We’ve got some great conversations going on whether or not motherhood is a “calling” and all about our Revolutionary Manifesto and about our visit to Moody’s Midday Connection. Click here to listen to it! Please do let me know what you think.

Also, please check out the Revolution at www.themommyrevolution.com. And I’ll be back here writing soon too. Promise.

 Carla: It seems like every article I read about motherhood focuses on this elusive idea of “balance.” I’m all for it, if only someone could step into my life and show me what exactly it might look like.

I don’t think my life is any more complicated than anyone else’s. In some ways, it’s less complicated than the lives of many women I know. I work from home, so that eliminates a whole batch of stressors like daily childcare and commuting and what to do when someone gets sick and having to look presentable by 8 in the morning. I have a husband, so that obviously helps A LOT. I have all kinds of good and wonderful things in my life that make my days far easier than those of 98% of the world’s population. 

And yet.

Click here to continue!

This is hard for me to write, in a way, because I SO love the movie Mr. Mom. I saw it when I was probably 10 or something with my grandmother, who laughed and laughed the whole time. Since my dear hard-working, hard-knock-life-sort-of-life Swedish grandmother NEVER laughed, you can see why I might love this movie. Plus, I love their house. Plus, it kicked off me wanting to work in advertising (which I did for a stint) and wear big-bowed blouses (never did. I think I wrote about this in an earlier post). Plus, it was funny.

That said, I hate “Mr. Moms” or to be more precise, I really hate the TERM “Mr. Mom.” It totally p—-es me off. Excuse my hyphens. I hate it because it implies all sorts of idiotic things:

To continue reading, click here!

That little foyer is now organization central. He is ready, I am ready, yet I can guarantee you, I’ll will not be this on top of things and organized for the poor guy again until this time next year. By Tuesday, I’ll be scrambling his lunch at the last minute, yelling at him to look AGAIN next to his bed for his shoes, and wondering where I put that thing I was supposed to sign.

But for now, tonight, I’m feeling like a great mom, who’s got an unbelievably great boy (yes, I know: and a girl and another boy, but we’re not talking about them right now. They don’t get the sap treatment until they go away for nearly eight hours a day!).

Happy First Day of School!

And it just dawned on me that one of the things that frustrates me as a mom is not only that we tend to lose ourselves amidst the chaos of our lives, but often our voices too. I mean, I’ve GAINED the kind of voice I never wanted to have (that “oh my gosh are the windows open? Can the neighbors hear me yelling?” voice), but in many ways, the ability to be heard—in the way I want to be—gets lost. Not totally. But a bit.

But then I realized that motherhood revved up my voice in my writing. I mean, I write a ton more now than I ever did before. So I’ve got that going for me.

I’m wondering what your thoughts are. Has motherhood helped you find your voice or lose it?

But it’s so hot out; I’m so tired; and I gotta tell you, I got nothing. So this is just an update for updates’ sake.

I’ll try to post something more creative or insightful or amusing later. But right now—if it doesn’t start raining that is—I really just want to ride bikes with my fam. 

But the brain and the memory all comes back–and regardless, we can still handle more than the man brain on its best day—and this forgetfulness apparently serves some important purpose. Of course, I can’t remember what that is.

My mom’s had a particular love for the 1968 movie version of Oliver! (yes, Mom, sometimes I DO write about you!). Overall, I shared her love—with the exception of one small thing: Oliver himself. In an otherwise well-cast movie, the kid playing the title role drove me nuts. Never more than in the scene where he sits in the undertaker’s basement, propped up on a pile of hay (if I remember correctly), when he looks out the window longingly and sings, “Where Is Love?” in what I always considered to be the most annoying voice ever.

From the time I was little until not too long ago, I’d do mock renditions of this scene and my mom would click her tongue, roll her eyes, and say, “I don’t know what your problem with that sweet song and that sweet boy is.” And I’d continue on with my mocking.

So imagine my surprise when last night, when I took my kids to see a local production of Oliver!, I choked up during that very scene, with that very song. Maybe it was because this Oliver was more yelling than singing and therefore seemed more desperate. But more likely it was because as I sat watching the scene this time—with one kid on my lap and the other next to me (with yet another at home)—my “momness” kicked it.

This momness is the thing that makes me realize how much being a mom and raising my awesome kids has changed me—in this case, how much softer I’ve become, how much more open my eyes are. Because now, I understand why my mom loves that scene so much. Who cares how annoying that boy is! The boy is singing about looking for love, specifically, the love of his mother, something he’s never known.

So while before kids I could somehow mock the (actor) orphan’s voice, now that I’m a mom, I can’t. Because no matter how gauling the voice, it’s a song that still too many kids are singing and it’s not funny.

While many days as a mom my kids drive me nuts and I feel totally frustrated by my role as mom, Oliver’s pained song is a good reminder of the importance of what we do, what we offer our kids.

Unlike what every jewelry store, specialty kitchen store, and department says, in a taped bit on Moody radio, Virelle Kidder nailed it: Moms need rest and affirmation. Yes and yes.

I hope all you moms get this gift (at least this year. Next year, I’ll hope you all get the gift of my book! Just kidding…sort of). And I hope you get this gift (the rest, not my book) on more days that just this coming Sunday.

Happy Mother’s Day!

All this to say, I haven’t blogged since I turned in my book for those very reasons. I’m still sick of my own thoughts, and I’m cringing a bit even now as I think them.

But one important thing came of all this me—and it affects my mom ID more than I ever realized. In the book, I’ve got a chapter on how God can shape and grow you during periods of being “hemmed” in—meaning during times of motherhood when you feel you’re kept from or unable to live out all your gifts and dreams or whatever.

While I’ve long experienced this hemmed-in feeling as a mom, spending all these months eating, drinking, thinking, sleeping my book hemmed me in in a whole new way. Actually, in the reverse way. While writing about wanting to be known for my full identity and being encouraged to live out my full identity, I found myself wanting nothing more than to be with my kids.

Not that I wasn’t with them, mind you, during this process. I wrote in the wee hours of the night, during “nap” times, baths, and with them playing on the floor while I typed at my desk. I had babysitters sometimes, but primarily, I was at-home as much as I ever way. But I even when I was with them, I wasn’t often engaged—my mind was on the book.

That’s whey I realized what was happening. I think God also used the period of writing to stretch and grow me as a mom. I’ve come out of the book-writing period not only pumped about getting to live a dream, but recharged about my role as mom. Go figure… But I gotta run now—I’m getting sick of me again.