motherhood

10 Things I’ve Learned in 10 Years of Motherhood

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment

10 things in 10 years motherhood

My first baby just had his tenth birthday. He was just born five minutes ago. And then I blinked. I can definitely testify to the truth of that old saying: “The days are long but the years are short.” I’m no expert, but I have learned some valuable lessons along the way.

Here are ten things I’ve learned in ten years of motherhood.

  1. Expect the unexpected.
    From minute one, motherhood has been full of surprises. Our firstborn was named and the room decorated in various shades of pink just as soon as we left our gender-revealing ultrasound. The kid was five minutes old before someone thought to tell us that she was a he. Our poor ultrasound tech must have had an off day. Oops.
  1. Haters gonna hate.
    No matter what we choose for our children, there will be plenty of people who passionately disagree with us. Breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, free-range or Pop-Tarts. I’m still somewhat shocked at how freely people will shame a mom for her choices. After ten years, my skin has finally thickened up and I’ve learned to own my decisions.
  1. Coffee and wine.
    The only two things I can think of that I get to enjoy on my own without sharing with my kids. They don’t even ask anymore. Cheers!
  1. This, too, shall pass.
    Whether it’s teething, potty training, or the crazy drama of threenagers, there are seasons of motherhood. I thought I would never leave the house without packing for a three-day safari. And then suddenly, I was carrying a cute purse again. (Would someone please occasionally remind me of my own words because we started over with a new baby last year. Ahem. See #1. Also, #3.)
  1. Choose Laughter.
    When they draw whiskers on their faces in permanent marker the day before family portraits. When I drop the diaper and the contents fall out in front of a crowd. When I’m carrying a screaming kid half my size all the way through Target. These are the moments that could easily send me into a mommy meltdown. It took some practice, but I learned to laugh. Especially when I realized these are the stories I’ll get to tell at their rehearsal dinners…

To read the remainder of this post and join the conversation by sharing your lessons and tips, please click through to visit Atlanta Area Moms Blog. While you’re there, check out some of the other great posts by some amazing mamas!
http://atlanta.citymomsblog.com/mom/10-things-ive-learned-10-years-motherhood/

And Then I Blinked: 10 Years with Caleb

~ Ashley ~ 4 Comments

I was a week past my due date. It was mid-June in Florida. My ankles and feet could have matched a sumo wrestler whose dinner was a little too salty.

It was a full moon.

There was a tropical storm coming.

And yet this baby girl was in no hurry.

I walked. I ate the magic eggplant parmesan. I walked some more. I tried a little glass of wine and a bubble bath. I walked again.

I did all I could to get things started.

Everything was ready. As soon as we left our gender-revealing ultrasound, we’d named her and decorated her room.

We were ready! For labor, for the baby, for parenthood.

23 hours of induced labor. Three hours of pushing. All four pages of my birth plan had gone out the window at about hour seven.

The baby was five minutes old before someone mentioned that she was a he. Oops. Big, big ultrasound oops.

From that moment on, he’s been surprising us.

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When he was 18 months old, he could point out about half the United States on a map. His favorite shape was an octagon. He was absolutely fascinated by windmills.

Then he discovered trains.

Yes, there was the token Thomas the Tank here and there. When someone would ask him about his favorite engine, they would expect a short answer about Edward or Percy or maybe even Chuggington. What they got was 15 minutes of dialogue about the Union Pacific 4-8-8-4 and how it compares to the Union Pacific 4-6-6-4.

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Thomas episodes were quickly replaced by hours-long documentaries about Amtrak’s Sunset Limited or The Era of Steam. He could hold his own in conversations with the old pros at the Model Railroad Show.

When he was four years old, he became interested in the human body and decided he was going to learn all about it. So he did. He pored over anatomy books. When someone asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d answer, “A train engineer for my job and a pulmonologist as my hobby.”

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This kid.

He is one in a million. He has changed my life and molded me into the person I am now and will continue to change me as we each grow.

