Facing your fears | A 2-wheel saga

Recently, I tried something I haven’t tried in years. I fall into what you might classify as the “late bloomer” category when it comes to bike riding. I was 8 years old before I was off training wheels and even then I was never extremely comfortable sitting atop two wheels. I did well enough to sort of keep up with my friends, but I was never the initiator of a bike ride. I was always nervous someone would notice my bicycling deficit and I’d lose face with my peers.

To add insult to injury in my bicycling history, I received an actual injury. On my 13th birthday I crashed on my brand new mountain bike and had to get four stitches just hours before my birthday party.

Still, I soldiered on, even attempting a mountain biking trip to Brian Head with a friend in my later high school years. I can still feel the fear rising up in my stomach when I remember enduring that experience. Suffice it to say it was a very long day as I shakily traversed what seemed to be monumental mountain biking hills. In truth, I’m sure these tracks were for beginners. But in my mind, you’ve never seen such treacherous terrain.  

Some years later, I was called upon to write a story for St. George Magazine on mountain biking for beginners. They couldn’t have picked a more appropriate candidate to write a first-person experience piece. I was a beginner in every sense of the word. Including first-time jitters. Truly, few things have made me more nervous in my professional career — and this is coming from a woman who once voluntarily jumped out of an airplane for the sake of the job.

Thank goodness my friend, who also happened to work at the Bicycles Unlimited bike shop in town, was completely patient, helpful and professional — not at all the teasing, jeering boy of my anxious pre-ride nightmares.

Fast-forward 13 years and, despite the positive experience of that work-related ride, I haven’t been on a bike since. I don’t own one, so it’s easy to avoid. But there are few things so motivating as the little voices of your children.

For a while now our kids have been asking if mom and dad can go on a bike ride with them. My children — who will never know the social shame of being an incompetent bike rider, considering they were riding confidently without training wheels by the age of 5 and 3 ½ — really don’t know what they’re asking me. And yet, my husband and I have talked many times about how fun it might be to be a “biking family.” I mean, when you live in an area rife with the kinds of fantastic bike paths as we have it seems foolish not to at least try them out.

So, we called upon our bike shop friend again. This time, he graciously lent us two bikes so we could dip our toes in the water.

It was Memorial Day weekend and we headed out for our first family ride.

I was a little unsure if the old adage, “It’s just like riding a bike” would ring true, but in fact it did. With only minor wobbling I situated myself on the seat and made a loop around our neighborhood park to stretch my legs. With cautious optimism, I called out to my children, seeking the approval that only a 7- 4- and 2-year old can give to their mom. Smiles filled their faces and, as my husband went through a similar re-acquaintance process with his bike, we were off.

There is something utterly freeing about riding a bicycle. The wind in your face. The childlike glee of whooshing down a steep hill… the humility of trying to heave yourself up the other side of that hill. It was all better than I remembered.

Maybe I’ve changed. I mean, I certainly wasn’t there to impress anyone. I knew my adoring family fan-club would love me even if I wasn’t the best cyclist around. But it was more than that. It was a little like conquering a nagging fear that has been part of me for so long.

Since then, my husband and I decided we’d like to own our own bike. Just one to share for now while we see how often we use it. With a bicycle trailer on the back for our 2-year-old, and the cheerful whoops of delight from our older two children, I have continued facing my childhood biking fear — hoping at some point I’ll be good enough on two wheels to forget this was ever a part of my past.

What sort of fears has parenthood encouraged/forced you to face?  Share on social media or send your comments and personal stories here or in the comments section below.

The reality of 'Mommy Brain'

So there I was, sitting in my Sunday church meeting, attempting to soothe my squirmy 18-month-old daughter on my lap while simultaneously listening to the speaker. My eyes bounced from my 7-year-old daughter to my nearly 4-year-old son, satisfied that, for the moment, they too were sitting relatively still. Suddenly, my mother, who was visiting for the day, leaned over to me and uttered some unexpected words:
“Lisa, I think your shirt is on inside out.”

