Snow-running and Related Reflections

The day started with a welcome, early morning phone message delivering good news-the school year's first snow delay.  At our house, these messages result in smiles, cheers, or sighs of relief.  Dave would get some additional, much-needed sleep.  And I would get to run in the snow.  I love running in the snow, so I layered on my clothes and laced up my shoes, feeling grateful for this unexpected gift.  Lately, running has felt like a chore-just another task to check off of my to-do list, just something I do to keep from feeling guilty and gaining weight.  This morning was different.

I shuffled down the quiet streets, reflecting on my fascination with snow-running.  Even though I dislike the cold, I love the snow.  Like a soft, comfy blanket with nourishing powers, the snow dances fluidly toward the earth and covers us.  It makes us clean.  It makes us quiet.  It makes us calm.  The snow grants us an excuse to slow down and to find joy in simple things.  It causes us to pause and to see beauty.

When I run in the snow, I am at peace.

When I run in the snow, I often marvel over the fact that no two snowflakes are alike.  Sometimes, that marveling leads to thoughts of Snowflake Bentley and then smiles and even giggles as I remember how I first heard about him.  It was several winters ago, when Dave was still a bachelor and was living with his friend Tim.  Tim told us a story of this farmer-man who lived in New England and was passionate, even obsessed, with snowflakes.  Wilson Bentley's claim to fame is that he was the first to theorize that no two snowflakes are alike, based on thousands of pictures and observations that he made about snowflakes during many a snowy winter in Vermont.  After Tim told us the history of Mr. Bentley, which already seemed a little far-fetched to us, he then went a little further and insisted that he was related to him.  Knowing Tim, we had to believe that he was just joking and having a good time.  I'm not sure that we gave Snowflake Bentley another passing thought, at least until Tim and Erin named their second child after him.

Then we started to believe Tim, and after some research, found that the tale that Tim told of his famous relative is actually true.  Amazing-a boy is fascinated with the snow as he grows up on a farm.  He (and his family) sacrifice to allow him to pursue his passion.  He rigs up his own contraption to take photos of the snow crystals and begins to chronicle his findings.  People in his hometown think he's crazy.  But scientists around the world begin to believe him and acknowledge his great contribution to science.  In this article, Bentley calls himself the preserver.  He helps people to understand and appreciate the intricate beauty and design of a snowflake-that each one is different based on several different factors impacting its creation.  This kind of beauty is all around us-we just need to take the some time to study our surroundings.  Beauty takes time.

As the story goes, Snowflake Bentley died when he contracted pneumonia after a long walk during a blizzard.  Here's to hoping we can honor his memory by pointing others toward that which is beautiful today.

"Under the microscope, I found that snowflakes were miracles of beauty; and it seemed a shame that this beauty should not be seen and appreciated by others. Every crystal was a masterpiece of design and no one design was ever repeated., When a snowflake melted, that design was forever lost. Just that much beauty was gone, without leaving any record behind."

-Wilson A. "Snowflake" Bentley, 1925

Is Anybody Out There?: Confessions of a Stay-At-Home Mom

I've had a rough day so far.  On the surface, it seems that the roughness is due to my kids' potty issues.  Last night, it was the middle-of-the-night call, beckoning me to the bathroom, where my daughter then decided that she didn't really need to go on the potty after all.  Then it was an early morning wake-up call as a very sorry child told me that he wet his bed.  There have been a couple of additional potty problems since we've all been awake...get out the wipes...sanitize the potties...clean up soiled children...start another load of laundry.  It's seems that it's those potty issues and the constant fighting.  Why do my children feel the need to question nearly every directive that comes out of my mouth?  Is it worth the energy to stick to my word?

I'm exhausted.  And I feel like there must be something terribly wrong with me.

Honestly, I think the main reason that I've been struggling with this stay-at-home mom gig is that it makes me feel truly incompetent, maybe more-so than anything else I've ever attempted.  Most times I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  I'm fearful that I'm messing up the very thing where I invest most of my strength, emotion, and wisdom (that is, if I have any wisdom left!).

Sometimes, I feel alone in this problem that I have.  I read the books and blogs and facebook posts of moms who can work, go to the gym, put a fabulous dinner on the table, throw festive birthday parties, involve and lead church activities, volunteer at school, call friends with encouraging words, and provide a clean and loving home for the husband and multiple children.  I just can't keep up; I try, but I'm always coming up short.

Now I'm the one calling out, "Attention all Have-It-All-Together-Moms out there (if you really do exist). Please share your secrets with me!  Help me to know where I've gone wrong."


Why do we do this to each other...the pretending to have it all together?  When you look SO good, it makes me feel SO bad about myself.  And it makes me feel all alone in that badness.  Does anyone else feel the way that I do, or am I really the only one who can't seem to get things right?

Maybe one of the secrets is to revel in the small daily victories instead of wallowing in the defeats.  Maybe then I would be OK with my many mistakes and inadequacies.  Maybe then I would become the kind of mom that I aspire to be: gentle, patient, gracious, present.  Learning to celebrate the accomplishments of other moms, instead of using them as a measuring stick, would help too.

Until I am fully transformed in my thinking, I'll rely on my other coping mechanisms, some of which work quite well.  Lately, when the fearful and frustrated thoughts creep in, I remind myself to fight back with beauty:

gaze out the window, where the snow is falling all clean and quiet;
dance to that song that reminds me of a favorite time past;
breathe in the scent of the candle, smelling of fall and spice;
take in the words of an encouraging note or of Jesus;
savor the drawing or painting, bright with color;
drink in that full pot of flavorful (i.e. strong!) coffee;
create a new recipe or journal entry;
dream of a situation made right or a relationship reconciled;
thank a friend who's shared life with me;
study those children, who are small and needy today, but will be grown and gone all too soon.