Toward Self Identity

By: Beth Duncan

Are you a mother of children who are shorter than you are? Or do you know someone who is cleaning up after kids this size? Then this advice is for you.

I have been struggling with the whole self identity concept for a while. Most days it feels like all I do is manage children; there is not even time to think of my existence apart from them. It feels like, through the years, with each subsequent child, my identity has been erased a little more and theirs were penciled in on top of mine.

By far the most monotonous and time-consuming part of this management of the children involves cleaning. Some days I am overwhelmed with the cleaning—I can’t escape the messes to find refuge anywhere because, alas, in every room the messes catch my eye and call my name. It was for days like this that the “silent butler” was employed in our home. I love her. And I’ll tell you right up front that she is FREE.

Here’s how it works: The children have been at it all day, storming through the house like little tornadoes. They whip things out in every room, strew them around, and then move on. Do you have that tornado image down? You may have your own little tornadoes and have had bad weather days as well. Ok.

You then announce that the “silent butler” will be coming in 10 minutes! The first time you will have to explain that the “silent butler” is mommy, walking around with a big bag, silently picking up everything that is left behind. The things picked up will be kept up in the top of Mommy’s closet for 2 days. They have ten minutes (or more if the mess is massive, but not too long or they won’t work efficiently) to pick up the things that are important to them. The things have to be brought to their rooms and put away neatly somewhere out of the butler’s sight.
As the butler walks around with the bag, she doesn’t engage in any arguing, warning, or explaining. She simply picks up everything, no matter what it is, and puts it all together in a bag. Once items are in the bag, they absolutely cannot be removed.

It’s easy to be the butler. It’s fun too. The kids hate it; it’s actually a little scary for them. But as much stress as those tornadoes bring in my life, I believe that a little scaring is good for them.

And about 90% of the time, they don’t even ask for the confiscated items in 2 days. After a while, I go through the bags and decide what to give away to Salvation Army and what could be stored for awhile (a toy stored for six months or so suddenly seems like a “new” toy when you give it back to them). All and all it’s a great system—great for my sanity, which is also a step in the direction of rediscovering my identity…some day.

My Mother Takes the Cake

By: Beth Duncan

We visited my mother for Mother’s Day. It was a special day to celebrate both of our motherhoods. The precious memories I have of my mother are numerous and span across many facets of our lives together. I feel so blessed to be creating memories still—my mother is 64 years old, healthy and eternally so beautiful.

Of the many memories, there are several that I like to call the “cake memories.” My mother and I both have always said that “we never met a cake we didn’t like.” We both appreciate cakes of every sort; although, chocolate cakes top the list. Turning down a slice of chocolate cake is nearly impossible, bordering on insanity.

For our birthdays through the years, my two brothers and I were each able to choose what type of cake we wanted my mother to make—always homemade, never store bought. I remember choosing a doll cake one year and a cake the shape of a blue ribbon when I loved horses.

But, as I matured and my tastes became more refined, I chose the famous Texas chocolate sheet cake almost every year. It was an incredibly moist cake with a cooked chocolate icing. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

While planning my wedding, my mother and I created some of our fondest memories. Choosing the cake was definitely a highlight. It was made by Sweet Stuff in Biloxi, MS, a gulf coast favorite for years. Before choosing the cake, we were able to sample several of their cake and icing recipes. It was mother-daughter bonding at its best.

No, my wedding cake wasn’t chocolate, but it was delicious. It was a simple, yet elegant, design—my taste exactly, and my mother’s as well. I still think of that cake and our wedding planning memories frequently. Incidentally, for the groom’s cake, we happily chose chocolate.

And finally, I have a different sort of cake memory, funny, but so meaningful. It wasn’t until recently that this memory became one of my favorites.

Around the time my second daughter was born 7 years ago, I remember my mother telling me—maybe I should say confessing to me—that on occasion when my brothers and I were young bundles of energy and mischief, she would hide the leftover cake so she could eat it without having to split it into four pieces. Then, when we were finally outside playing or otherwise occupied, she would escape from our view and enjoy her cake alone.

I always thought of my mother as completely self-sacrificing, so this surprised me, this bit of selfishness. I couldn’t truly understand what motivated her to keep the leftover cake from her little angels (ha,ha).

But now, two more children later, it has all become crystal clear to me. We kids were driving her crazy. Now, I can completely understand her motivation. And not only do I understand, but I partake of the same sort of indulgences, without guilt. No, it is not selfishness; it is simply a “chocolate cake escape.”

So, I’d like to thank my mother for the “cake memories” and all of the other special memories. I’d also like to thank her for teaching me that a “chocolate cake escape” is an acceptable part of motherhood.

Why I Love Sandals

By: Beth Duncan

Sandal season is in full swing, and I am so relieved. I expressed this to my husband recently while we were unwinding after the kids were in bed. We were sitting on the couch in front of the T.V., and I was folding clothes.

As I commented on the wonders of sandals, my husband slowly moved his gaze from the movie we were watching to me. He gave me that amused look that he gives me when I’ve said something unusual. I see the look frequently, actually. I could tell he was interested in what motivated my comment, so I continued.

“Sandal season means a dramatic decrease in the number of socks I have to sort through and pair up.”

He laughed out loud. Single socks were in a pile on the couch beside me. Some were lined up on the couch, waiting for their pairs to be found. There were so many that some had actually fallen onto the floor below.

You see, I have four children who think that if a sock has been worn at all, even for just an hour or so, it is dirty and should be left on the floor for Mother to come by and pick up so that it can be washed.

