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significance

The Search for Significance in Motherhood: Why I Do What I Do and Write What I Write

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“Hey, sooo…. whatareya doin’ over here Lin? I see you’re writin’ some stuff (Lots of stuff) and it looks like you’ve written some kids books. I mean… you’re JUST a mom and wife, right? You take care of kids all day, right?”

*insert smarmy chuckle*

And you wouldn’t be wrong. About anything except the “just” part.

Try applying that same word to the scary parts of motherhood.

“Oh, you know… I JUST stayed up all night for 8+ weeks while nursing my brains out and taking care of a few other kids and functioning on the tiniest bit of sleep after squeezing a watermelon out of my nether regions and tearing my body apart.”

“Oh, you know… I JUST handle multiple conversations a million times a day while making food for nine meals and trying to instill values and stuff at the same time.”

I never “just…” anything. My parents can tell you that.

Back when I had a gym membership (because I thought TJ was going to be our “last one”), I marched into the gym intent on reassembling my body. Three babies that close together in my late thirties had taken a toll. To the naked eye (pun intended) I looked like I had weathered it pretty well. And I was grateful I had. But I knew I had lost all sorts of muscle I needed to rebuild.

So into the gym I went and threw “TJ the tiny boss” into the gym kids program. I walked over to the trainer’s station, intent on hiring a personal trainer to keep me motivated and hold me accountable. The lead trainer looked me up and down with a smirk on his face.

Ignoring said smirk I said, “Hi, I’m here to work. Let’s get started.” He put his head down to take notes and asked me a series of questions, continuing to write and look down at his paper without a glance up.

He got to the “Occupation” question.

I replied proudly, “I’m a mother of three beautiful boys.”

Another smirk from Mr. Muscle man.

He finally lifted his eyes from his notes and looked at my face.

“Oh, a mother, eh,” the comment full of a combination of humor, pity, contempt…. anything else he could muster with one look.

I leaned in really close to this gentleman so no one else could hear and I looked him right in they eye.

“I am in the BUSINESS of raising future leaders of America, the most important JOB on the planet. I need all the strength in my body I can muster from now until Jesus calls me home. Your job is not to judge my job. Your job is to help me be BETTER at my job.”

I could see his jaw slack a little bit and he stepped back. He cleared his throat.

“Well, ah… in that case, we’d better get started, right?”

I got put with another trainer but every time I walked into the gym, that head trainer tipped his hat to me.

I upped his expectations simply by being direct and giving him the chance to examine his own attitude.

I could have run out and cried in my car. I could have punched him in the face (pretty sure he would have won that fight). But because I KNEW WHO I WAS AND WHAT MY MISSION IS, his opinions and lack of experience stayed firmly rooted in his own head. His opinions were a reflection on him and not me.

So often, I see my fellow moms sad and hurt because they’ve allowed someone else to speak death over them. And that’s partly because they are complicit in agreeing with said speaker.

They don’t understand their worth and power handed to them.

By a God who loves them. Who is for them. Who is cheering them on to succeed in the tiny things.

Who counts each kiss, each “sorry kids, I screwed that up,” each step in this life as a victory worthy of a party to end all parties.

We moms have an immense amount of power. We are leaders shepherding our little sheep away from the wolves and toward a life of making their own decisions and acquiring the skills to defeat the wolves themselves.

Resting in the significance of being loved by an Almighty God and being given the responsibility to raise future leaders… you might as well have a impenetrable suit of armor on under your days-old T-shirt and cutoffs.

That being said, God does not send us out to do it alone. Far from it. We have a million tools at our disposal.

  • Our village of people
  • The moms who have gone before us
  • Spouses, partners and others who can parent alongside us

I want to see other moms succeed. Real bad.

Success looks like: minute-by-minute resting comfortably in the decisions about who you are. And also decisions about who you are not. No guilt or shame.