I became a mama when he was born. I became an autism research professional when he was two. I became an advocate when he was three. I became the proverbial firewalker when he was four.

There have been some long, hard days. When his little body just could not handle the barrage of sensory input. When the world was overwhelming. When every transition was so very hard.

And yet.

This kid.

He has pushed through. He has shown up. He has kept trying.

He has overcome so much in his ten years.

He has taught me more about love, courage, and perseverance than I even knew there was to learn.

I could have never imagined the crazy ride parenthood would take us on when we were waiting and waiting for him to get here.

I wouldn’t trade a single minute of it for anything in the world.

He was so worth the wait.

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5 Ways Moms Are Total Ninjas

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment

5 ways moms are total ninjas

To celebrate the beginning of summer, I took my kids to Family Night at our favorite chicken restaurant. The place was absolutely packed with kids hyped up on the promise of freedom. The play area looked like a giant ant bed that had just been kicked over and sounded like the 10th circle of hell that Dante could never have imagined in his worst nightmares.

Let’s just say it was a long night.

Once we got home, after I finally got the kids in bed, I sat on the couch and held my breath. I didn’t want to do anything to wake them up. I knew if I so much as twitched, they’d wake up. A few minutes later, I needed to walk past their bedrooms to check the laundry. Halfway there, I realized if anyone happened to see me, they would worry about me. Each step took all kinds of planning and I was hopping all over the hallway, avoiding those squeaky spots.

And that’s when it hit me. Moms are total ninjas. Need more proof?  Read on…

 

To read more about the ways moms are total ninjas (including stealth, speed, endurance, unagi, and wisdom), please visit Atlanta Area Moms Blog:
http://atlanta.citymomsblog.com/mom/moms-a-ninja/.

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Connecting with God When All You Have Is a Moment

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment

dawn-nature-sunset-womanOnce upon a time, I was an adventurer. I was fearless. I lived each day to the fullest. Carpe diem and all that. I climbed mountains and flew across oceans. My passion to share Jesus was a fire burning, and I wanted to spread it across the world. I prayed aloud all the time, whether in the arms of my dearest friends or with complete strangers at the next gas pump.

As time passed, though, that fire died down until it seemed only embers remained. I think I got lost in the haze of day-to-day life. Over the last decade, my adventures have consisted mostly of navigating Walmart with three kids without causing a major public incident. The only mountains I’ve climbed have been the lofty peaks of laundry I step on to get to the dryer.

When I became a mother, I think I hit a pause button on being me. I think this self-imposed hiatus is something to which all caregivers can relate. It’s in our nature to give and give and give to our families. That’s part of what makes being a wife and mom so fiercely beautiful. This system we’ve set up seems to work–until the time inevitably comes when we have nothing left of ourselves to give.

That’s where I was just a short time ago. Drained. Short-tempered. Exhausted. Spiritually parched. Easily frustrated. One day, I suddenly realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d prayed aloud. There were the bedtime prayers and meal blessings with the kids, but other than that, it just didn’t happen anymore. I’m not sure why. With church and small group and Bible study and MOPS meetings, there were plenty of opportunities. I would just sit there, though, with the weight of the pause pressing on my shoulders and the heat of the moment burning my cheeks. It’s not like I thought my friends or church family would jump to their feet, laughing and pointing at me. Why was I so self-conscious? I realized it was because I was out of practice.

I was disconnected. In my frantic need to take care of everyone else, I wasn’t making time to connect with God, and that disconnect was spilling over into all the other parts of my life. My identity is found in him. Unless I am spending time with the One who created me, I am bound to lose myself…

This post was challenging for me because it felt very vulnerable. Vulnerability is scary but authenticity is so worth it if even just one person is encouraged or says, “Me, too!”

To read more of this post, please visit The Glorious Table:
http://theglorioustable.com/2016/06/connecting-with-god-when-all-you-have-is-a-moment/.

