new moms are liars.

June 27, 2016June 27, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ 1 Comment

I recently decided that the next time a new mom tells me she loves every second of motherhood, I’m going to call her bluff.

Has anybody ever said this and really meant it? Has any brand new mother literally loved every second of the transition into her new role? Maybe this makes me sound like a cynic, but I don’t buy it.

You could say, “We’re doing really well,” and I would believe you (although I might ask about seven follow-up questions just to make sure). I could even go along with, “I’ve never felt this much happiness” (babies do tend to have that overall effect after all).

But, “I love every second of being a mom?” Nope. No way. You’re not fooling me.

I wonder sometimes why new moms are prone to falsehood. Why we work so hard to make everything seem euphoric, when in reality, so many of us feel like we’re one notch away from a total meltdown. Now, I can’t of course, speak for every new mom out there, but I can speak for myself, and here is what I have deduced in reflecting upon my own propensity toward lying in those early days:

New moms assume you’re supposed to feel blissful. I mean, that’s what everyone tells us. That babies will enter the world and then the elation of their presence will be enough to counteract any pain or hormones or difficulty during the first days. Maybe some moms feel this bliss, and I’m happy for those who do. But, others don’t and then feel like they’re doing something wrong. To say you’re having a really hard time transitioning can feel like an admission of failure, so you just lie instead. It’s easier.

New moms don’t want to be a burden. I know a girl who, upon visiting her friends who have just given birth, comes over, bypasses the baby, and does laundry. Washes, dries, folds, puts away. She doesn’t even bother asking, and I think that’s because she knows that each new mom would probably say something like, “You don’t have to do that.” When people flood your house, you don’t want to put them to work. You assume all they really want to do is hold your baby and then leave. (I suppose some people probably do fall into that category, but I’d like to think most don’t.)

New moms don’t know what kind of help they need. How could they? They’re wading through uncharted territory. When you ask how you can help, most won’t know how to respond because they won’t even know what to ask for. My mom always tells me to go take a long shower. She holds my babies and entertains my toddlers and tells me to take my time. I never knew how much good a shower could do me until my mom started telling me to take them. I know now, and let me tell you, it’s always exactly what I need.

New moms don’t want to cry in front of you. This is why I used to lie to people who asked me how I was doing at church. Who wants to start crying in front of a hundred people on a Sunday morning? If you ask a new mom how she is in a public setting, and she gives a short, chipper response, proceed with skepticism and caution, but mostly invite yourself over later that week. Bring cookies.

I wonder sometimes if I’ve been as good a friend to my new mom friends as I could have been in the past few years. I certainly wasn’t before I had kids of my own (It’s hard to be when you don’t know exactly what they’re going through).

I recently read Bloom: Finding Beauty in the Unexpected–A Memoir by Kelle Hampton (Mar 26 2012) and through her life reflections was reminded of the importance of the village. She calls it “The Net” or “the ever-present existence of one another, standing by, ready to catch any one of us who might be falling.” Her army of friends was there for her in droves after the birth of her second daughter, and I thought, “I want that. I want that for myself, and I want that for my friends.”All this to say, when you have your first baby, don’t even think about telling me that you love every second of your newborn’s life. I’m onto you. Just hand me a load of laundry and point me to the washing machine. I’m taking cues from my much wiser friends.

the dichotomy of convenience.

June 22, 2016June 22, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ Leave a comment

One of the most inconvenient things I ever did was have kids.

This is not a cynical essay about how terrible parenting is. It’s a life I wouldn’t trade for anything (the good and the bad included), but lately I’ve just been thinking about how inconvenient it is most of the time.

Sometimes Jake and I will sit on our front porch after the girls are in bed and remember the simpler times. Times before fully stocked diaper bags and nap schedules. Before discipline and middle of the night accidents became things you had to worry about. Times when you didn’t have to reheat your coffee four times before you finished.

I still remember someone asking me the age-old question right after Lily was born: “Haven’t you already forgotten what life was like without her?”

Oh, you mean, two weeks ago when I was reading a sappy Young Adult novel on my balcony waiting for Jake to get home, so we could go out for dinner and then maybe see a movie?

You may willingly surrender them, but I’m not convinced anyone really forgets those times. How could you? Everything was easier.Embracing inconvenience comes with the parenting contract. Your child will throw a tantrum at the exact moment you need to leave to make it to library story time on time. Your child will have to go to the bathroom immediately upon entering the public pool. Your child will wake up from her nap early the one day you actually have plans to be productive.

Oh, just me? Yeah, whatever.