I want to see moms reclaim some peace, reclaim some time and even some rest in those early years.

We CAN have it all (of God’s gifting), but we certainly CAN’T do it all.

The other day, my boys ran to the neighbors’ house. Thirty minutes later they came home with the most adorable crafts EVER. I am not great at being crafty. Whenever I attempt it, it entirely stresses me out. I called Elizabeth (the neighbor) up and thanked her for doing craft time with my kids. Mental note… “Elizabeth is the ‘craft-fix’ part of my village.”

One mom cannot do it all.

The biggest untapped resource for moms by far: THEIR OWN CHILDREN.

The second those kids are born, we are working ourselves out of job. We are downloading information to them left and right, both consciously and subconsciously. And they’re absorbing it.

But how do we know if it really has “stuck?” How do we know if they can reproduce it? You know… the undesirable life skills like “brushing their own teeth” and “folding their own laundry” and “plunging their own toilets,” etc.

We ask them to. We tell them to. We hold them accountable.

We build in a family culture where everyone pulls their weight.

And this is where “Mom’s Not” books come in.

At some point, with everything, we make a conscious (or subconscious) decision that we are NOT going to do something for our kids. Instead, we will teach them how to do it or… we simply watch them figure it out on their own. Kids/people are INCREDIBLY resourceful when it’s something they really want to do… or have.

Ties his own shoes– BOOM! We just regained 20 seconds of mom’s time and eased a little pain in her back.

Of course, we temper our expectations with age-appropriate tasks… but we hold them to it, over and over and over. And over. And one day, we’ll turn around and they’ve done it on their own. And we praise the heck out of them.

We watch them take pride in owning the “thing” they worked hard for. And now it’s theirs. And no one can take it away from them. And they can use that thing to build the stamina to do the next thing. The process builds on itself. And the the structure of those building blocks is called “character.” The blocks are strong and heavy and made of dense stuff created through blood, sweat and tears. And it won’t blow over in a hurricane.

And now we are full circle. Mom is *starting* to be able to reclaim a little bit of time and sanity. I promise the extreme amount of work you put into those early years will not go without dividends. It seems like it will never end. That they’ll never “get it.”

But they will. With time, patience and a whole lot of humor, those little people will get on board the mom train and ride it straight through teenagehood. Maybe. Good thing trains have emergency brakes because we’re going to need them.

Keep up the good work, mom. Keep doing you– and don’t worry about the stuff that isn’t you. You hold your head up high and walk into that gym.

Because today, right this minute… MOM’S NOT taking any crap from anyone.

#momsnot #levelupyourlife #momwinslife #getonboard #independentkids #dontmesswithmom #boystomen #momofthreeboys #amwriting #writersofig #authorsofig #boymom #writinglife #latenightwriting #humorwriting #helpingmoms #laughterishealing #laughterisgood #laughterislife #laughterisbest

dads_root_beer

Cry Me a Root Beer River

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All boys descend on me in sing-songy tattletale voice:
All boys: “MOMMMM!!! Dad’s drinking a root beer and he won’t share it with us!”
Me *deadpan*: “Oh really.”
All boys: “YEAH!!! The rootbeer says “DAD’S” on it and Dad said it’s HIS because it says “DAD’S” on it!”
Me: “That sounds extremely legit to me.”
***I walk into the kitchen where Dave is***
Dave: “I worked hard today and this is my reward.”
Josh as a boy representative: “Well, we worked hard in school for 180 days… what do we get?”
Me: “You get to be a child and live in this house, drinking in the love and security of our family unit.
….and you all nailed your report cards so we got takeout from your favorite restuarant…. just last Thursday.”
Boom.
Memories seem to grow very short around here in the light of extreme root beer thirst. They must be parched, weaving nimbly through the bountiful offerings of milk, water and chocolate milk. Cry me a river kids…then get out your paddles and start heading upstream.
squirrel

The End of the End: Attack of the Four Foot Squirrels

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squirrel6
Bro 1
squirrel5
Bro2
squirrel3
Bro 3

–WARNING:– *Actual* Footage of the bros this last week of school

The squirrel is so real up in here this week. This is what they’ve been like in the afternoon/evening and I can only imagine what those poor teachers are going through. Teachers… I see you. I yelled at those bros last night. And you’d better yell at them at school, if for nothing else to make me feel better about yelling.

