The Magic of Disney

As a corporate marketer, I've been trained to look for feedback, own it, leverage it, master it, pass it on.

As a mom, I shy away from feedback at all costs.

Lucky for me, no one seems to be in any hurry to give a Mom direct feedback. It's too delicate of a subject - too sensitive of an occupation. Instead, you can look to the literature to judge yourself. (Which I've largely bypassed.) Or you can affiliate with the local mom brigade. (Nothing they are doing that I'm not - so all good.) Besides that, you keep on moving, relatively confident that you are in fact, a good, if not great mom.

Sure, there are moments when you make errors - moments that become 'bad mom' legend. Say, when I thought the jug of punch at the party was lemonade and I poured Mary a glass. She told me, 'Mom, I don't like this. It doesn't taste good.' I responded, 'just drink it, alright?!' When she pushed back again, interrupting my conversation, I finally tasted it to see what she was talking about, only to panic, wondering how many sips of a Margarita she actually took.

That story and others like it, become your 'bad mom' stories. You tell them over and over again, laugh with your friends, relate to someone else's bad mom moment. And in the end, walk away feeling pretty good about the kind of mom you are. Humble, humorous, human, still on top.

But then, whether solicited or not, the unexpected feedback arrives. That look someone throws you in line at the grocery store. The letter from school. The call from another parent. The nudge from your partner. It's not a joke. It's not a funny story. It's real. And there's nothing harder than facing it.

As I've mentioned recently, life with three little ones, plus two high pressure, full time careers is challenging. Strike that - very challenging. A challenge nonetheless that I love and wouldn't trade. But there are days when it gets the best of me.

When I haven't slept well. When the stress is mounting at work. When I have to travel. When we are both stretched too thin. When we're out of toilet paper. And ugh, out of wipes too. When the kids need the attention they deserve, and I'm just tapped. When I wish my kids could do things faster, without whining, without fighting, without losing it. When I wish they would just listen and do it and get it done. When I forget that they are five. And three. And 8 months old. And I snap. I yell because it's all I have left at the end of the day. And then I cringe, wondering why I just let it come to that.

I saw and felt the feedback. The kind you don't solicit or prepare for. The kind that makes your stomach churn because it's a little too real and a little too raw. But just as feedback can be necessary at work, feedback at home, can be even more crucial. So I took the time to digest it, learn from it, apply it.

Motherhood is largely about perspective and patience. Perspective is the part where you see things from your kids' eyes. Patience is the part where you don't lose that perspective despite the pace it can present. Recently, I've experienced times where I've lost both the perspective and patience you need to be a good mom. Times where without a joke, I could classify myself as bad. Only to hug my kids tightly seconds later wondering why I couldn't do it all a little more elegantly.

So at an all too opportune time, I had the chance to walk away from the stress, sprinkle pixie dust on my family, and fly off to Fantasyland to make dreams come true, or at least suspend reality for a bit.

Even though I was working part of the time we were in Orlando, being immersed in Disney gave me an extra dose of the perspective and patience I needed.

Everywhere we went around the Magic Kingdom - everyone we talked to from the characters to the custodians - embodied these virtues. Little girls were princesses, boys were little princes, even if they were whining or fussing. Families, double strollers and all, were welcomed, accommodated, cared for, and eased of their worries. Doors were opened with smiles, beds were made with an extra touch of magic, the rides transported us, and every evening there were crayons and coloring books, good meals followed by ice cream with mickey mouse sprinkles, and stunning fireworks over Cinderella's castle. With a grand piano and big band playing a medley of Disney's best every day, it was hard not to have a song and smile in your heart.

It wasn't taking my kids to Disney World that made me a good mom. It was what Disney brought out of me, that helped recapture a little of the mojo that I felt I was losing.

When Mary was sad, I gave her a hug and asked why. I took her aside kindly, quietly, and gently, spending the time listening instead of reacting immediately.

