'll keep putting you to bed in here by me

and you lucy 

you draw peace signs on everything, sign every picture "L.S.S."

you never run, always totter

a mysterious blonde wisp, accessorized like phoebe from friends

can you teach me to sew mama? can i do gymnastics class mama?

but you know fairies are real

and you eleanor

eleanor PI, open for business

interested, interesting

bollypop, bossypants

the latest career consideration: public defender, what could be better for you?

getting the hang of the layers beneath a wink

but you still want to hold hands on the couch

and you charlie

grandmom taught you the word "relentless" 

you stand your ground like the family prizefighter

"wow mom you look beautifuller than ever in that shirt!"

batting left, fielding right

a speckle of freckles

but your cheeks and lips are still puffy with pre-covid baby fat

three and a half years in this house

hiding, seeking, sleeping, fighting, righting, calming, 

bathing, losing, finding, wondering, thundering, stumbling, 

sailing, praying, staying

children

forever 

in this house

im sorry my son

10:16 pm
1/30/23

Today was the first day
That I didn’t nurse you

It will haunt me for a long time
That I gave up – right? I did, didn’t I?

If I had just tried harder
Sacrificed a little more
Slept less
Pumped more
Hydrated
Meditated
Maybe it would have been enough

I hate whatever part of me said “it’s too hard”
I’m embarrassed
I’m sorry
I’m so sorry
For robbing the poor to feed to rich

But my son I promise
To give you every drop of
myself
I’ll mix it in with each scoop of formula
I know it’s not as good but
I know what I can’t do
Breastfeeding is an alchemy that might as well be
Trigonometry
no matter how hard I try
I still —

I’m sorry

I’ll always wish I could have kept going
I’m haunted by my reasons for stopping
Maybe they aren’t good enough

But I hope I
will be


I have cried so many tears and I will cry liters more as those sacred days of feeding you fade farther and farther out of our life. The aching is overwhelming, it feels like being stuck in the ocean and not being confident enough to swim back in, but also being too tired to stay out in the water. My whole body is crying, this kind of heartbreak is worse than any cheating boyfriend, because it’s you my son

3:17 am, as i nurse // jan 7, 2023

 Lit by one watt 

I try to archive your profile 

And make an extra copy for safekeeping somewhere in my brain 

The middle-of-the-night you, the tiny velvet person that no one else knows but me 

A hungry little fellow

Tiny and tired

Unbelievably soft and warm against the shelf of baby weight on my abdomen 

my baby

My baby 

My Baby 

I wish I could drink you down or fold you up and keep you forever

Please Lord, let me keep an eight pound version of this little tiny person 

if I promise to bake birthday cakes and buy school shoes and practice driving

Could You let me keep this 16 day old baby 

For just a little longer?

Your tiny heaviness 

Tucked under my chin 

Stubborn burp refusing to bubble up before i lay you back down 

Oh what I would give if I could bottle this 

I’d put it in a snow globe 

And take it down from the shelf whenever I needed a sprinkle of this sparkly dark exhausting sacred season 

so warm 

And wondrous

And wiggly

And helpless 

And shiny

And tiny 

you are 

all the other kids

monday morning

halloween parade at the elementary school

charlie and i made our way up the street to the side gate where the kids, teachers, administrators, and parents were assembled for the costume parade. 

it was open. 

halloween: a day that is 100% about fun, childhood, and making memories. and all i could think about as i entered the campus was that anyone could walk through the gate and shoot at us. 

i didn't rush or panic, but the thought entered my head and stayed there throughout the procession. i spotted eleanor first and calmly thought, "there are too many people between us for me to protect her if a shooter came in through the west gate. but at least i know where she is." i was able to catch her eye and wave so she'd know i was there. she was thrilled i'd made it as i promised. i couldn't see lucy; as it turned out, her class was just a few feet away from me to my right and invisible from where i stood among the many parent spectators. i watched her excitedly (and bashfully) circle the track with her class, scanning every adult in the crowd, looking for her mom. when she finally found my face, hers lit up. my mom is here. she came to see me in my dragon costume in the parade.  

for a few seconds, i forgot about the shooter. it was just me and Lu there, elated we found each other. every sparkle of hope within both of us – that the other would be there, that we'd find each other – washed over me. 

then she returned to her class spot and i made a mental note that she was nearby. in my head i let the scene unfold: the sound of a gun, pandemonium, my immediate instinct to get as close to the girls as possible, throwing my body over theirs, and ordering them to play dead. charlie was already in my arms so i wouldn't have to worry about him getting lost in the chaos. beyond stationing myself as close to them as i could, i had no real plan. it occurs to me that the school didn't either. and why should we? is it our job to metabolize our trauma and develop a system of defense from an enemy that we are desperately trying not to go to war with?

strangely, as charlie and i left the school, i felt completely calm, which makes little sense. but then what about the american culture of school shootings does? i guess there's no more appropriate time for me to have had this silent nightmare than the holiday we've collectively dedicated to celebrating the frightening, the fearsome, the gory. 

