On this particular trip, my flight left a 6:30am, and I woke up way too late to do everything I needed, including pumping. When I arrived at the airport for my four hour flight, I knew I needed to pump before we were wheels up. I asked the gate attendant for a suggested location, and she pointed me towards the family bathroom. I headed there, glad I was going to pump and dump, because I was yet to pump in a bathroom after baby #3. After my experiences with the boys, I now have a different approach and perspective. When I’m out of the home and need to pump, I ask business owners, “where is your mother’s room,” with confidence and an unapologetic attitude, and space is made for me. Six years ago, with Gadget, I barely left the house with him, afraid to have to nurse in public.

Disgusted by the germs in the bathroom, I decided when I landed I would pump in a cleaner, nicer environment. As I deplaned, I saw signs for the Admirals Club, which I vaguely remembered having access to via my corporate Airpass membership. I marched up the club’s lobby desk and asked for their mother’s room, and was shown to a stone lined private locker room, which was heavenly compared to the previous facility. Even though I had to pump standing up, it was an upgrade I appreciated.

Throughout my years as a mother, I have found the best places to breastfeed are: fitting rooms, the mother’s room at Babies R Us, the mother’s room in nice department store like Bloomies, private lockerooms, and drumroll please, the Admirals Club. I love the privacy they offer, but I am not ashamed to whip out my nursing cover and feed baby anywhere. It took several years to muster this strength. I never breastfed Gadget in public. Ever. But after living in Manhattan with two young boys, I decided it was better that strangers were uncomfortable instead of me, and I used my stylish cover to nurse the Lion on the go. With baby number three, I realize that finding a clean, safe place to pump is not at all unreasonable, and I expect to find one when outside of house. I assume I will be accommodated in some form, and this sense of expectation has worked well. I used to sheepishly, almost embarrassingly assume I should pump in the bathroom. But not anymore! I breastfeed Miss C until she was ten months old, and proudly look back at the experience and appreciate the confidence I gained by giving myself permission to feel comfortable pumping outside of the home without limitation.

Miss C and I ran two miles (rather, she sat while I pushed her in a borrowed jogging stroller) on Saturday. It was our first Mother Daughter run, and my first opportunity to share running with her. She enjoyed the scenery, but I think she preferred the post-run snacks even better.

My only Mother’s Day requirement this weekend was that I did not have to wipe any butts. Hubby changed all diapers which was so relaxing for me. I received cards, a pipe cleaner bracelet, a cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes and lots of love. I hope you enjoyed your day as well.

I normally don’t post pictures that I don’t personally take, but this one made me so proud.

European Member of Parliament, Licia Ronzulli (an MEP from Italy), took her seven-week old daughter, Victoria, to work at the European Parliament in Strasbourg. [It was not a 'Take-Your-Child-to-Work' event.] She kept her baby carefully cradled against her in a wrap and occasionally leant to kiss her on the forehead. This photo was taken as she voted on proposals to improve women’s employment rights and was broadcast and published in newspapers around the world.

But, later during the show, they again requested the kids, but this time for the mutton scramble, and Gadget and I heard it. He begged and begged, but there was no way I was going to let my kid be trampled by a miniature bull… But then, I realized it was a baby sheep this time, and sheep are so soft and cuddly, and much safer than a calf. And we were at the rodeo. In Fort Worth. With open minds. So I hopped a few seats and we climbed over a row or two and I ran with him to the gates. The kids were so excited to be in the ring, so I just had to sit back and relax. When the sheep was released, he was quickly caught by some of the older kids, thank God. That night I scrubbed clean every crevice on Gadget before putting him to bed.

Here is the video. Please excuse the jumpiness and blurriness. In fact, just jump to twenty seconds in.

I explained, and he understood, that there are certain privileges in life that come with potty training. He sat on the toilet and waited and then pushed, and it was wonderful. And he followed it up today by going pee-pee on the toilet at school. I’m so proud of him and thankful to Ikea.

Once in the lobby, the boys ran straight to decorated tree with wrapped presents underneath. They inquired about the gifts, and then began to run in circles, literally. We arrived at church just before dinner, so they boys were hungry as service came to an end. The Lion even found a tray of Eucharist and took it upon himself to have a snack. I grabbed the body out of his mouth and handed it to Hubby.

As service ended, a wonderful older woman approached us who was also sitting in the lobby during service, and she shared the following. She told us that we had normal, healthy boys. This comment resonated with me. It was truly special and meaningful. She had three boys, and she had been where we were. So many times I look at other folks’ kids who are not running around, and I think, what is wrong with me? What’s wrong with my kids? Why can’t I be a perfect parent? But in reality, this idyllic perfect parent is just a myth.

Recently, I had begun to feel like I was leaning more towards inadequacy, rather than success. I made up my mind I was going to buy some parenting books, and set a plan in place. Saturday evening, after church, we went to Mardel’s Christian Bookstore and I picked up the Five Languages of Children. As we walked around the store, we saw Christian and educational tools we will use the decorate the boys’ playroom. I am excited to have a plan in place, as long as God is directing its path. Funny story, Gadget keeps asking if it’s Christmas yet. When I asked him what he thought Christmas was about, he clearly stating, “getting toys.” I am learning that his response does not mean that I am a failure as a parent, rather, I can continue to grow to be a faithful parent.

Leslie Leyland Fields writes about The Myth of the Perfect Parent on ChristianityToday.com. She writes about seeking advice, and feeling inadequate. She talks about some parents being obsessed with successful parenting; how we avoid the “slacker mom” title, but in doing so, we drive ourselves crazy with anxiety. We induce a parent panic because we think our children will be failures. Failures in school, with their relationships, their families, their bodies, their careers… We desire for our kids to be spiritual champions – no, spiritual giants. I think that because I nearly exclusively breastfeed my children for six months that I am a good mom- that’s what a perfect and successful mom does, right? Yes, this what I did for them, but I have so much to learn about what it means to be a faithful mom.

From Fields’ article,

One writer warns mothers that they must watch all they say and do, because their child’s mind, “like a videotape recorder,” is “carefully transcribing every word, right down to the tone of voice and facial expression.” To up the stakes further, he cautions that a child’s mind and “emotional patterns” may be firmly established by the time he is 2, a “sobering realization for mothers,” he intones.

Am I the perfect parent? No. I will parent imperfectly.

The question we ask of ourselves must be reframed. We need to quit asking, “Am I parenting successfully?” And we most certainly need to quit asking, “Are others parenting successfully?” Instead, we need to ask, “Am I parenting faithfully?” Faithfulness, after all, is God’s highest requirement for us.

The Bible says that perfection is of God, its what we have in Christ, His perfection is our standard, as saints we’re commanded to aim at it, but we should not claim it. The Bible adds, perfection is impossible of attaining to, patience leads to it, and we should pray for it. In conclusion:

We are not sovereign over our children—only God is. Children are not tomatoes to stake out or mules to train, nor are they numbers to plug into an equation. They are full human beings wondrously and fearfully made. Parenting, like all tasks under the sun, is intended as an endeavor of love, risk, perseverance, and, above all, faith. It is faith rather than formula, grace rather than guarantees, steadfastness rather than success that bridges the gap between our own parenting efforts, and what, by God’s grace, our children grow up to become.