When Bobby was scared, I got down on my knees and saw things through his eyes. The crowds get to you from that level so I lifted him up as much as my arms and back would allow.

When Margaret was tired, I let her figure it out in her own time, cuddle close and gently nod off, staying in my arms a little longer than usual.

When the kids wanted to sing, I sang with them.

When they wanted to swim, I put on my suit and rode down the waterslide with them.

When they wanted to do the Barnstormer one more time, I made the wait in line as entertaining as possible.


When they didn't want to go to sleep, I read them an extra story, sang a song, and patiently coaxed them off to Neverland.

When we had to pack up and walk out the door of our beautiful hotel, I promised that we would return, even if it's only in our imagination.
Because at the end of the day, and at the end of this trip, they are five, and three and eight months old. Because they are such good and precious kids. And first and foremost, my job is to be their mom. And a good, if not great one, at that.

Lo.

Getting Out The Door

At Mass at our neighboring Parish on Easter Sunday morning, I listened to Father Guido recite the Easter Gospel by memory. As he talked (and I pointed out big Bs and little bs in Dr. Seuss' ABCs to Bobby), I reflecting on Jesus' great escape from the Tomb. And my thoughts drifted toward a pain point in our lives right now. Ah ... makes total sense. There's a method to the madness.







What do I mean ...








Well, at home, we're all pretty good at life.

And when we're anywhere else, I'd say the same.

But the middle ground. When moving from home to anywhere else, particularly as we try to get out the door, can feel like the world is falling apart. Or least my small part of it.










For instance, that same Sunday morning pre-Mass, getting out the door was quite the ordeal. There was a fight over Bitty Baby's bottle. Five minutes later, Mary's dress was wet and there was a puddle on the floor. I wiped it up and then tried to put Bobby in his pressed shirt. I couldn't button it, so we moved on to the wrinkled one. I packed my bag and put in the car. Crap. I forgot crayons, then a car for Bobby, then Margaret's diapers. Bobby broke one my Bumblebee candles and glass shattered all over the ground. As I swept up glass, I told Mary to put on her dress shoes. There was an argument over shoe choice, then an argument about what coat to wear. Then came the bartering for a better snack at Church. Margaret was in the wrong infant carrier, but she was sound asleep. So do we dare wake her and transfer? ... or do we just take two cars. Two cars it is. Frazzled and frizzy haired, I got the puffs, I got the camera, I was locking the door, but I forgot to go to the bathroom. And I'm unlocking the door ... you get the point.







And honestly, this was one of our better scenarios. We actually made it to our destination on time. Usually we are running out the door late for something, with someone in tears, someone dirty, someone about ready to lose it, someone with a headache, and poor Margaret just going along for the ride.







Five or ten minutes later, the clouds part and everyone's singing along to the Soundtrack of Moana. Twenty minutes later, we're where we want to be and generally speaking, full of joy.


So goes the reflection and connection. The finale of Lent, the transition from Good Friday to Easter Sunday is a dark time for us Catholics. We pray. Keep quiet. And get pretty hungry. Then the tomb opens and there's hope, hallelujahs, and lots of ham.


Many transitions in life bear a resemblance to the most holy one; they can be challenging, confusing, filled with emotion, and very taxing. Personally, I've been through them. Currently, it's the whole getting out the door bit, an all too regular occurrence in our life that keeps me prayerful and patient.


Last Sunday, with a silent Our Father going through my head, we did it. We made it out the door, to Easter Mass, to Mimi and Opa's Easter Egg Hunt, to Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Andy's feast, to a day full of hallelujah, joy, pastels and seersucker, hidden eggs, chocolate and more chocolate, family, wine, whiskey, and so much promise. Promise that there is always a way outward and upward, if you set your spirit to it.  

To keeping in Easter in my heart every day. And to that time tomorrow morning, when I'm trying to pack the pool bag, get everyone bundled up, and not lose my mind, I will keep this reflection close.


Lo.