31 weeks// tumble dry low

some days i feel completely calm, confident, cucumberlike

like today. 

mostly chill, not feeling especially freakouty at all really

and 

t h e n

it's 11:01 pm

nate's asleep beside me

i 

find myself

watching birth videos

a nagging tumbling feeling 

like i'm in the dryer

spiraling 

imagining

envisioning 

all that could go wrong

my imagination's worst case scenario elbowing itself to the top of my mind

every kick and wiggle

half reassurance, half terrifying

is he upside down?

did he just tangle himself in his cord?

how are we going to make it another ten weeks? or twelve?

how am i ever going to deliver this baby?

what if something happens?

what if we have a cord accident?

i'm not okay

i can't do this

i can't go on

i'm too scared

i'm too scared

i'm too scared

please God

what do i do i'm just so scared

i can't survive that

my heart feels like it's going to push itself out of my throat

God please, please 

i'm going to drown in this fear

i am so terrified

it feels like a nightmare but i'm awake, it's 11:19 and i'm typing a blog draft

and it feels like i'm 

actually

living the worst possible moment 

how do i stop how do i stop i'm so scared God how do i stop

and in my mind's eye

mom and dad's dining room

the wall

the small drawing 

black ink old paper

the angel beside Christ in the garden

i feel my heart returning, burning, to its proper location in my chest

i need like 12 tums

someone opened the dryer door

i'm exhausted from the spiral

still scared but somehow no longer blinded by the fear

God, please, please, please let me raise this baby

bring me through these last few weeks

and then let me start the fresh batch of first year worries

latch and cradle cap and the pause

allergies and formula and growth curves

all i want is to be so tired i can't even see straight, 

holding my baby

breathing together

together

breathing

together

30 weeks today //

i look like i swallowed a soccer ball

can't walk more than a few steps without support belt

most shirts don't reach the bottom of the bump now

the kicks sometimes look and feel more like earthquakes

we all think it's a boy

i like my midwives

rita told me she went to columbia 

i'm going to labor at home until i'm 100% sure one of them is there

it's still a fight

to not hate my size

to step away from the temptation to criticize

belittle

blame

villainize

my own body

my body neutrality practice has been helping

i sit on the edge of the bed and remind myself:

my body is no better or worse than anyone else's

my body is doing exactly what it should be doing

i prayed for this 

please use me to do whatever You need done today

my body won't always feel or look like this

my body is my home

my body is my baby's home

where to find me // 11/4/21

I keep feeling this nagging to post a picture, post a story, put something out there. I can't tell if it's an unhealthy nag of millennial technology attachment, or if it's some type of subconscious brain insurance, imploring me to leave a trail of alexcrumbs for my babies to follow one day. 

Dad's wallpaper sample book might have something to do with this. The book, an enormous scrapbook obediently and neatly filled with his tidy elementary school assignments and progress reports, is a portal to a completely familiar yet wholly unknown person: Dad as a child. "John is chatty but obedient. Gifted reader." A C in tenth grade German. Cards from Mary Jane. Photos with Brian and Red and Jimmy.

The book was like a magnet drawing me to it anytime I set foot in the attic as a teenager. I never got sick of it. I still don't. As a kid I wanted to rip my favorite pieces from the book and put them up around my bedroom. Stick them to myself somehow. 

But then I worry. Dad didn't care about what he was putting in the wallpaper book, he simply did what his mother asked. There was no ego in it, no guile. It was a purely unselfish way of preserving pieces of himself. Is it even possible for me, a self-centered so-called artist, to duplicate such a masterpiece of personal history? Is there even a point to trying? 

Something within me has always called me to share, publish, create, talk about. My earliest memory of it is bringing my baby brother for show and tell in kindergarten. The most embarrassing example is when I monologued my entire life story – including major events of my parents' childhoods – to the nurse tending me as I came off of anesthesia post-wisdom teeth extraction at age 16. 

