A Working Mother's Confession

How do working mothers do it?  Easy answer: we don't.  Most of us anyway.

We fail miserably at trying to do it all.  We cover up the shame of failing to be perfect on all fronts with  smiles and play dates in the park on weekends while we check our phones between pushes on the swings.  Our children are used to "breakfast dinners" because we did not get to the store this week.  Maybe that is just me but I doubt it.

Newsflash:  There is no such thing as work/life/balance.  It is a crock of crap with a side of whatever thrown in for fun.

Everyday I feel like I climb on a square piece of plywood balancing atop one of my kids' kickballs that was left in the hallway.  It is the same ball  I nearly broke my neck on when I got up at 6AM to answer the cry for "MOMMMMMY" in my sleep derived state of being. Once I climb atop the ball it is all about trying to achieve balance but there is not an equal distribution so its not a steady ride.

Get the kids dressed for school, breakfast eaten, make myself presentable, feed the dog, kiss the husband and deliver the kids to the people who will raise them for me for the next 8 hours.  The board has been tilted to the "Family" side until the moment I get back into my car without a child kicking the back of my car seat.  In that moment, the board tilts some to another side called "Work".  The Board will continue to tilt back and forth in the work connection long after I have left the work day.  That is just the way it is when you are building a business.  Same is true for "Family" when I take time in the day to schedule play dates and summer camps, talk to my parents or sister, or have a parent teacher conference.  At some point, my board will tip to "me" side when I do some online banking, call a friend or take two minutes to look online for some cute summer sandals.  In the silent moments, the tiny but meaningful moments that I make for myself to breathe and pray my balance turns to "Faith".

The different phases of our work days are not segmented, they flow together and allow for no rest on the shore while we try to swim in the sea of chaos. The end of the day brings exhaustion.  As I prepare for bed, I give myself permission to step off that make shift balance ball if I haven't already fallen off the dang thing and stand firm on my own feet.  I ask for the strength to leave the ball home tomorrow and have the courage to put one foot in front of the other and take the day as it comes not as I expect/want/need it to be.  Perhaps tomorrow is day I will actually do it.

My attempts at perfection has brought me the gifts of endurance, humility and a stronger faith in God.  I am cannot be everything to everyone.  I know this is true but I will keep trying to be the best person I was created to be, whatever that is.

Today, obviously I was not meant to be the perfect mommy because my explanation of why ice cream is not suitable for breakfast fell flat and resulting in a Level 8 tantrum.  Life :1, Wendy: 0 thus far but I have a few more hours in this day to beat that score....

Celebrating and Remembering Friendship

These pictures may not look like they have anything in common except that they both include people I love and are of utmost importance in my life.  But they do.

My mom (pictured on the right in black) lost her childhood best friend Nancy McDaniel (also pictured) in December.  I saw her heart break and I also saw her gain immeasurable strength from the friendship they shared since nearly birth that allowed her to eulogize her friend at her funeral.  It was a powerful moment and not lost on anyone in the room that day.  Today I know my mom misses her best friend but  she also knows she is a better person because she had Nancy in her life and would rather go this grief of losing her than not have befriended and loved her at all.

Last night I was scheduled to help host a dinner but things fell through at the last moment.  I drove home and my family had gone to eat without me as they are so used to doing during these last days of the legislative session.  I called one of my best friends, Emilee (pictured left with me), who was in town for work.  She and I tried to connect all day and could not make things work.

Just as God planned it, she was walking back to her hotel and was open for dinner.  We ate, drank, talked and talked and talked some more.  Fears, hopes, dreams spilled from our mouths and instead of sitting on a patio in the Capitol city we could have just as easily been on a tailgate in either of the small towns we call home.

The stress peeled off of us and we were just two best friends talking without judgement, reservation or caring what the other thought because it did not matter.  The insecurities that would cause us to care were removed years ago during late night parties, talks, bachelorette parties, weddings, babies and too many other occasions to list.  Apologies are not needed and support is unquestioned.

Long story short:  my heart breaks for my mom today even more today than it did in December.  My heart is bursting with blessings that include Emilee, Lori, Amy, Shelley, and DeeDee.  I cannot imagine life without them and God willing I will not have to any day soon.

Em and I joked that we hope to be friends until we are so old that we do not even remember each other then we could be new best friends and start the discovery process all over again.  She added we will also be the women who will press our Medic Alert buttons just to get to see the hot EMS guys that may show up.  Cheers to that!

Nancy was a second mother to be growing up.  She taught me so much during her life and she is continuing to teach me things in her death.  Friendship and family are awesome but when your friends become part of your family and your family members become your friends..... now THAT is something special.

Blessings!

Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes? I hope we are.

"H, did you know George Jones died today?  That makes me sad," I said.
    "Wendy, he was 81," was his dry reply.

I get he was older and had lived a very full life but his passing still saddens me.  I was pregnant with E when Johnny Cash passed away.  I was very hormonal and took the news very hard.  I remember watching his tribute on TV.  There I sat with my expanding belly, nauseous from the hormones pinging around in my body, bawling my eyes out while watching footage of Johnny singing all his greats.   That night I ate a tupperware bowl of Capt'n Crunch cereal, four HEB brand chicken egg rolls an a pint of chocolate cream ice cream.  By the end of the tribute there was not a tear left but I was so satisfied I slept like a baby.  Don't judge, the baby wanted all those things.

I cried not because of some psycho connection with Mr. Cash but for what it meant for me personally which was that another link to my grandparents was gone.    I also cried because of the hormones but that was secondary I assure you.  I imagined my unborn baby girl being 14 and trying to convince her to listen because "Johnny Cash really IS good, I promise" and her huff away never giving him a chance.

Yesterday when I heard George Jones had passed I did not cry (so maybe it was the hormones) but I did pause to reflect.   I thought, "they laid a wreath upon his door" and grinned I was that clever ( until I read FaceBook and several of my friends had put that as their status).  I listened to his music most of yesterday and realized country music for the most part these days does stink.

HERE COMES THE RANT: There is no soul in country music today only commercial hits and easy one liners that get into your head.  There are punks that wear boots but hang hoops from their ears, ink up their skin, wear God awful clothing and don't seem to have enough respect to wear a suit to awards shows.  Is it really that hard to even get a "good" pair of jeans starched?

I will miss George Jones being in this world.   He was a link to a different time and a connection to people I love and have also "left this world too soon".   He sang, "Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes" and I am still asking that question only his shoes are now included next to my grandfather's boots. 

I learned to dance standing on PaPa's black, pointy toed boots as we shuffled around the Live Oak County Coliseum.  Classic country played by the Al Dean Band filled the space and I could not stop smiling.  Good memories.

Today I looked at pictures of Boone with my dad on his John Deere tractor.  Boone's smile has no end and I have hope that my generation and my parent's generation is stepping up to the plate.  Thank God for family.  Rest in Peace, Mr. Jones.  Thanks for the memories.

Just a thought

Fritz is a miniature schnauzer who joined the Foster clan over a year ago.  He has fit right it and appropriately adds to the chaos of our everyday lives.  We have found that Fritz has a delicate tummy and should not eat the waffles, crackers, grapes and all the other crap my 3 year old feeds him.

In B's defense, he is the perfect height for Fritz to jump up on and steal whatever B is carrying around in his hand.  B thinks it is a neat trick and instead of fighting for his food once its stolen he runs to get another serving of whatever he just lost.  It is win for both of them until it is not.

This morning while getting ready and looked down to see dog puke in two small piles in opposite sides of my bedroom.  It was gross.  Really gross.  It was also interesting to see what Boone had been eating in the last 12 hours.  Hunt cleaned up the piles.  I told him it was only fair given that I cleaned up the kids' spit-ups and puke all these years.  He huffed which I chose to interpret as resignation that I was right.

Given that I am working in the final days of the legislative session I find it appropriate that I began my day with regurgitated crap and will most likely end it with a similar mess although it will be in policy form.

My name is Buffer.... The Proud Buffer

Hello, my name is Buffer.  I am the middle man between what the world can introduce into my home and my children's life at too early of an age. I protect my kids from the expectations of our friends, family, well meaning onlookers, myself and my husband.  I cannot protect them at school but I attempt to always be present in their day through a note in the backpack, a freshly washed sheet for nap time, a smile when I am able to drop off and pick up them up from school. 

I try to buffer my babies from the stress of two parents who work full time and despite best efforts cannot always erase the distance that is created because of our roles outside of the home.  I attempt to reassure that "normal" is different in every home and every childhood. I balance the explanations of why "Anna" has two mommies or daddies, why "Evan" has an iPhone because his parents don't talk to each other anymore and he needs the phone to play the adult in an ugly divorce.  

I try to not place judgement on people or situations.  When it comes to dealing with mean people we encounter I lead with, God loves them, you don't have to and close with a wink to give some levity to the subject.  Life is complicated, hard and can get ugly the older we become so I try to protect my kids from what I can now to let them be kids.  

My buffering skills are not without flaw, I am not perfect.  The job is thankless and hard and stressful.  It is but for the Grace of God I would have given up on it already because between school, the Disney Channel, magazines and the lyrics of most songs on the radio it seems like a hopeless exercise.  It is my prayer but that perhaps I have caught just enough to help them sleep a little more sound at night.  