But here’s the thing: For all the times inconvenience gets in the way of my very specific, pre-made plans, lately I have been finding that there are many more times that inconvenience is appreciated and even wanted. (This coming from someone who dreams about ways to make things more efficient.)

I have approximately nine hours to fill (not including nap times) each day I spend with my girls. Some days I get really creative and plan extensive, fine-motor activities for them to engage in. And then, after all that work, I’m usually still left with about 8 ½ hours to fill. Toddlers, in case you didn’t know, have particularly short attention spans.

And, so, there are days (especially during the winter when we haven’t been outside for weeks) that I will pack the girls up in the car and drive to Starbucks. And, let me tell you, I am beside myself with joy to see a drive-thru line full of cars. Thirty minute wait? No problem. We’ve got hours to kill.

Putting on sunscreen before we go outside. Emptying the dishwasher while my one-year-old hands me each piece of silverware individually. Trying to pick up and vacuum a single room while both girls are awake.

It’s all so inconvenient, and yet, I’m finding that there’s something to be said for embracing things that help spend our time. Sure, we’re doing things more slowly, but we’re still doing things. It’s time, and I’ll take it.Maybe I just like to find silver linings. In any case, I’ll take my long drive thru lines and my three-year-old’s insistence to sweep the floor after lunch (even though I know I’ll end up doing it again anyway). Sometimes when I choose to embrace a tiny inconvenience, my day moves in a better direction than I could have planned anyway.

Of course, until someone, who will not be named, decides to spill coffee all over the floor right before church.

It’s fine. He cleaned it up pretty quick.

finding value in the hard things.

June 15, 2016June 16, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ 1 Comment

If you’re like me, you can pinpoint all the hardest moments of your life. These are the moments that strip us down and force the raw pieces of ourselves to rise to the surface. In my life, these times are marked by seasons of change. Seasons when the dependent variable vanishes, and I’m left with new, uncharted territory.

The beginning of college. My first years of teaching. The journey through medical school. The birth of babies. A move across the country. Residency. The unpredictability of toddlers. Mornings when you realize you’re out of coffee.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my responses to these moments when life strips me down to the nitty-gritty. I’m certainly not trying to make a case that my life is harder than anyone else’s (We’ve got a lot of good things going for us here. My espresso machine, for instance, came through with the win on this coffee-less morning.). But, it seems an unavoidable fact that each season of life comes with its own various challenges. And, the more of them I come up against, the more resolved I am to face them well.A few months ago, I was dialoguing with a friend about prayer, and she sent me this clip of a Francis Chan sermon from like 8 years ago. It starts with a song, but Chan’s commentary at the end is what has been on repeat in my brain for the last month. Here’s what he had to say:

When we pray, we’re always praying, “God change things” rather than, “God change me.” We want God to change the circumstances and take away all this pain, all these trials, all these hardships rather than God’s plan which is, “No, I want to put some of these things in your life and you need to be praying for yourself that you would grow through these things.”

You see, whenever we have decisions to make, we want God to make it easy, [so we] say, “God why don’t you close all the doors and just leave one open?” [Instead we should say], “God, why don’t you make me incredibly wise, so I know how to make a good decision?”

When trials come, we say, “God, why don’t you change them? Why don’t you fix the situation and take away all the pain? [Instead we should say], “God why don’t you use this time to grow perseverance in me?” […]

Yes, there are times when God changes the situation, but so often, more than anything, God wants us to change and we should be praying for these circumstances that God allows in our lives as opportunities for us to grow in our character and our person.

I can’t get this tiny shift in perspective out of my head.

I know my tendency is to pray for the hard things to end. For ease and consistency and predictability. That bedtime battles will be replaced by compliance or that sibling fights will turn into happy conversations. But what if instead I prayed for patience? Or compassion? Or wisdom to parent my kids the best that I can?

I can’t always change my situation, but I can always change the way I respond to it. This, I am finding, is making all the difference. The realization that I was never promised ease or comfort and the reminder that, if I will let Him, God will use the hard things I face to sharpen me into a better version of myself. It’s not easy to shift perspective in the moment, but it is always worth it when I do.

Now, excuse me while I go attend to the screaming toddlers in the other room. Please send coffee.

perfect advice is a fairytale (but it’s still worth asking for).

June 6, 2016June 6, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ Leave a comment

Once upon a time there was a maiden princess. She was spirited and animated and greatly full of life, but oh, did she also love to sleep.

Until one dark day when her parents, not knowing the magical powers it possessed, took away her pacifier.

As soon as the pacifier’s sleep spell was broken, the princess was turned into a tiny monster each naptime and bedtime. She would scream and cry and get out of bed until exhaustion finally got the best of her and sleep returned her to her normal state.