I'm no different today. As I write this, it occurs to me that I don't actually care if anyone ever follows the alexcrumb trail. I'll leave it anyway. 

Maybe I'm laying it to help me find my way back to my own self.

To my children, I hope you'll find me here. The version of your mom who wrote blog posts while you watched Daniel Tiger, collaged and curated after you were in bed, made photographs for my clients while Dad fed you dinner. The tired one, the one with bad body image and amazing friends. A person who wanted to teach you emotional intelligence, Christlike love, integrity. Who wished she made more money, had a bigger audience, kept the house more organized, knew how to get you three to stop being such picky eaters. 

I love you Eleanor Pie. I love you Lucy Cup. I love you Charlie Boy.

This is where I keep some of my favorite pieces of myself. And you, too. Look for us.

both of Us losing

the obgyn said to come back on the second day

so i drag myself to the office

no choice but to go now, in the space that fits between drop off and the first client call

nate and charlie stay with daniel tiger

numb driving there

numb sitting in there

numb checking which vein

the nurse determines the left arm is better

she counts out seven vials

ties off my arm

i tell her, "i might start crying"

a 21 gauge needle is apparently all it takes to break the dam

i start crying and can't stop

life drains out of my arm

eight mini test tubes' worth

back in the car

i cry for my Mother

Mother, do You know what this feels like?

a thought comes, I wonder if it's Her –

"every time it happens to you, it happens to Me.

I'm sad too

I'm sad too"

eleanor is seven /// 06/03/2021

Eleanor is a 

lightning bolt 
a sunflower 

a pearl

a honeybee

my personal trainer

who makes me

so strong 

i could lift a car off of her

sometimes i don't want a work out and i hate it

but i'm always thankful i did

my tiny adult

a feminist, an advocate

so responsible that she

doesn't need a reminder

to grab her dance bag before we leave

but so full of feelings

that sometimes she just has to scream

and i get it

where can a girl put all that ambition?

 

eleanor's imagination is galactic

she's a technicolor believer with

faith greater than the seven seas 

she is my dream job and

my toughest boss

my best teacher

and hardest class

i pray i'll never forget 

her beauty

her tiny intensity

like a blade of grass carved from stone

though i know i'll always remember that

an Eleanor never forgets

The 2021 Mother's Day Gift Guide

As I've become a mother, I've extended my celebration of Mother's Day from only my own mom to the women who love me in ways that make me a better mother myself. Including but not limited to, my grandmothers, in-laws, and incredible friends from the six cities I've lived in. 

If you have a hard time with Mother's Day, I feel for you. This gift guide was built with many kinds of moms and mother-types in mind. Including you, pal. Know that I'm celebrating alongside many of you and aching alongside others. It's a great time of year to treat yourself, too, by the way :)

Helpful hint: ask your mother/ mother person WHAT SHE WANTS. If she gives you a clear answer, stop reading.

Gifts you can't buy:

• A day at home alone to get all the random tasks done, uninterrupted
• A letter to her describing in great detail one of your happiest/funniest memories together
• An act of service, something she hates doing. For my mom, it would be making her "to return" pile disappear. Perhaps you could wash her windows, make her a meal plan, or organize her garage.

Service gifts:

• Scan a batch of especially important old photos. My archivist friend Whitney recommends the Epson FastFoto FF-680W. If your mom has negatives or slides, send them to theFINDlab and they'll email you .jpgs of all of them.
• Get her car detailed. Look for a local detail company that will come to her driveway if you want to keep it a surprise.
• Bake something homemade from an amazing cookbook (such as Dominique Ansel's or Cook's Illustrated Best Recipes). Deliver it on a pretty serving dish, along with the book. 

Under $100 gifts:

• A book featuring photos of her with people she loves
• A candle to say "you were right" 
• A soothing whole-flower tea gift set
• A flowery MOM dish towel and/ or matching mug! 
• A crazy straw that spells her name
• A pass to the national parks 
• Some really freaking good chocolate
• An unkillable and delightfully growth-prone pothos plant
• The most divine citrus+floral hand soap (also available as a bar) 

Splurge gifts/ group gifts:

• The only digital camera she'll ever need, the Fuji X100V (I know, I know – who am I, recommending a digital camera... but even this film snob wants one for herself)
• A course from Jennifer Finlayson-Fife on discovering her divine feminine 
• A birth flower necklace, to remind her of her own mother
• The most comfortable robe in the world (get a size smaller than she normally wears)

If you want to give her flowers: 

• Consider ordering from a local florist, but don't put this one off! Order as soon as your local florist opens Mother's Day orders. To find a local florist, start with hashtags on Instagram, such as #losangelesflorist or #utahcountyflorist. 
• Grace Rose Farm roses are the perfect no-brainer bouquet. Pretty packaging, incredible quality. 
• A unique take on the flowers this year: bare root roses she can enjoy year after year
• For in person celebrating, DIY an arrangement with Trader Joe's flowers in this glass vase or a unique textured vase 

And don't forget the card!