Yesterday, my oldest and I were doing our nails.  She is nearly seven so it is almost a fun activity to do with her.  We were sprawled on the floor in my large bathroom (tile is easier to clean in case of spills and she is still seven so there are always a few) and the TV was on in the bedroom just outside of our make shift nail salon.  We have speakers in the bathroom so we can listen to the news in the morning while getting ready and yesterday the speakers were still on to share the sound from the bedroom TV to the bathroom.  My husband is addicted to investigative TV shows like Dateline and other real life who- done-it type shows about murders.  He left the TV on the network that dedicates their airtime 24/7 to that kind of stuff.  I had not even noticed the audio but my daughter did.  She said, "this type of TV gives me nightmares".  I had to stop and listen to hear what she was talking about and before I could say anything she got up walked into the bedroom and turned the TV off.  

She walked back in and sat back down and started painting her toes again.  "Well, you took care of that!" I said with a smile.  She smirked back (the smirk she inherited from me) and said, "when we don't like something we can choose to change it".  I asked where she got so smart and her response will live in my heart forever.... "from you mommy.  That's what you say".

Buffer. Mommy. whatever you want to call me just know to add the word "Proud" in front of what ever that is....

Seek and Ye Shall Find

E is not happy with me this week.  She really wants a Magic Eight Ball toy.  Yes, the same one we all had as kids that is the black plastic ball you ask a question to, shake it and watch the little window for the triangle die inside to give you an answer.  The cheap, worthless toy is still on the shelves in the toy aisle.  If she gets one more 100 on her spelling test I told her we could get one.  I also told her prayer is a more worthwhile exercise if she is seeking answers but to a six year old, the eight ball is really cool.

I get it.  I want to know the answers to life too.  Each day I seek to know more, learn more, make more of myself and my business.  Will I succeed?  That is a question I want the answer to most but I know only time will tell.  I am not a patient person so this is hard for me.  So I get up everyday and work to build something; what form it will ultimately take I do not know.

There are things I do know, hard, concrete details about life, politics, family, faith.  And some of those details are pretty cool and useful; others are hard to swallow but they are truths just the same.  It is the blind corners of life that keep me on my toes.  I do not use a magic eight ball but rather a lot of prayer and a lot of gut feelings that have not lead yet me astray.

I wish I could find the answers I seek by buying an $8 toy.

One day E will learn the answers to life she will seek (after the, "when will I loose my bottom teeth" questions pass)  are part of a priceless journey take by living and trusting one day at a time.   Until then, if the Magic Eight Ball toy makes her smile I will let her be a kid a little longer.


 

Typing Through the Tears. Happy Valentine's Day

Eighteen years ago yesterday, I was in my second year of college and enjoying every ounce of life's adventures sent my way.  That morning, Feb 13, 1995, I woke up to a rose and card left on my doorstep asking me on a Valentine's Day date.  A real Valentine's Day date.  It was not a "lets hang out" or "we'll figure something out" kind of date; it was a dress up, go to a restaurant with linens and eat a steak kind of date.  I was so excited.

I had so much to do to get ready and the day flew by quickly.  I called my grandmother that night to tell her about the latest headline in the life of her Wendy and thank her for the stamps and card I had received that day from her.   She always sent me stamps; it was her not so gentle reminder to write.  Her name was Ella Pauline, "Polly" to the world but "Nanny" to me.  Nanny was tired that night.  She had been up and about all day with her girlfriends and was about to go to bed.  My last words to her were, "I love you Nanny.  I miss you.  Hope to see you soon."  We hung up after she said, "I love you too Baby".  

I say those words, "I miss you, hope to see you soon" a lot but to her I meant them.  She knew that.

Valentine's Day morning was that usual routine of going to class.  The extra spring in my step went missing when I walked into the tee shirt store where I worked.  The shop's owner had become a family friend and I could tell from his face something was terribly wrong.

"Wendy, I want you to come back here and call your dad," he calmly said.  I dialed and Mr.  Scott never left my side.  He placed his hand on my shoulder when I screamed, "NNNOOOO!!!".  My father tearfully told me Nanny had passed early that morning.   Both of our hearts were breaking.

Today, our hearts are taped back together and still beating.  There is a hole the size of Texas in them but they are beating.

This morning was a chilly one in Austin.  I grabbed a jacket from the back of my closet that I have not worn in a while.  On my way out, I buttoned up and slipped my hands into the pockets.  Slowly, out of my left pocket, I pulled out a book of stamps.  The tears have not stopped since.....

I miss you Nanny.  Thank you for staying close.  We could all really use a good hug right now.