I mean, I full on opened the door and screamed at them (for the 3rd time) to come in for all the neighborhood to hear. Neighbors… you know the situation over here. Just go on chewing your steak and say a prayer for the crazy lady and her end-of-school year rodent demolition crew.

On a personal note, I’m finishing up a steroid regimen for my auto-immune disease. So you throw in end-of-school plus a steroids taper and mommy the rager is dragging her knuckles around the house ready to pounce on all the squirrels and eat them for dinner.

Overheard yesterday while breathing fire through my nose:

“Boys, play with your sister. Make her happy. If not, there won’t be any dinner.”

And at least 2/3 of the boys are motivated by their stomachs. Surprisingly enough, my third boy, though easily the thickest and strongest is much less food motivated. But he also has the strongest will. Bless him. What a little unicorn.

And God bless this year. And I do really mean that. Because He is with us in the hard times. And “good” and “hard” are not mutually exclusive.

I want to document the beginning of this year because I never EVER want to forget the pain and tied directly to that, how much God brought me though and our family through.

Those of us with school-aged kids were all spinning in our heads thinking about what the beginning of school was going to look like: computer work for tiny children. All day. Stuck at home. The school emails were assuring us it would be more organized than it was when everything shut down the year before.

That’s a nice sentiment and it was true. And I know those teachers and administrators worked so hard to get there.

But as a user interface designer, the process was rudimentary at best, even confusing for adults. I also understand that what was offered was the very best possible. We are not talking dumping millions of dollars to fund a software sprint for public schools to go fully online with slick apps and three years of QA. The already taxed taxpayers would laugh it off the ballot.

So the burden of proof fell on the shoulders of parents. I had a 3-month-old nursing infant who was still in the pre-nap stage of babyhood; A preschooler one-man circus and a kindergartner and first-grader who still lacked the fundamental coordination to be able to control a mouse.

Yikes.

And double yikes for my people who are the 2 working-full-time parents who have young kids the same age. They found themselves both now at home trying to juggle their work life and manage their kids’ school.

And triple yikes for the TEACHERS who may have had small kids at their house. How in the world did they do it? How did they teach their classrooms then try to manage teaching their own kids???

And it took a LOT of parent involvement. As a student of my kids’ moods and behaviors I noticed this: even though teachers recorded themselves teaching, I watched the boys zone out. It’s because of the lack of accountability. Accountability at any age is important, but young kids have very little self-motivation because that is the sort of thing that is built with time and maturity. With a glance of his/her eyes in the classroom, a teacher can pull a student back in.

So it was up to the parents to re-teach what was taught. We had to step in and become the engager. You can probably imagine that I rather enjoy teaching. But you can also imagine that there are a few VERY strong personalities going on in this house. My kids don’t take things at face value. And that’s our fault. We make a habit of teaching them how to lead a self-examined life. That and they are OUR children. Genes are powerful like permanent markers on your favorite pair of high heels.

So, I have a bunch of kids who need help clicking to the right locations and then needed to be motivated to do their work. And a breastfeeding baby who I typically breastfed while running back and forth to each computer trying to listen to what they teacher was saying when they were live. And the baby wasn’t napping. Or sleeping much at night. And I wasn’t doing either.

And TJ started going to preschool after the first few weeks. So we would load everyone up in the car precisely at 7:55. Sam would start his zoom call on the way to preschool. Then, I’d have to log him off and log Josh on when we got to preschool and Josh would start at 8:30. His would continue when we got home so I would transport him and the computer inside, disconnecting from my phone hotspot and connecting again to the home wifi.

