I Just Want You to Know (12 page)

Wednesday, February 28, 2007, was yet another one of those days. Although it wasn’t funny at the time, I can now laugh about the series of events that took place that afternoon.

The morning went smoothly, and I was feeling quite accomplished. After lunch, the older girls went off to school and the little kids went down for a nap. For weeks, I had been waiting for a conference call with the Discovery Health Channel, the executives in charge of our show. It was scheduled for that afternoon.

Promptly at two o’clock, I called the number I had been given. Each of the participants on the call introduced themselves, and we’d just gotten into the heart of the discussion when the phone beeped. I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was the girls’ school on the other line. It was 2:17, and there wasn’t a good reason for them to be calling me unless there was trouble.

“Excuse me, but my daughters’ school is calling and I need to take this call. I’ll be right back.” I switched to the other line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Kate. This is Mady’s teacher. I’m sorry to bother you, but Mady has a bloody nose.”

I could hear Mady crying hysterically in the background.

“She’s really upset and she wants to come home. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Yes, please put her on.”

The sound of Mady’s crying intensified as she got closer to the phone. “Mady, Mady, calm down. Are you okay? Tell me what happened.” She was crying so hard I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. I quickly realized I couldn’t do anything over the phone. “Listen, Mady, I will come and get you just as soon as I can find someone to sit with the little kids. Please calm down. I am coming to get you.”

The Discovery Health executives would have to understand. I
clicked back to the conference call. “I’m sorry but I am going to have to reschedule this meeting.” I hung up before they had a chance to reply and frantically dialed neighbors to get someone to stay with the six. For normal families, it would be as simple as putting a kid or two in a car seat to make a quick run to the elementary school. But for me, it meant waking six kids from a nap, changing six diapers, and trying to buckle six crying babies into six car seats by myself. It just wasn’t practical. After a few calls, my sister-in-law was available. Thank goodness!

While I waited for her to get there, I went to the bathroom to comb my hair. I wasn’t one of those people who had to get dolled up just to leave the house; at that time I often left without any makeup. Getting pretty took time I just didn’t have then. But when I looked in the mirror that afternoon, my appearance scared even me. I jumped into the shower and did a ten second rinse off. I barely dried off and got dressed while I was still wet.

When my sister-in-law arrived, I rattled off instructions while grabbing the keys and heading to the door. My imagination got the worst of me on the ride to school. What condition would Mady be in when I got there?

As I ran into the school building, the sight of Mady surprised me. She was sitting in the office smiling and apparently happy. I think the whole commotion embarrassed her. I felt so bad for her. I hugged her, signed her out, and took her home.

By the time I got home, the little kids were already stirring. My sister-in-law slipped out, and I left the kids in their beds a few minutes longer while I got Mady settled. Fortunately, her nose had stopped bleeding. I just needed to clean her up.

After I got the little kids up and changed their diapers, I did something I rarely did—I offered them a snack. It was already four o’clock. Usually, dinner was cooking before then, but in all the excitement, I hadn’t even started preparations. While they ate, I washed the chicken breasts and started broiling them in the oven. I filled a
large pot with water for the pasta and started grabbing the ingredients I would need. I made trip after trip to the pantry as I consulted the recipe. I think there were about nine hundred ingredients on the counter by the time I finished.

On one of these trips, I heard Leah say her belly hurt, but I didn’t pay much attention. I concentrated on finishing my already-late dinner, and I was only half listening. But when I heard a choking sound, I stopped what I was doing and looked down to see Leah lying on the shag rug in front of the kitchen sink, inches from my feet. She was vomiting. Not once, not twice, but what seemed to be a continuous stream. I ran over to her and sat her up so she wouldn’t choke. I tried to hold her over the rug so that the liquid, if not the smell, would be at least somewhat contained.

When Leah finished, I stood to rinse out the sink. (When we moved into that house, I had the old sink taken out and an industrial sized sink put in; I called it the tub because it was larger than anything you would normally see in a residential kitchen.) I scrubbed that sink, then filled it with clean water. I lifted Leah to the counter and carefully peeled off her vomit-drenched clothing and put her in the “tub” to clean her up.

I sent Hannah to get a bucket. Cara went to get a towel. And Mady and Alexis got a clean outfit for Leah. Later, I chuckled. I knew that I must have been desperate to send those two girls together as they were not the combination to get anything in an emergency. But I didn’t have a choice.

While naked Leah sat splashing in the sink, I turned the nearly blackened chicken and made sure the noodles didn’t overcook. Leah had a blast playing while I alternated between washing her and continuing the dinner preparations.

Once my sweet girl was bathed, I handed her off to Cara and Mady who dressed her in a lovely combo of clothes chosen by her
sisters. Of course the clothes didn’t match, but I didn’t care because at least she was dressed.

I piled the vomit-filled rug and clothes into the cherry red bucket and remembered to set the oven timer before I headed to the laundry room. Once I got everything in the washer, I returned to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a mess. Ingredients were strewn everywhere, pots were boiling over, and the floor was a slippery skating rink of fluids from Leah’s body. I had no choice but to tackle the mess before me, so I did. Fortunately, an earlier SOS call I had placed to Jon was rewarded with his timely return from work, and we were all able to eat dinner together. And you know what? The dinner wasn’t even burned. It was actually delicious!

