an older mother

We are already sixteen weeks along in this pregnancy and I had my first doctor's visit this week. It was a wonderful appointment and we heard the heartbeat nice and strong. I wonder if there is a better feeling in the world than the moment they find that little gallop in your belly? It is such a happy joy.

And then the baby gave me a few jabs for the very first time! A sensation that never gets old. It was during these little kicks that the doctor pointed my attention to a brochure in the back of my pregnancy binder. She kindly said, "now this will be new to you, but you are now considered a geriatric mother." (record player screeches to a stop.)

"Geriatric Mother? That's a thing?!!" I said. "I just watched Bridget Jones' Baby and laughed at that writing when her doctor told her she as a geriatric mother...but that's the real term?!! Geriatric?!!" I kept laughing as my doctor walked me through the brochure. (Which I am now realizing I paid no attention to. I'll go dig that brochure out next...)

Now I know I'm 35. And I know I'll be 36 when baby is born. But can we not come up with a more fitting name? Because I have worked in geriatric care for years and loved it. But I don't need a clothing protector at meals or bathing assistance or my meals pureed.

I think the meeting where it was decided to call 35 year old mothers geriatric had just gone too late and everyone wanted to get home and it was the last thing on the agenda and so they took a quick vote so they could get home to catch Doogie Howser.

Geriatric Mother. Ha!

my favorite gift to give

For three years in a row, I have chosen my top twelve pictures for a beautiful family calendar. The first year I made the calendar just for our family but the grandparents all saw that calendar and loved it so much that I made a mental note for the next year. So the next year, Mimi and Papa, Grandma and Grandpa H and Oma Zina all got their own Grovestead calendar. And then this year I made a second calendar for my mom's 70th birthday filled with pictures of her grandkids. It turned out so adorable that I decided to give this same cousin-filled version to my nieces for Christmas so they would have fun pictures of their cousins hanging in their room all year long.

These are absolutely my favorite gift to give. The pictures are beautiful but mostly the gift is just so personal and reinforce the joy of family.

I order mine through Shutterfly and could not be more pleased. There are all sorts of layouts to choose from, but I always go for the one picture, very clean, no text option. Their program is easy to use and their service was super speedy. You can order your own calendar here and get 40% off until January 4th!

It's now the new year, but you can still order a personal calendar for 2017. Or just tuck this idea away for next year...and consider your next year's christmas shopping for grandparents and nieces and nephews done! And now you can use the next eleven months to take beautiful pictures of your family.

Best of 2016

2016 was a year of crazy world events, but one of the best years for our family right under our own roof. This year had less projects but we were way more involved in our community. We are grateful for a church we love, neighbors we love, dear friends who are local and friends who are far. I expect 2017 will bring some new demands (like a new baby) but I feel ready for it. I feel content in my role as mom and homemaker. I feel content with our life of learning here on our hobby farm. I feel grateful for my husband and the fun and adventure he brings each year to my life (I was just informed we will be milking goats and making goat cheese this year...) So bring it on 2017. I'm up for more family, farm and fun.

crabby mom

Yesterday I was told by my oldest that I am crabby all the time. I protested that I'm not crabby all the time though I am probably crabby once a day. And that often I have a good reason to be crabby, like crabby kids that make me feel crabby.  But my boy insisted I am crabby all the time.

And man it hurt my feelings. I have three clients that I serve each day (four if you count the one growing inside of me, but I'm basically perfect for that client if I stay hydrated and take my prenatal vitamin daily). I'm with these three all day and it's all I do. I don't get strokes anywhere else so to hear that I'm crabby at the one thing that I do really stung.

Later in the day I cried about it, recognizing in my head that I'm hyper-hormonal right now. And also recognizing that what he is saying isn't 100% true. Just like 10% true. 

But then today something happened. My sister was coming over with her girls and my house has exploded with added Christmas possessions and we needed to clean before they arrived. I worked on the kitchen, laundry, living rooms and then told the kids we were going to go hit their room. And there was groaning and complaining all the way up the long, long flight of stairs up to their room that they crawled up, like fish against a mighty current. 

When we finally made it into their room I asked Elsie to "pick up every piece of clothing on the floor and put it in this laundry basket." And she looked at me like I had just started speaking Swahili. My request was so strange to her. She actually said, "I don't get it." Slowing down my Swahili, making certain I was speaking in English, I said it a different way while demonstrating what to do. Meanwhile I told Ivar he needed to put every piece of paper on the floor up on his desk. This was asking too much. His desk had no room for papers he told me. I told him that was why it is nice that papers can stack on top of each other, or fit nicely in his vertical file.

And then the words came at me again, "Mom. You're so crabby."

Aha. There it was. My crabbiness comes out when the people I love and serve become helpless sloths. And it's true. I'm totally crabby about it.

So I left their bedroom as they both started playing with toys that were neither clothing in a basket or papers on a desk, and went to complain to management. I mean, Rory. And he looked at me so perplexed. "Becca. Most kings are hated by their people. But they still have to rule. It's still their job. And it doesn't matter if people love them or hate them, they're still in charge. You're the king. Tell them what to do. They won't like you. But no kid likes being told to do chores. You have to take your emotions out of this. And yesterday when Ivar was saying you were a crabby mom I was thinking, "son, you have no idea how good you've got it."

His pep talk worked. I did sort of shake out of it. And was able to see clearly that my crabbiness is in direct relation to feeling unheard and disobeyed. But they are kids. And I am the king. Though we all know I'm not actually their king. More importantly, I am their mom. And they are my kids, not my subjects and definitely not my clients. I'm not actually working for their approval or grade or quarterly review or anything. I'm called to raise them, and part of that gig includes instilling some sort of work ethic. And if I am not well received during that teaching time then it's okay. It's still the parent's job whether the kids like it or not. 

I have a feeling this is a universal mothering conundrum. Just wanted to share my two cents.

Sincerely, a recovering-people-pleaser-easily-guilted-sometimes-crabby-but-often-cheerful-and-don't-forget-joyful-mom

merry christmas!

I brought the camera to church tonight with hopes of getting a good picture of my kids all gussied up and I got one! (And some bloopers too.)
I hope you have a very Merry Christmas. Our kids were asleep tonight at 7, completely wiped out from family festivities and general excitement that has led to exhaustion. We begged them to sleep in tomorrow explaining that there is plenty of time to open their presents but I have a feeling I had better head to bed myself. Christmas is a lot of work for the mama's. I'm reminded of that again tonight. But it's good to be the magic maker. Merry Christmas!