And Sam would need to start the next one. So I’d throw him in the office. And on and on it went all day. Managing the work. Listening to the teachers. THANK GOODNESS it only lasted about 6 weeks for CCUSD. Dave would come in every night and I would collapse right after I fed everyone dinner. Getting up through the night to breastfeed, of course… and would do it again the next day. Supernatural strength. God was there. He saw my pain. He lifted my head after the shame of a bad day.

Fast forward 9 months and we reached the end of the school year. We all lived. They baby grew. She is now over a year old and so independent. The sharp pain of those early few months are fading, but I NEVER want to forget. Her early infancy was forged with a mom who was neck deep in the war room with two three other little generals- plotting a new chart each day to attack and make it to the next bunker. Leveling-up on the reg. Just like breast milk passes on the antibodies, I hope I passed along the warrior spirit to my little girl. In whatever she becomes in the this life, it will serve her well and God will use it to bring Glory to himself.

The boys and I worked through things together. We had arguments, I adjusted. They adjusted. We talked through how to better understand each other and when they needed mom to back down.

In terms of global crises… not a good year. In terms of relationship building in the Lin house…. a very good year.

It probably aged me 10 years in appearance, but that is so secondary it’s almost laughable.

I needed this perspective today. As the boys raced around and shrieked with laughter in the evenings (and grated on my burning nerves) I needed to remember how far we’ve come. And my beautiful boys have become more creative, more resilient. They’ve become more graceful toward me and the most loving big brothers toward their sister.

It has been a good year.

#schoolsout2021 #momsnot #momwinslife #squirrel #squirrelsofinstagram #amwriting #creativewritings #creativewritingsociety #squirrelsofig #squirrelmom #squirrel🐿  #schoolsout #schoolsoutforsummer #schoolsoutforsummer😎  #summercampherewecome #authorsofinstagram #authorsofig

question

The Question Here Is…

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My father-in-law LOVES to ask questions.

He is a scientist, after all.

But that day, I was asking all the questions.

Dave and I fley home to Rochester (his childhood home) and I was “meeting the parents.”

Actually, it was the second time. I really *met the family* when everyone descended on Dave’s house for Thanksgiving.

But this lunch, mama Lin had prepared and I learned the true parallels between southern moms and Chinese moms. I mean… moms. They’re all the same, really. Make a million plates of food then tell all of your guests to keep eating until they pop.

This is the way.

And yah… I’m sure history will repeat itself in my house.

Because I, too… am now a mom.

But this was pre-“mom” days when we were barely thinking about kids. We were just having fun and getting comfortable with the possibility of a future. WHOA. Pump the brakes on kids. That’s too much to think about.

So I wanted to know all about these people who had raised my boyfriend.

I went for the jugular, like always.

“Mr. Lin, how did you and Mrs. Lin meet?”

A slow, sly grin appeared on his face.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I was a doctoral grad student and Mrs. Lin was a masters-level teaching assistant. And then she became MY teaching assistant.”

And he left it at that. And sat back. And looked at me. And grinned.

“That’s very romantic.” I commented.

Dave was listening in the other room.

“WHAT??? I’ve never heard that story!!!”

Me: “How could you not have heard that story in your 38 years of existence on this earth???”

So there were two of us in the room who just discovered how his parents met.

Mr. Lin is a scientist through and through. Everything about him screams analysis. We’ve had fun bantering over the years, pushing each other and ‘getting to the bottom’ of many an investigation.

He will generally start any discussion with “The Question Here, Is–” …a trademark, if you will, of important Lin family topics.

Sammy, our middle, favors his grandfather immensely. We quietly nicknamed him “The Professor.” He likes to lecture everyone he meets. He asks a LOT of questions. He switches topics every minute or two.

Today, Sammy was knee-deep in applying the scientific method to his homework.