To the Parent Whose Kid Didn’t Get Any Awards

~ Ashley ~ 4 Comments


to the parent whose kid didn't get any awards

I saw you over there from my seat on the back row.

We stuck it out, you and I. Two tedious hours of an elementary school awards ceremony to acknowledge all the hard work throughout the year.

Two hours of a seemingly endless list of names called out, a few over and over and over again.

I saw you clapping for each and every one of those names. Even when the same name was called out for the 17th time. I saw you smiling congratulations to the parents tripping over themselves to get the good photo spot in the aisle.

I noticed your smile grew a bit tight as the long minutes passed. I’m sure mine looked exactly the same as we waited, you and I.

The number of awarded kids grew and grew while we waited and waited for our kids to have their names called.

We knew going in that our kids probably weren’t the top grade earners in their classes. We knew they weren’t the captains of any sports teams. But surely there would be something. Some reason to hear their names called and to feel a bit of pride to be ending well.  Something.

I saw you look over to where your child was using empty hands to cheer on classmates collecting handfuls of awards. I saw you quickly wipe away that tear. My heart hurt with you.

We’re stuck in this gray area, you and I. There’s a tug of war between the two sides. One says, “Give every child a prize.” The other says, “The world is a tough place that makes us earn it and so should they.”

We’re torn. We understand both sides. We’re the ones in the middle.

The children who won all those awards should absolutely be celebrated and acknowledged. They worked hard. Their parents should be so proud.

But we should be proud, too.

While our children might have come home empty-handed, feeling embarrassed and left out, we still have so many reasons to celebrate.

Because there are plenty of achievements that don’t come with certificates.

He always showed up, even when it was hard.

She often shared lunch with a friend who had none.

He could be counted on to encourage classmates who were sad.

She worked harder on that project than she has ever before worked on anything else.

He invited the whole class to his party, even that one kid no one likes.

She is that one kid no one likes and yet she didn’t give up.

Make sure they know that what they accomplished this year is worthy of celebration.

Because the world is tough. It wears on our souls.

And this tough world sure could use a few more people who are compassionate, kind, and determined to make it a better place.                        Tweet: This tough world sure could use a few more people who are compassionate, kind, and determined to make it a better place. via @ashleydpooser

 

The Hindsight of Motherhood: 5 Lessons I’ve Learned from Looking Back

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment


hindsight of motherhood picmonkey

We realized we were done having babies. Our youngest was almost five when I watched some men load up our crib and changing table into the back of a pickup truck. They drove away, carrying all my original plans with them. We’d always said we wanted three or four kids.

That night, I had a good cry and some good wine, and let go of my expectations. We counted our blessings. We had two amazing kids who daily taught us life lessons of love and faith and perseverance.

It was almost exactly one year later that I found out Abby was on her way.

We never expected a six-year age difference between our youngest kids. We would have never planned it that way. They say hindsight is 20/20 and I have definitely discovered some major benefits of having our last baby so much later.

1. Everything is more relaxed.
With our first two babies, schedule was king and every hour of our day was dictated. I found that I was homebound most of the time due to naptimes, playtimes, and mealtimes. Now that I’m older and wiser, I know I have the power to create flexibility. Also, I’ve seen the other side of the mountain. I’ve lived to see that truly, one day they really will sleep. Or be out of diapers. Or be able to face forward in the car. Or whatever my current frustration is. I know it’s just the briefest of moments in the grand scheme of things.

2. Going along with #1, I’m not as rigid in my thinking or expectations.
There is freedom in knowing that I don’t know it all. And it’s okay that I don’t know it all. I don’t think I even want to know it all. Each kid is so unique and one method will work beautifully for one and not at all for another. I’ve actually saved myself quite a few headaches in approaching baby #3 as a blank slate. We’re learning what works best for us together.