I’m a person who likes things orderly and in control, and that afternoon greatly tested me, but this time I passed. I came to see that life may never be as tidy as I dream of it, but I can adapt—most times, anyway.

As moms, we are defined by the most important job we do—taking care of our kids. Being a mother is the most tiring job you will ever have, and it’s the most worthwhile job. And while we are busy creating the memories and traditions that will provide our kids with a good foundation, for some reason, everyone has an opinion of how we should look or act as a mom. Add in the issue of whether a mom needs to stay at home or work outside of the house, and we have a whole new set of pressures, beginning with the pressure and guilt we put on ourselves.

There are days I just don’t do a good job as a mom and I know it. Every mom gets exhausted, frustrated, and feels guilty, and I often felt this way with so many toddlers. Frequently in my journal I wrote the words, “I was less than patient with the kids today Sometimes I am so tired that my fuse is almost nonexistent. It’s not fair for the kids to have an impatient mom. Tomorrow I will do a better job.”

And I often prayed for patience, as this prayer illustrates:

Lord, thank you for loving me no matter what kind of mom I’ve been today. Thanks for being a perfect role model for me as a parent. Thank you, Lord, for each one of my amazing children. Thank you for all of their dear little faces and for the daily chaos they provide our house with. Please help me to see all the noise and chaos and irritations as good things—because they are all healthy enough to cause these things. Thank you for choosing to give each of them to me. Help me to be a patient and loving mother and not a mean and yelling crazy mother! Please remind me when I get out of line that I need to be more patient. Thank you, Lord, for a fresh new start tomorrow to do better. Amen.

Our kids needs always come first, but we should not be paralyzed by mommy guilt when we aren’t perfect. I feel guilt when there’s not enough time for each kid individually. I had eight young kids, and I needed to keep the house running—bills paid, meals cooked, laundry done, house cleaned, appointments scheduled, etc. I didn’t have a lot of time for each of them individually each day.

I felt guilt when I was too tired to play a game with them in the evenings. By the end of the day, I was just exhausted and didn’t always have the energy to run outside and play with them. I sat a lot in the evenings, as I had run around all day taking care of them. By the time seven p.m. came I was ready for bed. I was so grateful Jon would come home and play with them in the backyard. I was out there with them, but often I wasn’t actively playing.

I felt guilt when I couldn’t hear them over each other’s noise when someone was trying to tell me something important.

I felt guilt when I’d spoken too harshly with a child and could have responded better. It’s particularly a struggle to figure out the right way to handle a child when they have hurt their brother or sister on purpose. When I was lying in bed reviewing the day, I would think of all the things I could have done differently.

I felt guilt when we didn’t have money for special things for each of them. We took them to the playground quite a bit, but we couldn’t afford Hershey Park, which was local. Every so often we took them for ice cream, but even that got expensive with eight kids. We just wanted to give them as normal of a childhood as possible. I thank God we were able to afford some of these things when we were filming the show, but even then there just wasn’t extra money for eight kids and everything you want to give them.

I see being a mom as the best yet hardest job in the world. It’s so hard to live up to the high standards we place on ourselves, and I’m trying to learn that we just have to do our best as moms. No one is perfect; everyone makes mistakes. We need to let go of our mommy guilt, get up tomorrow, and do a better job. Tomorrow is a new day, which promises a fresh start. As long as we’re doing our best every day, keeping our kids safe and healthy, showing our hearts to our kids so they know we love them, that’s all that matters. Mommy guilt is harmful and paralyzing, not helpful. I’ve come to realize that the kids I have are the exact kids God gave me; and for whatever reason, he thought I could do a good job parenting them. I am giving it my very best shot!

It’s not only the pressure we put on ourselves that causes guilt. It feels to me like moms often criticize other moms, especially when it comes to our appearance. This one is hard for me since my mommy transformation has played out so publically. Is there a law that says that once you have kids, you have to look frumpy and wear mom jeans and have mom hair? Didn’t we take care of ourselves before we had kids?

It’s important not to lose track of who you are. Besides, I think looking nice sets a good example for our kids. I’ve found that it improves self-confidence, which we can then pass along.

I went through my years of living in sweatpants and a T-shirt tiedyed
with food and snot. Sometimes I didn’t have time to shower for three days or woke up in the morning wearing the same thing I wore the day before (and I can guarantee it wasn’t clean). I had my hair cut short since I didn’t have time to care for it long anymore. I wanted to be able to wake up in the morning and have my hair look the same, whether or not I brushed it. It was easy, quick, manageable.

But as my kids started to get older and needed less around-the-clock care, I tried to use our treadmill every day when they were asleep. I found it to be a great stress reliever.

One of the things I did for myself while I was recovering from my surgery was to get my hair cut and colored back to blonde. At the end of that day—with me in a new body, a new outfit, and a new hairstyle—the girls at the salon said they couldn’t believe my change from even a week earlier. One stylist said I looked like a model, which was fun to hear, even though I knew I still looked like a mom—though maybe an improved mom. I mention this comment because it meant so much to me at the time that I wrote it down in my journal. As moms, we don’t get all the encouragement we need, and I hope my stories give hope to other mothers who feel the same way. It’s okay to take care of yourself and feel beautiful!