My attention on the meeting came to a screeching halt.

“What?” I asked, looking down to the cream-colored top with black polka dots. At first glance, I thought she’d made a mistake, then my eyes focused on the seam running down the side of my torso.

Gulp. She was right. How did this happen? Had anyone else seen?

The first question seems to have an obvious answer. How did this happen? I’m a mom, that’s how it happened. Scurrying to get out the door for our church meeting, the last thing I have time for is a final check in the mirror or, heaven forbid, any extra primping time.

Still, the nature of the pattern on the shirt and the fact that I was sitting in the pew with a child on my lap, I felt relatively safe in assuming no one else had noticed. After all, neither my mother, nor my husband, nor my kids for that matter, had noticed anything until now. I would have plenty of time to slip into the bathroom in between meetings and make the change.

That idea was shattered when, during a transition in the meeting, a friend of mine across the aisle reached out to my husband and whispered, “I think Lisa has her shirt on inside out.”

OK. Apparently it was obvious. I had to act fast. Taking my baby with me as a decoy — and because she was likely to start screaming if I set her down — I slipped out of the meeting as quickly as I could, whisked my way down to the bathroom and turned my shirt right side out. I was back in in less than 2 minutes. Maybe nobody noticed.

Again, I was wrong. One less-than-subtle woman ribbed me about the situation in the hall after church, seemingly unaware that her boisterous recounting of the tale might make me slightly uncomfortable. I smiled, made some self-deprecating comment and hurried to my car.

All I could do was laugh, partly because, this is not the first time something like this has happened. Although the details remain fuzzy in my mind, I know of one other inside out shirt situation in recent years. And then there’s the time I was interrupted while applying my makeup before work and discovered, HOURS later, that I had left the house and interacted with many people with eye makeup on one eye only.

Sheesh. Maybe I’m going insane.

Am I the only person who has ever done something so flaky or forgetful? I dare say I am not. And therein lies the humor, but also the reality of what is often referred to as “Mommy Brain.”

In my younger years I might have disputed the idea of “Mommy Brain” as a copout, but not anymore. My once naïve single person view of life has been replaced with a savvy, mom-of-three, trying-to-answer-five-questions-at-a-time, taking-multi-tasking-to-a-new-level, running-on-fumes, still-trying-to-appear-sane kind of a mentality that, unfortunately, occasionally catches up to me.

I bet if you think for even a moment, you can come up with a time it has caught up to you. And then, you should share it with me here, because, it’s just funnier when we can laugh at ourselves together.

Mostly Motherhood is a blog talking about all things related to family life and then some. Share on social media and send your comments and personal stories here or in the comments section below.

A different kind of mirror

If you have ever wished to view yourself through your children’s eyes, there is a way. But be careful. You might be surprised by their point of view.

For Mother’s Day earlier this year my husband helped our two older children create darling books, with each page bearing a question about me for them to answer and space to illustrate the book. After turning our 6-year-old loose to write her own answers, my husband took dictation from our 3-year-old, including his responses verbatim. In the end, the project was as enlightening as it was endearing.

For example, up until this point, I had no idea that my favorite food was broccoli. Nor did I realize I gave the slightest impression that this was the case. Actually his official answer to the question was:

“Her favorite food is broccoli and soup because she eats it a lot. She also likes fruit because I watch her eat it.”

For anyone who knows me, such an answer — specifically the broccoli assertion — couldn’t be further from the truth. Oh, I know the importance of vegetables and a balanced diet — even more than that, I know the importance of teaching your children those things. But that doesn’t mean I always act on what I know.

Favorite foods for me typically range somewhere in the vicinity of pasta, homemade rolls, baked goods, popcorn and candy. Yet somehow I have given my son a very different impression and I have to say, I’m really proud.

As for my daughter’s answer to the favorite food question: Yogurt. Also healthy (hooray!) although in this case I can totally see why she would have that impression. I have a Greek yogurt with my breakfast nearly every day.