“Set a clear bedtime routine,” a kind villager said. “Try positive incentives,” suggested another. “Don’t engage with her,” added the town wiseman, Google.

Her parents did all these things, and then some more, yet still the tiny monster would return each day.

And they all lived happily ever after as long as there was coffee in the castle.

I’m thinking about a career in realistic children’s books.

But really, I’ve been thinking about our house’s sleep battles a lot over the past week. This was really the first “toddler-y” thing we had to deal with in our parenting, and in trying to figure out how to best deal with it, I reached out to my village (and Google, as any millennial mom would) for advice.

It’s frustrating when the things that work for other people don’t work for you. When you watch people skim across the tricky phases while you’re still wading through the muck of the deep end. And, I think this is true in a larger margin than just parenting even though I tend to have toddlers on the brain most frequently. In any walk of life, you get advice from those who have gone before you, and I guess I have realized recently (in a fairly non-cynical analysis), that you can’t fully trust anyone else’s advice.

Why? Sure, thanks for asking.

First, we are raising different human beings (see also: we are married to, roommates with, children of, etc. different people). Your kid is not the same as my kid. I will be in awe of your kid who sits quietly in your designated “time-out chair” just as you might be impressed when Lily responds to correction when her book time is threatened. Trying to perfectly replicate another mom’s solution to a problem hardly ever works because, news flash, her kid is different than mine.

We are also annoyed by different things. My kids are covered with food after every single meal. For whatever reason, keeping kids and/or clothes clean during meals is not a bridge I care about dying on. Just come and find me later in the evening though while I’m trying to coerce Lily to wear matching pajamas. I know it doesn’t matter. But still, here I am fighting the unwinnable battle for no other reason than because it annoys me when clothes don’t match. As people, we’re just agitated by different things, and I think, tend to offer solutions about things that might not necessarily be a problem to someone else.

Similarly, we have different breaking points. What sends me over the edge with my kids or my tipping point with Jake might be no big deal to any other person. Our thresholds vary. Some people can maneuver around a screaming toddler with ease and patience (see: Jake). You could suggest that I try reasoning with my kids because that is what works for you, but I know that is what will push me to my breaking point real fast. Instead? You’ll probably find me taking a timeout in the bathroom.

Finally, our life stages don’t line up perfectly. You welcomed your second child when your first was five; I had two kids under two. You got married in your thirties while Jake and I had just stepped into the twenties. The same phases hit us at different times and in different ways and will certainly affect us differently. Me telling you that the best thing Jake and I did for our marriage early on was to take a year off before we started our respective careers doesn’t make any sense if you already have careers.

But it certainly does take a village, doesn’t it?

I don’t know how how anyone could navigate through life without the advice of others. Parents and mentors and marriage counselors and pastors and teachers and friends–these are the people who go before us and make us feel like we can do whatever it is that comes next.

I need their advice and their wisdom even if it’s frustrating sometimes when their life circumstances or breaking points are different from my own. It’s when I understand who I am (another essay entirely) and who my tiny tribe is that I can begin to use my sieve to sift through their advice. Some of it will work for us, and some of it won’t, but it’s still worth seeking it out. Plus, you’re bound to find some hidden nuggets of gold because everyone’s got some tucked away in their pockets.

Two of my favorite never-failing pieces of advice? Love people well and always have coffee in the house.

(Of course, if you don’t like coffee, then you probably can’t trust anything I have to say.)

my kids’ birthdays are for me too.

June 1, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ Leave a comment

I tend to live a little too deeply in the anticipation of change, so as such, I’ve never been one to let “last moments” slip through my fingertips. I like to stand in empty houses before I leave them for the last time and always acknowledge (internally, at least) my final moments before imminent change takes place.

On Saturday, I put Lily to bed a two-year-old, and she woke me up the next morning with a new age attached to her name.When Lily was seven months old, we hit New Year’s Eve, and when I put her to bed that night, I held her a little longer than usual because I knew I’d never get to hold her in the year she was born again. The night I thought I was in labor with Norah, I held her a little longer than usual because I wanted to live a few more minutes in what I thought might be the last moments just the two of us. The night before we moved to Ohio, I held her a little longer than usual because it was the last time I would stand in something familiar before everything I knew would be uprooted on me.

So, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I was happy to put Lily to bed her last night as a two-year-old. Or that I held her a little longer than usual.

