Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work Work...

Anyone who has ever seen Blazing Saddles gets that title...

When I was fifteen, I knew I wanted a job. My brother had one, and he seemed to have all the freedom a teenager could ever dream of. He had his own money, his own car, and would go do things after school and on the weekends when he didn’t have to work… So, as soon as I was old enough, I signed up for a lifeguarding class, got certified, and got a job at the local pool. During the summer, I worked at least 40 hours a week, either sitting in the hot sun telling kids to walk, or teaching swim lessons. During the school year, I worked about 30 hours a week by working after swim practice three days a week and then all day Saturday and after church on Sunday.  I had great grades in high school. I lettered in a sport and  participated in clubs.  I went to Seminary almost every morning.

And I LOVED working.

I loved meeting people and being able to help them, even when they threatened to sue me because their kid fell after ignoring my instructions to “STOP RUNNING”. I especially loved working because I learned I could be completely self sufficient. I had my own money and my own car. Not only did I earn my own money, but I got myself to work on time, I interacted with my supervisors, and I felt responsible for me.

Again – I LOVED working.

When I went to college, I worked several different types of jobs. My freshman year, the fastest job I could get was in the cafeteria dish room. Talk about a humbling experience.  I learned what hard work really was at that point. Scrubbing pots and pans in an un-ventilated room, washing dishes that students would mix food on just to be silly, cleaning out the machines that were full of everything from wet napkins to ground up meat, and spraying down floors every night were absolutely disgusting. On top of all of that, I had to wear a hair net. Eww.  But, as gross as that job was, it gave me that same fulfilled, responsible, I am woman – hear me roar, feeling. My paychecks were small, but I learned a lot about myself in the dish room.

I am not a quitter.

I am not a whiner.

I am very optimistic.

I can make a joke out of just about anything.

I actually grew to enjoy working in the dish room. I didn’t have to shower before work. I didn’t have to worry if the people in the cafeteria could hear me singing along to Sheryl Crow in the back because they couldn’t see me. I didn’t even care if my glove broke and I accidentally touched something gross before I changed it - Hazard of the job! It was sincerely fun.

Gross, yes, but truly fun!

Eventually, I got to move up the ladder to the breakfast line as the pancake girl three mornings a week, and as a cashier the other two. People loved my pancakes because I made them HUGE and would put chocolate chips in if it was your birthday! Since I could only work 20 hours a week on campus, I found a Curves nearby, and started managing it 30 hours a week, in addition to my early morning cafeteria work. I would work – go to class – go to work – go to class – sleep, and repeat Monday – Friday. Weekends were for friends, beach, church, and laundry.

I LOVED working.

While in Hawaii, I worked at the cafeteria, Curves, the Financial Aid office, and at the pool…  I even did some house sitting and babysitting for some of the women I met at Curves. My grades only slipped when my dad died very unexpectedly, but I still graduated a semester late after re-taking everything I got a C or below in because I missed a month of school.

Moving back to Tennessee wasn’t my plan after I graduated, but it was  the Lord’s plan for me, which is typically much more important than anything I could plan for myself. I left my home in Hawaii, confused and scared and really really really sad. So, to feel better about myself and my abilities, my first order of business when arriving in Tennessee was to find a job, because that had always worked to help me find my purpose and restore any lost confidence. I worked at the YMCA, then at Curves, MTSU Recreation, and then at Nissan as an Aquatics Manager.

I never liked my jobs in Tennessee, but I still LOVED working.

Of course, somewhere in all of that, I met Jason and instantly, the world was a better, brighter place. Bless that man - he is my everything. We both worked and went to school. He would listen to me complain about not liking my jobs, but having a strong desire to work none the less. I would cry or be angry. I would just grit my teeth and bear the jobs and what I deemed poor management. But one thing never changed –

I LOVED working.

When we moved to Florida, I began looking for work immediately. We had been married nearly two years at that point, so we were thinking about starting a family. But I wanted a job first. One month went by with 

no call backs,

then two,

then three…

I realized that if we were going to wait to have a baby until I had a job, we might be waiting much longer than we wanted. So, we bit the bullet and decided to try to start our family. November brought two pink lines on an EPT and, naturally, because this is my luck, December brought phone calls and interviews for jobs. I started work at a residential eating disorder treatment facility, but something was different this time.

I didn’t love working.