Another eye-opening response came regarding the question:

If she had extra time she likes to…

My daughter’s reply: “Take a nap.”

For some reason, this one hurt a little. Not because it isn’t true. I do love a good nap. To quote George Costanza from “Seinfeld,” “Sometimes a good nap is the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.”

Come one moms, we’ve all been there, especially during the newborn stage.

But this tidbit of enlightenment from my daughter made me realize that I don’t want to give the impression of laziness to my children. My husband was quick to point out that it didn’t say that I got to take naps very often (because I don’t) only that I would like to nap, were I suddenly given some extra time. Still, this insight was one of several factors that pushed me in the direction of setting some new sleep goals.

My son’s response to this question made me happy.

“If she has extra time she likes to take Vivian and me on a walk. She likes going on a picnic. She likes singing songs.”

True statements. Very true. But depending on the day, I fear the nap might still win.

Lisa Larson is a freelance writer, mother of three and lover of all things that combine peanut butter and chocolate. Keep up with her via Twitter @LisaGLarson and www.facebook.com/larsonlisa or by checking out her web page at www.lisaglarson.com

So that's why it's called a circle

The other day I was in the grocery store, poring over the selection of canned fruits wondering which is better — no sugar added, 100 percent juice, or light syrup? Agh. Decisions! — when a noise from behind me made me turn my head. I saw a young mother pushing one of those shopping carts with a car on the front. A preschool-aged child was in the car and a baby strapped in a car seat was inside the cart. I gave the woman what I hope was a supportive smile as I thought how fortunate it was that I had managed to escape to the store this time unfettered by my children.

No sooner had this little exchange taken place than I turned to look to the other end of the aisle and there was an elderly gentleman walking toward me, pushing a woman who I presumed to be his equally elderly wife, in a wheelchair.

For a moment all deliberations of canned fruit left my brain as I thought about the fact that I was literally standing in between two distinct life stages, each with remarkable similarities, indisputable challenges, and moments of sweetness sprinkled in.

            I have much more experience as the young mom with the kids grabbing items off the grocery store shelves than I do pushing an elderly spouse in a wheelchair, but one day… you never know.

During the past year, I have watched my own mother who is now caring for my grandmother and I am amazed by some of the similarities I see.

My grandmother is losing her memory and lives in an assisted living center. I always thought those kinds of facilities meant the staff would be doing most of the assisting, but it’s overwhelming how involved my mother seems to be. Sure, the staff takes care of cooking and cleaning for my grandma, and they provide activities and respond to medical emergencies, but my mother’s help is required on a daily basis to calm her mother’s nerves, to answer questions about where she is and how she came to be there, to sort through clothes and determine what no longer fits, and to regularly tuck her into bed. I’m not suggesting it should be otherwise. This is her mother, the woman who cared for her all her life. It just sounds remarkably similar to my days in the trenches as a mother of young children.

No wonder they call it the circle of life.

The only difference is my children, their intellect and their abilities are moving forward and my grandma is not.

In talking to a variety of people who have had the opportunity to care for their aging parents, I’ve heard phrases that speak of the beauty and peace that comes from repaying one’s parents for the selfless service they once offered to their child. I’ve also heard references to this being one of the most difficult stages of life — way more challenging than the teen years. I believe both sentiments, and I imagine there are a wealth of emotions ranging somewhere in between.

A little bit like how I feel about my little ones.

Given the joy I feel as I teach my children new things and watch them moving forward toward bright, fulfilling futures, I must admit, I am grateful to be in the stage of life that I am. Still, I admire all those offering care on the other end of life, and am fully aware it’s a stage that will one day greet each of us.

        Mostly Motherhood is a blog talking about all things related to family life and then some. Share on social media and send your comments and personal stories here or in the comments section below.

