Finding Alder

Alder has asked me to enroll him in a martial arts program for years.  Until this April, we lived in a log home on 5 acres 30 miles west of Missoula (the closest major town).  Clearly our distance created logistical problems.   His older brother plays competitive soccer at least 3 days a week.  I used to coach and Jay and I played soccer at least 2 nights a week.  Add to that multiple car rides to and from weekly doctor appointments for Alder, and you've got a life that includes at least 8 hours of weekly, high speed windshield time.  I was as eager to add one more reason to drive as I am excited to take a cold shower.  But driving 120 miles a day and managing 3 boys in the car aren't the only reasons I waited until last fall to enroll Alder in Taekwondo. The truth is, I hate seeing him struggle. Nothing in Alder's life has come easy to him.  He could barely talk until he was 4.  It took an intense amount of work for him to stop repeating ...

Well here we are again.  Tomorrow is the first day of school.  I'm exceptionally enthusiastic about this year for a number of reasons, the foremost being that I feel organized and uncharacteristically prepared for the first time in my history as a mom.   I've spent the last couple weeks in the sort of nesting mode I only experienced while pregnant.  But since my youngest starts kindergarten this year, I'm nesting differenlty--in a way that prepares me for their departure (i.e. kicking them out of the nest).  I mean that both in jest and with remorse.  I love my children and I love/hate them getting older.  I feel tethered between wanting them to grow more independently (which in the short term feels like less work for me) while at the same time I want them to still need me.  I like, for example, not having to wipe their bums yet I still want them to hold my hand by choice (once they wash it after wiping their own bum, of course).  I realiz...

I am convinced all moms frequently ask themselves some version of the following question:   Is my kid worse than your kid?   This question comes in many forms.  It comes with and without judgement from others and from ourselves.  It comes before leaving for a playdate.  It comes at the grocery store.  It comes with a meltdown in Target--especially when you see that mom with her perfect hair and her perfect outfit and her perfect little child, quietly engaged as they actually sit still in the cart eating (not throwing or threatening to spit out their food) and every other word is "please" and "thank you." And if you're anything like me you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror looking like you just left a yoga class (which you probably did), spilled lunch on your lap while you drove like a crazy person (both of which you probably did, too) just to make it to a store you hate entering to purchase things you wish you didn't need with children who ...

Have you ever had one of those days where it took everything you had not to break down and cry?  I mean, over anything--regardless of its significance?  Well, that was my day today. I'm sure it's a combination of female hormones, lack of sleep and a variety of different stressors carrying over from the weekend:  playing 4 soccer games in a single-day tournament, out of town guests, work, kids, husband...the list goes on and on as it does for most of us.   Even good stress is stress.  So although I had a truly awesome weekend full of adventure and love, I'm officially pooped and the tears wouldn't stop today.  And something in particular kept setting them off. Alder came home last Thursday and informed me he wasn't allowed to go to recess.  He could barely speak to me.  His eyes blinked hard and fast, deep breaths in and out, he had to take a self imposed "time out" to gather his thoughts before he was able to explain what happened.  These...

Today was a triumph. I suppose triumph may be an overstatement to some but for this mama I may have earned stars on my invisible cape. I coach youth soccer for our local club. Since I've played the sport for nearly 40 years (ouch--that hurt just thinking about how old that makes me), I love everything about soccer. I love teaching a child how a ball feels when it touches the right part of their foot.  I love seeing them start to understand the concept of running into open space. I love to watch them lose--even though I'm so competitive that the idea of losing actually causes me physical pain--as long as they're learning and growing. But today I wasn't coaching. I was a mom on the sidelines. I don't ring a cowbell and I cringe when parents coach the team from the sidelines. Our team lost both games by double digits (I think...didn't actually keep score). I think part of my decision to coach Fischer involved guilt and needing a break.  Alder presented with en...

This is a project I've wanted to undertake for some time now.  I was an adjunct professor who taught students to write but I never seemed to find time to write on my own.  With 3 boys under the age of 11, there's always a fairly excusable reason not to do something for myself.  But now is as good a time as any to tackle a goal one foot in front of the other... My name is Jill and I live in western Montana.  I moved here to attend graduate school and have grown roots deep enough in this mountain soil that even when I leave I have to come back.  I'm kind of like a perennial plant--I go away for a season but always return, some years more resilient than others. I started this blog for a few reasons.  First, I'm turning forty in a few months and I'm burdened with the overwhelming feeling that life is much shorter than I initially thought.  So I had better start checking things off my list.  Not that I think I'm going to die tomorrow.  But if ...