3. Kids are stinkin’ resilient.
In my early days of motherhood, I was completely convinced I was screwing up so badly that my kids would never recover. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, you name it. Now that I’ve been mothering for almost a decade, I’ve learned that my kids are just awesome in spite of me. God is on His throne and my stupid mistakes in parenting are not going to thwart His plans for my babies. I just have to show up every day and do the best I can and He’s got it covered.

4. It really does take a village.
I once worried almost daily about each kid getting his or her “share” of me. I just knew for sure that I was failing at fully meeting any one of my children’s needs. Guess what? I was. One human being cannot be the ultimate meeter of needs for any other human being. We are not created that way. We have to delegate. I always thought the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child,” was all about the kid, but it’s just as much about the village. It’s a beautiful, mutually beneficial balance.

5. If parenting is hard then you’re doing it right.
I’m planning a whole separate post just on this point. Parenting is hard. Sometimes it hurts. There are countless, priceless, golden moments scattered like diamonds throughout this parenting journey. There are also moments when you feel like banging your head against the wall because you’ve doled out the same consequences for the same offenses over and over. It takes a lot of work to be consistent. It’s frustrating and exhausting. If it were easy, you’d be doing it wrong.

What hindsight would you add? Share in the comments!

On the Need for Community

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment


on the need for community

Over Spring Break, I got a chance to sit out on the back porch of my parents’ house. They live in the quiet countryside of north Florida, surrounded by pine forest.

All throughout the day, the only noise is ours. Someone puttering in the kitchen. Someone else calling the dogs back in. Laughter and playing and the occasional argument between the kids.

But at nighttime, the woods come alive with a loud symphony of sound. Sitting on the back porch, with the frogs and crickets and birds all shouting their songs, God reminded me of something.

Each individual creature is tiny and fragile. On its own, it could be overlooked and not noticed. It could be forgotten, easily stepped on or quickly dismissed as insignificant.

But together? When they come together to raise their voices? It’s a choir that can be heard for miles. It will not be ignored.

The same can be true for us.

Individually, we feel fragile. But together, we are strong.

We are made for community.

I recently had the privilege of witnessing this firsthand.

Jennie Allen, a popular Christian speaker and author, was alone in a hotel room, trying to finish a book and realized her own need for community. With no real expectations, she tossed out a link for a Facebook group.

As of this writing, in the week since its birth, “Our Village” currently has 4,983 members.

Almost 5,000 people. Mostly women. Who immediately felt the need in their own hearts to connect and jumped in.

In the last week, I have seen hundreds and hundreds of posts. They mostly sound a bit like the one I wrote in my head and never posted:

Hey everyone. I wasn’t going to introduce myself because there are just so many people to know but I thought I might as well go for it. I’m so-and-so from somewhere. I’m a wife/mother/friend/sister/daughter/teacher. I’m glad to be a part of this group because _________.

And where that ________ is? Insert any one of five thousand incredible, unique, God-given stories. A story that might not have been told because there are so many stories that have already been shared.

And we tend to feel like our voice and our story isn’t as needed or as exciting or as important as the others.

But we are made for community.

We need to hear each others’ stories. And we need our stories to be heard. God made us that way.

For every reluctant introduction, the need to be known finally outweighed the fear of being overlooked. The need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves was stronger than the fear of rejection.

Strangers.

But strangers who are now a part of something bigger than themselves.

I have seen women jump to congratulate and cheer on successes. I have seen women humble themselves and bravely tell their truths once held hidden. I have seen women shower grace upon grace.

Strangers no more.

Sisters.

In community.

And again I’m reminded of the frogs, the crickets, and the birds. Each one a tiny creature. One small part of a much larger whole.

But together, we are strong. 

We are made for community.

Dear New Autism Mama

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment

Dear New Autism Mama,

You’ve never met me, but I think we might know each other a little. If you come sit next to me for a bit, you’ll find we have something in common.

You see, I’ve been there.

It probably started with a funny feeling. I know that feeling. It almost feels like a little flip of your tummy. That odd feeling leads to questions that you’re not quite ready to ask out loud just yet. And you worry if you give a voice to your fears, they might become real.