Happiness in two words or less

A few months ago, I found myself going through a bit of a personal and motherhood crisis. The symptoms may sound familiar to some of you. Less patience. Zero energy. Negative self-perception and an overall feeling of “ugh” as I started each day. As I analyzed the situation I could think of countless things that would likely help to get me out of this rut. Eating better, exercising more, regular date nights with my hubby, a weekend getaway, a cleaner home and more structure in our daytime routine, just to name a few. But somehow listing those things only sent me down a path of mentally berating myself, which is a recipe for disaster and, at the very least, leaves me feeling even more overwhelmed.

But today I write to you bolstered by a feeling of empowerment after having discovered the secret of happiness.

That’s right, the secret of happiness. And, you’re in luck, because I’m willing to share.

It can all be summed up in two words: Up early.

Well, I should say, up earlier.

The idea was sparked after reading an article about a man who decided to try a 21-day challenge to get up at 4:30 a.m. each day in order to increase his productivity.

Rest assured, I am not saying such an early start time is necessary.

The author admitted in the article that he knows he is in a unique situation because he is single, has no children and works from home so his schedule and decisions are entirely his own.

(Can any of you remember such a time? My memory of it is faint and getting fainter.)  

His frank description of his experience — and the experiences of others I know who have tried similar things — got me thinking. Why was I groaning every morning when my children popped their adorable heads into my room? Why was making breakfast such an exercise in patience? Why couldn’t I get my act together and start exercising more regularly? Why did I feel like I needed — nay, deserved — a nap every day? Why was I annoyed when I couldn’t align my children’s schedules to meet this particular need?

After much contemplation, the answer became clear, albeit counterintuitive. I was trying to sleep too long.

Oh sure, it didn’t feel long, because my children’s wake time is 7 a.m., give or take. The secret, however, is to be up earlier. What is earlier? That is likely to differ from person to person, but ultimately it means earlier than the children. Earlier than my husband. Early enough that I would have a few moments of me time to think, shower, read, study, exercise, clean, or whatever else I choose to do.

What’s that you say? You’re exhausted? Not sleeping enough as it is? Interrupted night after night by some kid-related crisis or another?

Yep. Me too.

The real secret, however, is this plan doesn’t start when you hear the alarm go off in the morning. It starts the night before. You see part of my problem was I was trying to add several hours of so-called productivity to the end of my day when I was already exhausted.

All day I’d think, “Oh, I will organize those toys after the kids are in bed” or “the laundry can be folded tonight when things are calm” and “I can finish that work project tonight.” But after running the gauntlet of dinner/bath/bed, followed by the endless tucking and re-tucking of our 3-year-old who has a list of bedtime excuses as long as my arm, I was spent. So instead of basking in the quiet nighttime hours and tackling my extra projects, I’d settle into my favorite chair and get sucked into a mini Netflix marathon.

The second part — really the first part — of the up earlier mentality is to get up off the couch earlier and into bed earlier the night before.

Thanks to my self-imposed 10 p.m. bedtime, I have traded some of my least productive hours at night, for some of the most enjoyable morning ones.

I exercise, shower without an audience, listen to inspirational talks, read, study, clean, whatever I want — all in the serenity of a silent house.

What is even more remarkable is how much happier I am to greet our children. Breakfast still comes with challenges depending on how happy the children choose to be on a given morning, but I am much more equipped to respond with patience and love because I am more well rested, and I’ve already had a little time for myself.

Oh, and I have done my absolute best to ban the snooze bar from my life.

So far, so good. I am happier. Remarkably, I have more energy. My patience and creativity are increasing and overall, I’d say this could be the beginning of a beautifully satisfying life change.

The key is to keep it up.

Lisa Larson is a freelance writer and mother of three. Reach out to her on Twitter @LisaGLarson or at www.facebook.com/larsonlisa

Quick side note: I only recently implemented this and my youngest child is 1. I would not consider it during the early months with a new baby and am certainly not suggesting moms of newborns should be getting up any more than they already are. But once your children are sleeping through the night, give it a go.