The job was a paycheck and a means to an end. I hated everything about it, though. Particularly the way management treated me knowing I was pregnant. I was being treated like a janitor. I couldn’t even find joy in helping the patients reach healthier lives. I just hated it. All I could think about all day every day was the effect that stupid job was having on my baby. I will say this though; the girls I worked with were a hoot. That kitchen was always laughing at shift change!

But, I hated it. I left after management told me I couldn’t go to the doctor. Walked out – one of my all time favorite stories.

So, some of you may be wondering why I have briefed my work history as a blog post… well, Jason and I came to a conclusion this weekend, that, had you asked me even a year ago if I would ever even consider, I would have laughed at you, because I LOVE working so much.

We decided that I am officially a stay at home mom.

I am still getting used to the thought of not looking for jobs while Adaline is napping.

Hooray – There is back-story!

Since Jason left his PhD program, we have been figuring out what is next for us. Before he left his PhD, we had considered me staying at home because it would have been the only way he could have finished school – he was already only sleeping about 4 hours a night and the next semester did not look promising. But, when he chose to get an industry job, it looked like I would be able to return to work,  which really excited me because I have always loved working. But, I have been actively looking for work for over three months… I have sent out over 300 resumes, filled out applications, harassed Human Resources all over the state… and…

Nothing.

Zip.

Zilch.

Nada.

Unless you want to count the one interview I had, that I am fairly certain was a pity interview…

It is confusing when, your whole life, working has brought such a sense of accomplishment and self worth, and then all of a sudden, you aren’t good enough for anything.

A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

I can’t even get a call back from Edible Arrangements. I have two Bachelor’s degrees and am halfway through a Master’s, and I am not qualified to cut fruit? Really?

Anyhow, I am getting sidetracked. Back to the situation at hand.

Jason and I went to the Temple on Saturday, because we needed some serious guidance. I have not been happy being at home. I love my daughter, and if being a stay at home mom meant just playing with her all day, sign me up! But, I do not find joy in folding socks. My soul is not fulfilled when I dust the shelves. I do not jump for joy or feel proud when I have dinner ready when Jason gets home.

I have never wanted to be at home.

Now, before you get your panties in a wad and get offended, this does not mean I have a negative opinion of mothers who stay home. My personal feelings about whether or not I want to stay at home have often been highly misinterpreted by women I go to church with, or any women who choose to stay home with their children. Let me clarify - I do not think that ‘stay at home moms’ are lazy or un-ambitious. I do not think they are stupid or uneducated. For the most part, I think women who choose to stay home are doing incredibly noble work. And it is not easy.

I have just never felt a part of that group.

After all, I am a woman who was shocked the morning after my wedding to realize I was actually married, because I NEVER thought I would marry. I thought I would spend my life traveling, taking exotic lovers all over the world. Then, I met a man who not only captured every bit of my heart, but showed me that I was worthy of being loved.  This amazing man wanted to be a family with me? Wow. Talk about not being 

prepared…

The idea of staying home is not something I was brought up with either… my mother always had a full time job and was still a good mom. Was our house always clean? No. Did we eat a lot of quick meals? Yes. But I always knew I was loved. I was clean, made good grades, and stayed out of trouble… Thus, I have an immense amount of respect for working moms. I have many wonderful friends who are mothers who work, and it is not an easy choice for them. For some, it isn’t a choice at all – you either work or you are homeless.  They love their kids enough to provide for them. I would almost bet that every mother who has a job has felt guilt or sadness at some point for leaving her child. I always hear mom’s who stay home talk about how being at home is not easy – as someone who has been home for a year now, I completely understand that. But a working mom deserves quite a bit of credit. Being away from the child you carried and nursed is not easy. Leaving your baby crying for you with a baby sitter because you have to get to work is not an easy task either. And for some, like I said, they do not have a choice to stay home. I have nothing but respect for the sacrifices those women make to put food on the table.

While in the temple this weekend, Jason and I were pondering a lot of things. Money, careers, school, children…  What our ‘basics’ are so we can get back to basics. My amazing husband made a choice in December to leave a career that promises oodles of money for two reasons:

1 – He was literally killing himself trying to forge a path in a career that had no meaning to him and was not meant for him.

2 – He didn’t see the point in having oodles of money if he had to sacrifice me and Adaline to get it. Because that was the situation that was happening and he loves us too much to let us go for money.