I do feel a little self-conscious about this topic, because I did have the amazing opportunity to have a tummy tuck, and not everyone
gets that chance. But even if I hadn’t, I would still feel it’s important to emphasize and be an example to my daughters the importance of taking care of yourself. You don’t have to be perfect, but it is important to be healthy and to feel good about yourself.

When my kids were little, I couldn’t spend much time on looking good. Dressing up consisted of putting on jeans to wear to the store, donning scrubs for work on Saturdays, and trying to look decent for church. I didn’t have time to care about what I wore outside of those occasions. In April 2008 I did my first promotional campaign, and started feeling somewhat like a professional. Transitioning to a new career gave me the excuse to fix myself up. I bought a few jackets for meetings and carried a work bag.

I hated being away from the kids though. The first time I left for a business trip to New York on my own, I got in the car and said to the driver, “You better go quick, or else I’m getting out.” I didn’t want to do it alone—without Jon or my family—but the income really made a difference for us.

In tears, I once asked my friend how he traveled for work, leaving his family at home, and he said, “I know they are at home and are okay so I try to focus on work and get home as soon as possible.”

I couldn’t help but think, “Easy for you to say. You’re the dad. You’re supposed to do this kind of thing; that’s normal.”

Being from a conservative suburban area, I struggled with gender stereotypes. Whenever Jon and I met a couple, I seemed to relate better to the husband than the wife. The husband was usually a type-A personality, and he usually handled the finances—which is what I did. And that bothered me. I wanted to be a typical wife, as I understood it. I eventually learned to accept that whoever was best suited for each task should do it, and not consider it a gender issue—but it took awhile. My angst and stress left as I learned to accept who I am.

This identity confusion also translated into career questions. In our circle, moms usually stayed home while dads went to work, so sometimes it was difficult for the kids to understand why I was not home. Again, that came down to who was better suited for the task. Jon didn’t want to travel and speak—he did it, but he didn’t enjoy it—so he gave me his blessing to go ahead. I loved it, but I had to get over this guilty feeling of leaving my kids.

The good thing about our parenting styles was that we were equally involved, so the kids responded to both parents the same. One parent was as good as the other in our house. The kids got to the point where they wouldn’t blink when I would leave on trips. Dad was there, and they still had their stability. They were used to their schedule and Jon followed it exactly. They were always happy to see me when I came home, but they didn’t hang on my legs when I left. Also, Jon was involved in what I was doing outside the home too, as I discussed everything with him before I accepted any engagements.

In New York City, I noticed other moms were on the job scene as well. Where I lived, the career mom was not normal, but in New York it was. It was good to fit in. I missed my kids, but I realized many other moms did as well. I learned to talk to my kids on the phone and love them from afar, reminding myself that I had to do my job.

I didn’t know I would enjoy business, but after taking it on as a new challenge, I realized I loved it. Nursing had never been my ideal career, though it prepared me to be a better mom to my kids because I don’t have to rush them to the doctor every five seconds—part of God’s unique design for me, for which I am grateful. The challenge of this new career fit me perfectly, and I wanted to do more. I truly enjoyed the campaigns, books, shows, media—and people! I hadn’t always been good with people, being isolated in the house for the larger part of seven years, so it was a pleasant surprise to find how much I liked it.

I’ve come to realize that moms come in different packages—the stay-at-home mom, the working mom, the single mom.

When I started working and traveling, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was still a real mom. “Someone else is taking care of my kids right now, someone else is making their dinner, someone else is checking their homework.” Even if that someone else was Jon, I still had to remind myself that I was a real mom who needed to provide for my kids, and just because that provision now took on a different appearance didn’t mean I was any less of a mother.

Looking back, I feel fortunate that I signed up for those campaigns as they were good steps to building a career. I can see how God was preparing me for this time in my life; being a single mom, I now have to work to provide for my kids. Imagine if I never took on those other opportunities and remained a stay-at-home mom. My kids would have had to adjust to another change when I was thrust into the workforce. But they’re used to it now—and very proud of their hard-working mom!

I’m glad we were able to get used to the traveling piece of my job during that simpler time, because no matter what, it’s not easy. When I first began traveling, they missed me, but Jon was with them and kept to a strict schedule, so everything was the same. After a while, when I would go to leave, they would simply say, “Bye, Mommy,” since they were with their dad. It hurt my feelings a bit since they didn’t seem to mind my leaving, but it was good they were comfortable. Now they hang on me and say, “Please don’t go, Mommy. When will you be back?” They no longer have that stability.

It’s hard, but we work around it. When I’m traveling, they can call me anytime. Whenever my phone quacks—my ringtone for home—I dive on it. Cara calls me in the morning before she leaves for school. I need to be available to them even when I’m not there in person, to have a presence even in my absence. I often say—and people close to me know—I not only run my home when I’m there, but I’m always at home in my heart—even if I’m far away.