I realized this week that I love to breathe in these quiet moments–exist as a student of what they have to teach me. The moments (which I know are numbered) when Lily will snuggle in close to me before bed. When I can stop in the twilight hours of a birthday eve and remember the actual birth day–those still frames in my mind before and after the instant when everything changed.I decided this year that my kids’ birthdays are as much for me as they are for them. While I certainly love celebrating them and loving them for their own day, this year I felt the importance of acknowledging how their years have impacted my own.

As I soaked up those last moments with my two-year-old, I was reminded that even though these toddler years can be draining, they have made me into a better version of the person I was three years ago. Although she doesn’t know it yet, Lily (and Norah, too) has and will continue to help refine my character.

As I let her life wash over me on the night before three–all that we have gone through, all that we have dealt with, all that she has experienced in her days so far– I remembered the whole of who she is. And it was in those moments that I found gratitude for how deeply she has changed me to my core as well as perspective as I step foot into all that I’m sure year three will throw at us. We will all be changed, no doubt. And we will all be better because of it.So, as agonizing as those last moments can be for me (I saw my parents’ empty house for the last time via FaceTime, and instantly lost it, for crying out loud), I’m grateful to have them when I do. My inner monologue is, too. I mean, I guess it’s good to give her something to obsess over even in those quiet moments, right?

parenting: a few things I know.

May 24, 2016May 24, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been at this parenting thing for almost three years now–long enough to learn that serving a graham cracker broken in two is a surefire way to ruin 45 minutes of my afternoon but not quite long enough to figure out how to convince two kids to sleep through the night on a consistent basis. As it is, though, I feel like I’ve figured out some pretty key things which I would like to chronicle here (mostly, so that in ten years I can look back and think, “It was so cute how much I thought I knew back then.”).First and foremost, I know that finding a functional cart for two toddlers in a store is not as easy as it should be (and letting one kid walk is no longer an appropriate option. Just ask the lady who told me the whole store could hear Lily screaming.) Some stores think the best cart design is to place tiny people on seats which a.) face one another and b.) put one child so close to the edge that one swift kick from the sibling across the way could send you right off the side. Yes, of course my kids are buckled in, but the other problem with these carts is that a.) half of their buckles don’t work and b.) the other half of the straps are so twisted that you can barely tighten them. These are deeply layered problems, you see.

In a similar vein (and, often, situation), I know how to master the art of the well-timed snack. My friend, Breanna, described it perfectly to me recently: It’s a math problem. The ratio of snack to time children need to be occupied is an important balance to iron out. For instance, I know that two and a half handfuls of cheerios mixed with a spoonful of raisins will give me about 25 minutes of uninterrupted shopping time once the bag hits their hands. A single graham cracker? Forget it. I might as well just stay home.When I do decide to stay home, I know (and am surprised by how frequently I have to remind myself of this) that toddlers are affected by boredom and that sometimes this is a problem of my own making. I went to visit my parents a few weeks ago and about two days into the trip was wondering why Lily was having so many more meltdowns than usual. That’s when I realized that I had shaken up her entire routine and basically given her a free play option for two days straight. Special thanks to my sister for swooping in with her clothespins, cotton balls, and hand-made fine motor activities. She really saved the day and reminded me that a little stimulation and focus can go a long way.

And with that, I am reminded that every day brings a new challenge. I like being good at things. I suppose we all do, really. In parenting, however, I was never given the novelty of choosing to do only the things I feel well-versed in. You have to do the hard things and you have to make the decisions whether or not it all comes naturally. There is no other option. On top of this, toddlers are tricky and will convince you that you’ve mastered them one single day before they flip the game board on you.

But God. This short phrase from the book of Ephesians has been changing the trajectory of my bad days–helping me put the pieces back on the game board each time it flips. Because despite my shortcomings and my flawed nature and my tendency to lose my cool when Lily won’t, for the love, wear clothes that match, God is rich in mercy and makes me alive by His grace. But God. It’s the turning point. The reminder that this thing can’t be done on my own accord if I want to do it right. It’s my new mantra for each day (which certainly beats the Daniel Tiger jingles that get stuck in my head).So that’s what I know now. So much, I know. Tune in next time to hear about how I’ve figured out a way to keep two toddlers in the bathroom so I can shower (warning: bribery involved) and why minivans are the greatest invention since, well, cars. Oh, and, if anyone out there is an expert on getting two toddlers to play nicely with one another for longer than three minutes, please teach me your ways. I’m all ears.

the thing my husband never says.

May 14, 2016May 21, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ Leave a comment

When my husband, Jake, gets home from work every day, he is usually met by two toddlers flailing their bodies about with wild excitement. Once the hugs and kisses are distributed, he is almost always asked the same question by our three-year-old, Lily: “Dad, will you throw me up in the air?”