Not everyone gets to be loved the way Jason loves me and I will always be grateful for that man. He is noble and good and smart. He works hard and has his priorities straight. Anyone with something bad to say about Jason Nelms had better be certain I am not within ear shot…

Even though Jason’s our choice for Jason to leave the PhD was without question the right choice for our family, it left us a little confused. Imagine you are driving full speed down a road toward a very specific location, and then all of a sudden, you turn your car to go somewhere else, because the location you were driving to is not where you want to be. You don’t really know where you are. You don’t know the roads you have to take now. You don’t know if you have enough food or gas to get to your new location. You aren’t really certain where your new location is… You are just a little confused. Certain the turn was the right choice, but needing directions. When my husband’s career choice changed, the future of our family needed re-planning. That re-planning includes me staying home.

Couponing.

Menu planning.

Play grouping.

Cleaning. Folding. Washing.

Serving my family.

I don’t know why I am supposed to be home. I just know it is what the Lord expects of me right now. It does not mean I will be home forever, but I am not considering myself unemployed anymore. I am incredibly grateful that Jason has a job that provides sufficient for our needs and that I am able to be obedient to this instruction from the Lord. It would be a lot harder for me to stay home if we couldn’t pay rent. Maybe staying home will be the best choice I have ever made. Maybe it won’t. All I know is I am looking forward to the lessons I will be learning from the obedience I am without question going to practice.  We will be poor for a little bit (like I haven't been poor before) while Jason accumulates some industry experience and certifications. I am investigating self-employment options, and maybe will actually get to write the book I have always wanted to write. Who knows?

What I do know is I am grateful. I am blessed. I am truly and sincerely humbled.

Parenting... and Various Other Forms of Torture.

The morning Adaline was born I immediately noticed and knew several things about her. Her chubby cheeks. That she looks just like her dad. That we would never be able to find pants long enough. That she is going to do great things in this world. That she is without fail the most amazing and beautiful person I have ever seen.

And that she had ridiculously long fingernails.

I waited a day or two to cut them, wanting her to remain as pristine and perfect as when she came out, but the first time she clawed herself I felt like a failure. So I cut her nails... and proceeded to make several of her precious little fingers bleed (no one told me about biting or peeling them until after the fact). I again felt like an enormous failure. At that time I had no idea of how very accustomed I would become with this feeling. 

Don't get me wrong. I love being a mom. I love making her laugh, and when she is wandering around the house chanting "mama" because I am hidden in the kitchen, I just want to hide more so I can hear it over and over and over. I love her and she is no way makes me feel awful. I make me feel awful. Society's expectations of the perfect mom make me feel awful. Expectations in general make me feel awful. But let me not get sidetracked... what society expects can suck my big toe for all I care.

Maybe I will write a 'stick it to the man post' in a few weeks. Maybe. 

Back to parenting. There are attachment parents. Helicopter parents. Free range parents. Tiger moms. Permissive parents. Un-involved parents. Deadbeats and Super-parents. Cry it out parents. Co-sleepers. Bottle feeders. Breast feeders. Authoritative or Authoritarian. The list goes on and on and on and on and on. And on.  No wonder that, at some point in time, I am sure anyone who has had the courage to become a parent has felt like they are doing something wrong by someone else's standards.

And have felt like crap for it.

Recently, Adaline began walking sprinting. We have been traveling a lot the last few weeks, so any time she gets the chance to roam, I let her because odds are, she will end up in her car seat for four hour stretches sooner than later. And car seat riding is certainly not on her top five list of things to do. Anyhow, we were in North Carolina visiting Jason's brother (shout out to the other Nelms clan up in NC), and Adaline was walking around the lobby at church. When she gets tired, she starts to sway and wobble (looking a bit like a drunk) and will usually fall on her diapered butt. 

This time she decided to fall on her precious un-diapered face. She busted her mouth open and bit all the way through her lip. Thank heaven I don't panic until after the fact in those situations. 

All I remember was loud CRACK her face made hitting a table and seeing her screaming mouth full of blood. It is sincerely haunting.

And despite my delayed panic, that familiar feeling of failing set in immediately. Now, she would have a scar to prove I failed.

 Lucky me.

After a blessing from her Dad and Uncle Jerrod, and a kind visit from a doctor in the ward (a really, really nice man with an endearing accent), we decided an emergency room visit was not needed. I cried the whole way back to my brother-in-law's apartment. Adaline and her fat lip slept like nothing had happened. 