• A sweet, simple wreath. 
• How to celebrate solo. 
• For the mom who wants a nap. 
• For the mom who always answers the phone. 
• Just, I love you. 
• A show-stopping pop-up card.
• And of course a handmade card is the best card of all.

miscarrying: what i've learned so far 3/19/21

i had my fourth miscarriage 18 days ago. i am not ready to talk about it. but here i go.

again 3/2/21

i called the midwife to cancel my 8 week visit but i couldn't even bring myself to tell them why
they didn't ask

i wonder if they get calls like this a lot, people miscarrying and too sad to say so

it's the same as before
realizing it's happening
begging God, please, no no no no, please please please not this time
but there's nothing i can do and i know it

panic and begging
it's the lowest feeling
the powerlessness 
heartbreak
bargaining, pleading
just please please please 
please let this be a bad dream
it has to be a bad dream

and then i feel like a fool

i should have known it was too good to be true. perfect due date, perfect timing

i already downloaded my pregnancy tracker app and moved my fertility app to my last screen ("won't need this anymore!")

i even thought about buying a baby blanket yesterday that reminded me of my laura ashley bedspread i had when i was a little girl

kacey musgraves song "silver lining" keeps repeating in my head
lemonade keeps turning into lemons
and you wear your heart on a ripped unraveled sleeve
been rung through the ringer and pushed up to your limit
you say you're just unlucky, but luck ain't what you need

it's 2017 again and i'm on the floor in the bathroom at 4908 W 77th St

with that feeling

where i can't form words and it feels like my stomach is in a blender

and i'm falling apart

literally

prayer of a february mother 2/9/21

Lord, help me be a little softer and warmer, turn me back into the cozy home I used to be a million and forty weeks ago. Help me to make a joke instead of a lecture, help me know when to call the doctor or decide She’s Probably Fine. Help me find the words for the email to the superintendent and for the explanation of slavery and for the 99th verse of Down by the Bay. Help my hair to stop falling out, please, Lord. Help me model self-love and confidence and faith and strength and courage. But mostly help me to just be kind to them the whole day without stopping. They deserve nothing less

An old ache

A familiar sickening feeling is back. I want to have a baby; I know I cannot. 

My ovaries beg me, please, please, isn't it time yet? We're ready. Are you ready? No. The world is not ready, and so our readiness does not matter.

It is not time. Not until the confusion has dissipated. Pregnancy and newborn life is mystifying enough as it is – I cannot begin that sacred chapter more confused by my surroundings than I was in intro to statistics. 

It is not time. But every day, Charlie learns a new word. 

It is not time. Every day, Charlie becomes less of a baby.

It is not time. Every day, the space between my children carelessly stretches wider. Quietly, unflinchingly.

It is not time. But I can feel someone small waiting for me not far away. I don't know her name (his?), I don't know her face or her weight, but every night I lay on my side and I'm pregnant again. She kicks against the balloon of my abdomen, in that one spot where they all kicked me, even though it's shrunken into the wrinkled hills of skin now.

I can almost hear her whispering, when will it be my turn, Mama? I miss you. 

I miss you, my baby. We will wait.

My mother

In consideration of Mother's Day this weekend, I interviewed Mom. I told her it was just for the newsletter – neither of us was all that prepared. I asked her random questions I thought might make good reading material for my subscribers.  We ended up talking for an hour.

A bit of context: my mom chose a career as an unpaid careworker when she had her first baby at 21. When I would ask for cash in high school, she would sometimes say with a smile, "Go ask your dad. I haven't gotten a paycheck since 1989."

She built and raised seven people with zero complaints. She is the most practical person walking around on this planet. (The woman does not own wrapping paper, "Why would I spend all that time wrapping something when the paper will just get thrown away? Save the trees." Birthday gifts were pulled, eyes closed, no peeking, from a bag one at a time. And relished just the same.)