I always procrastinate on folding the socks. They build up for days sometimes. I do mean days. Honestly, it is like a small mountain right there on the couch. Laundry is by far the biggest chore in our household. It never, ever ends. Not for one single day.

As a girl dreaming of my wonderful married life with children that lie ahead, I would never have imagined so much laundry. I knew I would cook and wash many dishes and vacuum and sweep, but I didn’t know laundry would be number one on the job description list. It’s tedious and terribly time consuming.

After getting everything put away in the dresser drawers, closets and on hangars, I came back to tackle the socks again. There were as many without pairs as there were with. In some cases, I had to study them to decide which child they belonged to. I started pairing them with a similar mate, not exactly the same. The color may be off a little, but that’s okay, right? There were still about twenty leftover.

I pushed the twenty into a small pile in the corner of the couch. They would form the foundation for the new pile. Who knows, maybe their long lost mates were simply still dirty and they would be reunited the next day. I smiled a little, thinking of what I’d accomplished while watching the movie. The couch was nearly clean. I looked over at my husband, who was completely engrossed in the on-screen action. I was trying to multi-task, but I realized that I didn’t really know what was going on in the movie. I miss so much in life because of my mundane chores. But, take heart, I tell myself. Sandal season is finally here. I guess I’d better go repaint my toenails.

Old-Fashioned Outdoor Fun

By: Beth Duncan

It’s a kid’s world out there. Warmer weather promotes the perfect type of kid’s play. Our family is so fortunate to live in a child-friendly neighborhood; my four children have playmates their ages all around us. There is only a short time of the year when the kids have to entertain themselves indoors. The rest of the time they get to explore the wonders of outdoor play, old-fashioned fun!

I love to see what happens when spring comes and I send the kids outside to play. They become so creative, so adventurous, so energetic, and so full of life! They also become so dirty.

Just this morning my two- and four-year olds played in the backyard together. They were shoveling dirt into buckets and carrying it into their play fort. In the play kitchen inside the fort, they were transforming it into pies and cakes. With a little water added, it became milkshakes and soup. They served it to me with stick spoons and crumbled leaves on top. The four-year old added a little azalea bloom for my dining enjoyment. Their dirt-smudged faces shown with pride. The bigger kids used to do the same thing—and the big ones didn’t teach the little ones; it just came naturally, I guess. Those creative juices were flowing out there in the crisp spring air.

On any given afternoon, there can easily be as many as 10 kids playing in the backyard. They are often involved in some kind of elaborate fantasy play. Some are bad guys and some are good guys. Sometimes there is a mom or a teacher or a super hero. Many times there is a princess or two. Sometimes they are building forts, playing army men and using sticks for guns and pinecones for bombs. Sometimes there is a cook or a waitress or a shopkeeper collecting leaves for money.

For some activities, I have to help a little, like when they become little entrepreneurs and want to set up a snowball or lemonade stand. But, I must say that they have now become pretty self-sufficient as “lemonade stand owners.”

Of course, we also love to take trips to the zoo, the playground, McDonalds play area, the beach, and various other great hangouts. But, I think the type of play that is produced in my own backyard, front yard, or in the neighbor’s yards does something for the kids that is invaluable. The value is multiplied when I think of the way their childhood play links me back to my own childhood.

There are times when two or three of them are swinging up high on our swingset, trying to touch the branches above them. This is probably the outdoor activity I feel most nostalgic about. Swinging is such an exhilarating and carefree joy in life. When I watch the kids swinging, I can almost feel their happiness as if it is my own—my own joy of long ago.

The value of old-fashioned outdoor fun? Priceless.

The Baby of My Dreams

By: Beth Duncan

Our first sweet baby Emily turned out lives upside down 10 years ago. It was the day after Christmas and we were as full of expectation as two new parents could be. By the afternoon of the 26th, we were in a state of shock. We had learned that the baby of our dreams had Down syndrome. The shock was so raw, like a wound ripped open that lay gaping with no way to be repaired.

We struggled to make it through our grief, only to find that the grief came in waves. It would wash over one or both of us in a surge some days and on other days it would come more slowly until all of the sudden we realized we were drowning, it seemed, in the sadness. And then, there were good times, when the tide was out, so to speak, and we felt that we could stand again on the dry ground.

Through the years, difficult as they have been, we have learned much from our Emily. She has given us some tough lessons in acceptance, genuine love, and dedication. She has helped her three younger siblings and us to learn about differences and how to accept others. She has taught us about compassion, humility, and simplicity. We have learned what is meant by little miracles and small blessings all around us.

The baby we had dreamed of as our first died 10 years ago, but another baby was born. In some ways, she is better than the baby of our dreams could have been. This is something we just intuitively know to be true. Someday we will be able to look back and actually see all of the ways that Emily was our dream come true.

I admit that some days I still feel the ebb and flow of the tide and feel like the water is washing up around me threatening to overwhelm me. I guess in some ways, we still grieve. But now I like to think of the water that washes in and threatens to drown us as a cleansing instead. When things are really hard, we are actually being strengthened by it instead of consumed by it. In other words, the water cleans and renews us instead of drowning us.

In so many area of life, it is difficult to see our dreams coming true because heartache and disappointment can get in the way. The lessons I have learned cannot be easily summed up in one phrase. But, I will leave you with this thought: Concentrate on relaxing and taking each wave in stride and over time you will find the tide turning in your favor.