I like to try to learn from the situations life hands me, so I do a lot of retrospective thinking. And, in retrospect, there is nothing I could have done that would have prevented her from getting hurt. Sure, I could have kept her on a leash or hovered above her. Wrapped her in bubble wrap. Better yet, I could have kept her in my lap and not let her learn to walk. Ever. In retrospect there are a lot of things I could have done differently to prevent the CRACK and blood pool in her mouth. But not from her getting hurt.

But I wouldn't change it. 

Cruel? I am sure there are those out there already judging me and thinking I am evil for not taking her pain away. That you know exactly what my child needed to prevent getting hurt, because let's face it, you probably know my child better than me. Right? Insert sarcasm here and please see paragraph IV line V of this blog post. For those who are actually interested in what I learned and not judging me, here is the thing. I follow my heart with my child, as does her father. Because she is just that... our child. The Lord sent her to us because the three of us are a match. We belong to her just as much as she belongs to us. Our goal is to raise a girl who loves and cares for others unconditionally, without caring one bit about what others think of her. One who explores and trusts the world around her so she doesn't become a cynic. One who will always want to exemplify the loving demeanor of Jesus Christ. With that being said, whether it is a broken heart at 16 or a busted lip at 10 months, she is going to get hurt, no matter what we do, because out of pain comes knowledge, and I cannot keep her from that.

And I will likely feel like a failure when she hurts. Every. Single. Time.

But maybe sometimes I won't...

Because I think that is part of the adversary's plan. To make us feel like we are doing it 'wrong'. he has infiltrated families in so many ways (pornography, infidelity, money arguments, etc.). Why not attack us when we are doing what is right? Why not make parents of any school of thought think they are wrong, no matter how much their actions are out of love and a deep understanding of their own child. Or worse off, that every one else is wrong and failing their children if they aren't doing it your way. Because, hey, if we feel like we are doing miserable jobs and failing every minute of every day, we will stop trying to do the right thing. Right?

So, rather than spend her entire childhood 'sheltering' her or 'pushing' her, I prefer to just follow my heart and let her be who she is. And she is clumsy. I try to live my life in a way that I have the guidance of a loving Heavenly Father, so I don't think I need a book to tell me how to love the baby I grew for nine months. I don't need an expert opinion or a website... I simply go with my gut. To me, that is the coolest part about being a parent. That you know your child better than anyone else does. I follow the instinct Heavenly Father blessed me with when I pushed this little baby out in my bathroom... Ok - she wasn't so much a little baby as a big one. 

We pick her up when she cries. We snuggle her when she wants it. She eats when she is hungry. She gets rocked to sleep when she is tired. She still nurses and will continue until we both feel like it's done. We make her laugh. We leave her alone when she is figuring something out. We sing and dance a lot. We explore and learn... Because that is what Adaline needs/wants/will get. What Adaline needs/wants/will get may not be what little Suzy or Johnny needs/wants/or will get because they are not the same people. They do not have the same plan. They do not have the same parents.

AND THAT IS OK.

She loves us. And we love her. (Both uses of the word 'love' are terrible understatements and used as verbs here)

So, the title of my post isn't about parenting being a form of torture for the kids, but rather for the parents themselves. No matter what school of thought you adhere to as a parent, odds are you have felt someone else was judging you or you have done some judging. That you have done something wrong or that someone else is an idiot. I know I have. I have done both.

I have been openly judged for cloth diapering, having a home birth, getting Adaline's ears pierced so early, for supplementing with formula, for breastfeeding, for co-sleeping, for not letting her cry it out, for feeding her the same things we eat. The list goes on.

And I have judged for many of the same reasons...

I think it is time for us to stop that. Maybe give people the benefit of the doubt before counting their actions as a gross judgments in error. Maybe acknowledging that someone else's child's needs are different from the needs of our own children. Maybe seeing the bond between a parent and child before insisting that a bond isn't possible because the mom let her kid bust her face open at church. Maybe we should try to understand before judging or being offended.

We should be confidant that we know what is best for our own children. And that others are doing their very best for their own children.

Now, I understand that you cannot blanket statement these things. There are always going to be folks that don't really get 'parenting'. They may cause harm to their children in various ways. I am not justifying what they do; parenting is done out of a feeling of love. If you are hurting or harming your kids, you aren't parenting because your actions aren't coming from a place of love. But for those who have decided to really parent... whatever method they have selected deserves respect and dignity.

Otherwise the family loses. People stop trying. People stop caring. Kindness and understanding will always go a lot father than harsh criticisms.

This is my family... Judge us but we love each other like crazy.