I firmly believe Mom is the most beautiful woman in the world. She'll do puzzles and play-doh but not make-believe. She read out loud to us ages 0-18. She cuts everyone's hair.  She can sleep anywhere. She hates parties but loves having everyone over. She has never asked for credit for anything, except her fantastic costume collection. She was homecoming queen. She lives for practical jokes. She's never met a legume she didn't like. She saved my baby clothes and brought them to me when my babies were born. Efficiency is her boss. Prayer and scripture are her instruction manual. Sunscreen is her ritual. Reading is her dessert. Dessert is also her dessert. She is fearless and kind and unforgettable and magical. This is my mother.

Kids books for the quarantine 3/17/20

I gotta say, I've never appreciated the internet more than during a quarantine. Thumbs up for internet. Thank you internet.

On my instagram stories I asked for book recommendations to include in my weekly newsletter and was *flooded* with replies. I figured they deserved a spot here on the blog. I sort of organized them.

Books I have read with young children and recommend for quarantines 

Quick as a Cricket (and anything by Don and Audrey Wood)
The Wonderful Things You Will Be (and anything by Emily Winfield Martin)
A Boy, a Dog, and a Frog (and anything by Mercer Mayer)
Fantastic Mr. Fox (and anything by Roald Dahl)
The Very Quiet Cricket (and anything by Eric Carle)
Where the Sidewalk Ends (and anything by Shel Silverstein)
The Whingdingdilly (and anything by Bill Peet)
Whistle for Willy (and anything by Ezra Jack Keats)
What Do People Do All Day? (and anything by Richard Scarry)
Flora and the Flamingo (and anything by Molly Idle)
Animals (this one)
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Where the Wild Things Are
Make Way for Ducklings
I Heart You
Du Iz Tak?
Extra Yarn
Circle
Frog and Toad
I Like Me
The Oldest Student
The Seven Silly Eaters
The Lion and the Mouse
I Want My Hat Back
The Day the Crayons Quit


I know I have more but that's the best I could do at the end of Day One of homeschool kindergarten.

No matter how small

I read in a magazine recently that we live in a world built for adults. At first I thought, um duh. Of course we do. This is The World. The article explained that as adults, we have built a world that we essentially invite children into, as guests. Start looking for it, especially if you're a parent. You'll notice. It's totally true and I am super over it.

Kids are only *allowed* into the adult world, as though we are doing them some great favor. Newsflash, we aren't. The world is theirs just as much as anyone else's. Naturally kids rely on adults to take care of the logistics of survival, and so grownups treat kids like we're giving them some gift, so. they're welcome. and don't yell in the grocery or we're not getting gum. But the logistics serve us, primarily. Ever wonder why there's so much baby gear for sale out there? It's because the world is designed for the success of adults and adults only. Babies, kids, and teenagers are an afterthought to the well-being and comfort of The World of Adults. Think I'm wrong? Listen to this one.

Having, holding 2/18/20

9:00pm ish

Tonight I was reading the heart rending instagram posts of a mom who lost her infant son right at the moment when my chubby Charlie woke up from the pain of his 15 month booster shots. I put my phone away and went to him. He sobbed for a while. Declined milk, stayed upset despite my snuggling, then after a few minutes eventually settled into my arms and fell into a light sleep as I hummed church hymns and rocked him in the chair I've held all my babies in. I felt his weight, all twenty six pounds, in my arms and lap. I smoothed his hair and patted his big belly and squishy arms. I zeroed in on his every detail – I couldn't help it. I wanted to drink him up. 

When I shifted my weight to move him to his crib, he whimpered. I could tell he was going to wake up and get upset if he couldn't stay in my arms. I brought him into the living room for a bear hug from his dad while I readied the ibuprofen. Sat on a kitchen stool while Nate administered it. Kissed his foot goodnight before Nate went and laid him back down. He's sleeping in his crib on the other side of the door next to my desk, probably only eight feet away. Feeling him, as well as his sisters, in my presence, safely in their beds, under covers, behind doors, enlivens and calms me simultaneously. 

Having babies. Holding them. I have long believed that I truly know what that having and holding means in my world and everything it encompasses, but nope. On the 467th day of his life my beautiful little boy tore it all down and taught me as if I was learning it for the first time. Oh Charlie how much I love you. I ache for the capacity to love you exactly as you are and thrill in imagining you as you'll soon become without the mild horror that accompanies each scroll back through the camera roll, full of photos of tiny you, a you that I loved so deeply and waited so long for. The you that I wanted to have and hold, and then I did have you and I did hold you. And now, you weigh twenty six pounds. You know when you want to be free, you know when you want to be held.