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.

Taking a trip back in time

When you’re growing up, adults often tell you how quickly the time will pass; that one day you’ll wake up and realize the moments you spent as a single person with your siblings and parents will be gone.

Of course, when you’re young you don’t really believe it. Life at that stage always feels so slow.

But it turns out it really is true. And even though the passage of time often means moving on to even greater experiences as an adult with a family of your own, it’s sad to think you can never go back to what, in many ways, was a far simpler stage.

Recently, however, I came as close as you can to going back in time.

In honor of my dad’s 70th birthday, my siblings and I decided to surprise him by coming home. Despite our current geographical distance we are a close family and the idea of getting together regardless of the reason was extremely appealing. Then, when we decided it would be even more fun to include only the original Grady Six — no spouses, and no kids — the idea became even more special.

Don’t get me wrong. We love our spouses and our children and we all thank our lucky stars regularly that everyone in the family genuinely gets along. But something about traveling back to those early days of life was the perfect combination of nostalgia and freedom. And it proved to be an immeasurable success.

The impending gathering was the focus of my thoughts for months. Admittedly, I was more excited about this get together than Christmas. Somehow, the regular phone calls with my sister — where one or the other of us is inevitably interrupted by the needs of our children — just weren’t cutting it anymore. And even though we keep a regular group text chat going with all the siblings, spouses and my parents, it’s just not the same as sitting in my parent’s living room chatting until the wee hours of the morning.

Finally the day arrived.

While my brother Kevin and sister Karen boarded a flight from Texas and my youngest brother Brian got settled on a flight from Iowa, I finished packing in St. George and waited excitedly. Because the flights weren’t scheduled to arrive at the same time, we decided to split the surprise into two phases.

Phase one: Karen and Kevin arrived at my house in St. George and we drove the rest of the way to Cedar City, turning up the familiar street of our childhood neighborhood with an extra dose of excitement in our hearts. My mom, who was in on the surprise, was at work, but we knew my recently retired dad would likely be home. We planned to catch him just in time to go out to lunch.

We knocked on the door of his house, and huddled to be out of view of the front windows so he wouldn’t know who was there until he opened the door. It worked perfectly. His expression was one of disbelief, followed by utter joy.

Piling into the house, we all talked over one another (a common occurrence in our chatty family) as we filled my dad in on the extent of our planning and our ideas for how to spend the next four days as a family. We also used this time to set the stage for our youngest brother’s arrival that evening by telling my dad that, unfortunately, Brian would not be able to join us because of his rigorous medical school schedule.

We were lying, of course. But it was for a good cause.

Phase two: After hitting a family favorite burger joint for lunch, we spent the afternoon relaxing at my parent’s house, talking with my dad and cooking dinner for my mom. Time ticked by a little slowly as I was extremely anxious for the final piece of the puzzle to be in play. That night, while sitting in the living room, talking and laughing, the front door opened and in walked Brian. My dad, once again, was speechless.

The beauty of the rest of the weekend was not based on any extravagant plans. In fact our time was spent rather uneventfully. Long walks around town, eating at favorite restaurants, talking, laughing and more talking, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. As we all gathered around the dining table Sunday in our former “assigned” seats for one last evening meal, it felt as if I really had traveled back in time.

Because I love my current life, I didn’t necessarily want to stay in history forever, but man, I cherished the few days we had there.

Such a weekend would simply not have been possible without each of us having incredibly supportive spouses and children. And as much as I know that my job as a mother is to raise my children to move on to independent lives of their own — lives that I hope eventually include spouses and children — I also told my oldest daughter as I left for the weekend, that one day when I am 70 years old it would be wonderful if she and her siblings did the same kind of gathering for me. Knowing what a blessing it is to have siblings who I consider to be some of my best friends, I want that for my children too.

In the meantime, we’ve already started talking about when we can have another Grady Six reunion.

Follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaGLarson and like her page at www.facebook.com/larsonlisa

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

Almost an elf

If there is one thing we moms know how to do, it’s how to wear a lot of different hats.

You’ve undoubtedly read the lists — or written your own — citing the numerous titles moms wear throughout the day. Taxi driver, doctor, chef, teacher, therapist, referee and resident expert on every conceivable intellectual — and not-so-intellectual — topic.

You know the drill.

As moms, we sort of expect this. It’s part of the job description. But there are some titles that feel slightly more obscure. Some that, although regularly forced onto my to do list, have only recently registered on my radar. One in particular comes to mind particularly as I consider the Christmas season connection to my task. 

Toy repairwoman. Or mother elf. Something like that. 

On any given day my kitchen counter has at least two or three items in need of attention from the adult version of Doc McStuffins — AKA: me. Books my 1-year-old has poured over so enthusiastically the pages are no longer in tact; stuffed animals losing their stuffing; plastic dolls in need of some glue and a little R&R; and don’t forget the endless array of toys requiring new batteries. There are days when I have had enough and think it would be easier just to sweep this pile off my counter and into the donation bin. But the waste-not-want-not part of my personality kicks in — along with the pleading gaze of my children as they ask about their “favorite toy” —and I think, I can fix this.

And for the most part, I can.

Luckily, I also have a safety net. When I can’t — or as is more often the case, when I don’t have the time or patience to do so right then — I go with my fallback.

“Let’s see if Daddy can fix it when he gets home,” I say soothingly, hoping to calm their worries while distracting them with something else.

Sometimes Daddy fixes the toy. Sometimes I forget to tell him. And then the pile on the counter grows. Maybe a more traditional elf would like to step in and help. 

Do you have a less obvious mommy hat in your wardrobe? Share about it here. Or, if you have a story about the most amazing toy fix you’ve accomplished, feel free to brag in the comments below.

Mostly Motherhood is a blog about all things related to family life and beyond. Keep up by following @LisaGLarson on Twitter and www.facebook.com/LarsonLisa