Me: “Sammy, finish your homework. We have to leave for school in thirty minutes.”

*Sammy just sitting there doodling on his paper*

Sammy: “Mom, I don’t understand how to answer this question. I just don’t want to do it. Look! THE SPACE IS NOT BIG ENOUGH!!! MY ANSWER WILL NOT FIT!!!”

*has a mini-breakdown while he contemplated the the incongruity of the question. His poor little scientist mind was having trouble being outside the box. Enter mom. I smash boxes for a living.*

Me: “Sam, here are some options to deal with the spacing issue. Just draw a line *up here* and finish the question on the line.”

Sam: “NOOOOOO!!!! That’s not RIGHT!!!! It doesn’t work!!!!!!”

Me: “Sam… you do *actually* need to finish your homework.”

Sam: “If I don’t… what happens?”

Me: “Good question. Let’s explore that. What do you *think* will happen?”

Sam: “Well, if I don’t finish something, Mrs. Harrison puts a ‘question mark’ next to that question.”

Me: “OK. What does a question mark *mean* in this case?”

Sam: “I think it means she doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

Me: “Oh, she understands what’s going on, alright. She understands that either 1) You forgot to do something or 2) you don’t want to do something.”

*****Pause in convo******

Me: “Are you OK with getting the question mark next to that number?”

Him: “Yeah. I’d be ok with that.”

Me: “Welp, mom is not. Can I tell you why?”

Him: “OK.”

Me: “The question mark means you didn’t answer the question. By NOT answering, the default grading scale means you get that question wrong. And you didn’t get it wrong because you tried, you got it wrong because you didn’t try. If you try to answer a question and get it wrong, we have something to work with… something to build on. But if you don’t try, we have nothing. And you’ve learned nothing.”

*Just FYI, I would have never had this conversation with Joshua. It’s in his nature to do what is expected of him. But this conversation with Sammy is so delicious to me. Because he requires a self-examined motivation.*

Sam looked at me as if he were weighing his option.

Me: “Sam… does God love us?”

Sam: “Yep.”

Me: “Does he love us regardless of what number is at the top of our papers?”

Sam: “Totally.”

Me: “And does He ALSO want His kids to ask Him for help when they don’t know the answers?

Sam: “Ooooh. Yes.”

Me: “Just like Dad and I. We feel loved when you kids come to us for help. So it is with God. It all comes back to relationships.”

Sammy put his head down and started working on his homework again.

In a few minutes, I passed by and glanced over his shoulder. He had drawn a line above the question and finished answering on the line.

He caught me looking. And covered up his answer.

If I’ve learned anything about boys up to this point, I’ve learned how powerful that pride is. So I looked away and let him save face without saying a word and went about my business.

The Little Professor wrapped up his homework and bagged it up for school.

As I cheered internally for this small victory, I imagined a whole crew of people cheering behind me. Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Yan (Sam’s teachers). Mr. Adam, Mrs. Chi-chi, Mrs. Evelyn (Preschool teachers) and most of all, Dad Lin, the original Professor.

#meettheparents #authorsofig #authorsofinstagram #latenightwriting #amwriting #storyteller #hellostoryteller #storytellersofinstagram #levelup #momsnot #theprofessor #thequestion #thequestionis #boymom #momwinslife

making_it_to_the_finals

Making It to the Finals

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It was late.

Josh walked into the kitchen where I was trying to wrap up the evening and straighten up from dinner. Also well past bedtime.

“Mom, you know that paper airplane you said you’d work on with me?”

“Yes, sure. Mmmhmm. I’m sorry son. It’s pretty late now. We’ll have to figure out another time.”

I turned around to keep going at the tasks but I caught his crestfallen look.

“Well,” he said, “We’ll just have to do it in the morning,” and he dropped his head to the table.

I furrowed my brow.