When you finally found the courage to release those fears you once guarded and protected, you might have found they were disregarded, belittled even. You might have been told you’re overreacting. You might have heard you’re paranoid. Attention-seeking. He’ll outgrow it. He just needs discipline. We’ve heard it all, haven’t we?

Then you probably entered No Man’s Land. That frustratingly long time between the first tug on your mommy’s instinct until you have an answer. For me, this was the worst part. You now know you’re a part of something different, but you’re not completely sure just what it might be. You do a lot of soul-searching. You do a lot of research. You consume every book and article you can get your hands on. You begin to see your sweet baby in a new light. No, he hasn’t changed. But his whole life will flash before your eyes. You’ll begin to get acquainted with the idea. You’ll want to reach out to people who get it. You’ll want to hear their stories and tell yours. But you won’t have an exact answer yet. You might feel like you need a membership card that you haven’t been given yet…

To read more of this open letter or to share it with a friend who might need to hear she’s not alone, please click through to visit Chronically Whole! I am honored to be sharing some words over there today. http://chronicallywhole.com/606-2/

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Parenting in the Fire Swamp

~ Ashley ~ Leave a comment

My sweet precious lamb of a 9-month-old has yet to sleep much in her lifetime. Which recently gave me the opportunity to reflect on the last time we were in the throes of sleep deprivation and general insanity. I remembered this post I wrote a few years ago and decided to bring it over. It is like my 2013 experienced mom self  was writing directly to my 2016 new mom self. =)

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From Stinker Babies ~ January 28, 2013 

The other night, Jake and I were flipping through the channels hoping to find something on TV that did not involve mighty math powers or latch-key bunnies.  (Seriously, where are  the adults in Max & Ruby?)

I squealed when we came across one of the greatest movies in the history of mankind.

The Princess Bride.
Buttercup had just tossed Wesley down the hill and we were already reciting the lines right along with them.

As the two lovebirds bravely headed off into the fire swamp, I had the most incredible epiphany.

Parenting is like the fire swamp.  The fire swamp is parenting.  Mind = blown.

All the ups and downs of sleepless nights and diaper explosions and teething and potty training and the Terrible Twos and Traumatic Threes and Frustrating Fours and…okay, you get the picture.

“It’s not that bad.  Well, I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home here but the trees are actually quite lovely.”

We make it through the days of packing up the entire house to run to the grocery store.   We survive the sleep deprivation.  We celebrate the end of potty training.  And after a bit, we look back and we see the loveliness of the trees.

But just when we’ve mastered one phase, a new challenge is on the horizon.  Eventually, we’ll realize we’ve learned and grown.  We’ll hear the pops that precede a flame spurt and know how to avoid the fire.

“Well, one thing I will say.  The fire swamp certainly does keep you on your toes.  This will all soon be but a happy memory.”

There will be days, though, when we find ourselves feeling defeated and discouraged.  Maybe we might even find ourselves having a day when we’re sobbing on the kitchen floor.

“We’ll never succeed.  We may as well die here.”

Even though Buttercup is a bit of a drama queen, that attitude is sometimes familiar.  But!  We can’t give up.  We can do it!  Think about all the challenges we’ve faced.  Think of all the ways we’ve learned and grown.  We are growing daily as we’re molded and shaped by our experiences.

“No, no.  We have already succeeded.  I mean, what are the three terrors of the fire swamp?  One, the flame spurt.  No problem.  There’s a popping sound preceding each.  We can avoid that.  Two, the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that, too.”

I know what you’re thinking.

What about the R.O.U.S.s?

That’s why we have each other.  In parenting, it is so extremely important to have some sort of community.  We’ve got each other’s backs.  We can do this together!

Together, we can make it through this fire swamp.  And one day?  (Maybe even many years from now.)  But, one day, we’ll look back on the “terrors” of the fire swamp and our first thought will be, “How lovely were the trees.”

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