“Yes,” he always says, “I would really like to do that.”

Jake works long hours. By the time he gets home most nights, he’s drained. His brain has worked long and hard, and I know that everything in him wants to collapse on the couch and not move.

In these moments, sometimes I ask him to carry a load of laundry down the stairs for me. Or start the dishwasher. Or change a diaper.

And in each of these moments, he always agrees willingly.

And in thinking about it recently, I realized I’ve never heard him use the phrase that so often goes through my own mind at the end of a long day: “It’s your turn.”

It’s easy to keep score in both marriage and parenting especially if you stay at home like me. Tallies of clothes washed, bathrooms cleaned, and floors mopped can add up in my head pretty quickly, and I’ve found that in these moments when I start to keep score, I’m tempted to relinquish all responsibilities to Jake as soon as he gets home by saying, “It’s your turn.”

But then I remember that he never says it. That even in his most exhausted moments, he swoops in and de-escalates a screaming toddler with his magical powers of reasoning and calm.

He’s always one step ahead of me really. Always reminding me what really matters in this life.

Time and time again, he wordlessly reminds me that the best thing I can give to my family is all that I have. My best.

Sometimes that means changing every single diaper in the span of a day or cleaning the bathroom without complaint even though I can’t remember the last time he did. Sometimes it means waking up early with the girls again so he can sleep in or taking the trash out during a busy week even though, technically, it’s “his job.”

And here’s what I’ve learned: When I stop keeping scores and mental tallies in my head, it’s not so hard to do all the things I have to do. It’s what I have to give, and it’s always worth it.

And so, here’s to the endless numbers of meals to be cooked, floors to be vacuumed, and children to be bathed. To the easy days, the bang-your-head-against-a-wall days, and to the nights of celebrating that you made it through another day together.

Which reminds me: Jake, it’s your turn to pick out the Redbox.

to the bad days.

May 1, 2016May 21, 2016 ~ mollyflinkman ~ 3 Comments

Any tips on how to deescalate a tantrum that likely started because you were providing divided attention? I’m asking for a friend.

We all have bad days. As parents, these are the days which invented the phrase “I literally can’t even” and in which you use said phrase as a perfectly legitimate excuse for a few extra episodes of Daniel Tiger. These are the days in which you greet the welcome sight of bedtime with a generous glass of wine or a good, old-fashioned Netflix binge (even more likely, both).

Now, while I appreciate these vices, these especially bad days tend to leave me prostrate and sobbing on the living room floor (I tend to err on the side of dramatic.).

Jake has found me in this place on more than one occasion, and bless him for not laughing at me audibly. I just can’t deal with the feeling that I didn’t give the day my best. Mom guilt sets in full force, and in every scenario-turned-sour, I can see where I went wrong; I can recognize the things I could have executed far better. I can see into the futures of my children to the ways all my failures will certainly cause them ruin (I know, I know. But I did warn you about this tendency already.).

These nights are usually followed by mornings of angry-face emoji text messages sent to no less than three fellow moms. And in the moments of crucial solidarity which come in fast reply, I typically hear something I needed to be reminded of: “You’re doing a great job.”

And that’s all well and good on the days that I do, but lately I can’t stop thinking about the days that I don’t.

Because, if I’m being completely honest with myself, there are days when i just don’t give my best. They are the days in which the morning news or my Facebook newsfeed distract me from interactions with my kids. The days in which I have trouble resolving a fight because I wasn’t paying close enough attention to how it began in the first place. The days in which I choose to put myself first.

I’m learning more and more that self-discipline is the hard work of the middle. It’s work that requires a death to self, a sacrifice, and a pointed determination.

Well-intentioned people might try to tell me that it’s okay to have an off day every once in awhile, and maybe there’s truth to that because bad days are certainly unavoidable when you’re trying to teach tiny people appropriate responses to a vast scheme of emotions. However, I have resolved to believe that as general human beings, we have to fight against the sentiment that we deserve these days. That it’s okay to check out mentally. I mean, is there ever a justifiable reason to choose Instagram over reading that book you hate for the eighth time in 30 minutes? Again, asking for a friend here.

In twenty years, I want my kids to tell you that I loved them well, and I know that starts now in the moments they won’t even remember. I’d like Jake to say the same as well as my family and friends and any other general person I come in contact with. I want to hear the phrase, “You’re doing a good job” and accept it because it’s true. Because each day I died to myself, sacrificed, and determined myself to be better.

I want to eliminate the tantrums caused by lack of attention. You know, set a good example for my friend and all.

molly flinkman

Parenting