“Ummm…. yeah, we’ll have to pick another time because mornings tend to be a little crazy.”

“But MOM!!!! IT’S DUE TOMORROW!!!!”

What.

WHAT.

What is this new bit of information.

“I’m sorry, it’s DUE?? You did not tell me this was a school assignment. Or that it had an expiry date. You simply told me you’d like for me to help you make a paper airplane.”

Then it all came tumbling out. At 9:00 at night.

“Yeah mom, we’re all supposed to make paper airplanes then we’re going to fly them on Thursday and then there will be finals on Friday for the ones who fly the furthers.”

Glory be. I get the whole story. I wiped my eyes and then slowly opened them. Yep, he was still there.

“Josh,” *sigh* “Next time, please communicate with mommy better. Tell me that it is a SCHOOL ASSIGNMENT and there is a timeline and a due date.” I saw his concern and earnestness… and Josh needed grace in this moment. That boy is always in level-up mode.

“OK, here’s the deal: you go to bed and mommy is going to make you a paper airplane. One that will WIN. OK?”

Every once in awhile I get to be the hero and this was my moment. Plus, I’m good at these projects.

So I do what every modern mom does… c’mon over here YouTube and pull up a chair. I quickly found someone who had put up videos of how to fold champion paper airplanes that would fly the distance. So I got my paper and my scissors and set to work. It was pretty fun and I produced a flier that I was sure would win.

The next morning, Josh got up and I showed him his plane. He was ecstatic. He flew it in the house, but of course, we couldn’t really see how far it would go in the confines of the four walls.

When he jumped out of the car, I literally sent that boy off to school with a wing and a prayer. I’ll take paper airplanes over spirit week any day.

Fast-forward through the day and it came time to pick the boys up. They piled in the car and after everyone buckled I asked, “Hey Josh… how did it go?”

Him: “It flew…. ok.”

Me: “Ahhh, shoot. Not as we had hoped?”

Him: “Nahh…. it flew ok, but not as far as some others. I didn’t make it into the ‘finals’.”

Me: “I’m sorry son. We had high hopes for it.”

We paused the conversation for a second, then after a few minutes he chimed back in.

Him: “I made a paper airplane for my friend.”

Me: “Oh really?”

Him: “Yeah, he didn’t have one and I made one for him. He made it into the finals tomorrow!”

Me: “Josh, that’s fantastic. You made your friend a plane and that friend made it into the finals WITH THE PLANE YOU MADE HIM! In a way… you made it into the finals.”

Him: “Well, no I didn’t mom… it’s not my plane…”

Me: “But you MADE it for him… so a piece of you also went into the finals.”

He paused a thought hard.

Him: “OOOOOHHH! HAHA! Mom! Now I see! I see what you’re saying. Yes. YES. I guess I did, didn’t I.”

After we had a good laugh, I looked at him in the rearview mirror.

“Josh, when mommy does something to serve you and I watch you take that and go do something great, it’s as if I just did something great.”

He looked at me and smiled. “Mom, I get that. I totally get that now.”

I wouldn’t trade these car rides for anything in the world.

Next time, he’ll fold his own plane. But this time, I got to be a part of the process. His airplane may not have made the finals, but in this moment, right here, his heart is going the distance, hero cape and all.
 
 
-UPDATE-
 
 
Josh got in the car the other day and told me, “Mom… my friend WON the entire thing!!!”
 
I’m so proud of my boy, not only for taking initiative for his friend, but how proud he was for the win.
 
I thought I was going in for the “hero” cape and my son just grabbed it and flew. And I couldn’t be more happy about that.

#latenightwriting #levelup #levelupkids #authorsofinstagram #authorsofig #authorsofinsta #momwinslife #authorsofinstagram📚 #raisingboystomen #raisingboysright #raisingboys #boymom #boymomlife #writersofinsta #writersofinstagram #writingforlife #writinglife #writingsociety #writingforchildren #creativewriting

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