A lesson from Carrie Underwood’s Mom

A few months ago, we took our kids to a Carrie Underwood concert as part of my sister’s 50th birthday celebration. It was their first concert, and they were Blown Away ;) The arena, the crowd, the costume changes, acrobatics, fire - the production was pretty incredible. She just completed her 43-city tour and is headed back to Las Vegas for another residency.  

I also remember being with my sister the night that Carrie won American Idol in 2005. We were in the San Juan Islands and we were trying to find a tv that had reception so we could watch. Regardless of how you might feel about country music, you can’t deny she has one of the most powerful voices that we’ve heard in the past few decades.  

I saw something she wrote recently, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it:  

“If you wanna go, I’ll take you.” These might have been the most pivotal words anyone has ever spoken to me. I was busy talking myself out of trying out for American Idol and my mom said these words…the rest is history. - Carrie Underwood

If you wanna go, I’ll take you.

My kids don’t have real passions yet. They are 5 & 7. They don’t have things they are obviously good at (like top in the world - I just don’t see it at this point.) But I hope with everything I am that I will be that kind of mom.  

The kind of mom who understands that it’s hard to believe in yourself sometimes.

The kind of mom who will let you make your own decisions, even if deep down I have an opinion on it.

The kind of mom who will be steady when you feel all shaken up inside and not sure of what to do.

The kind of mom who will get in the car and drive you to your dreams.

I feel like so much of parenting little kids is saying, “No.” They ask for a lot, it’s sort of like their job. And there are usually reasons why we need to say no.

“Can I have a playdate right now?” No, it’s dinner time.

“Can I have a candy?” At 8pm, definitely no.

“Can we go to Hawaii this weekend?” I wish, but no.

“Can I stay home from school?” Unfortunately, no.

“Can I join Art Club?” We don’t have space for another thing on the schedule, and they require parent volunteers!

“Can I drink some of your coffee?” No.

“Can I have a popsicle for breakfast?” No.

“Can I drive your car into the garage?” LITERALLY NO. You are 7.

“Can I go to so-and-so’s birthday at the trampoline place?” Nothing sounds worse for a Saturday.

When I think about Carrie’s quote, part of me yearns for the future when my kids will ask me about meaningful things. I wonder about what their dreams will be. What our conversations will be like. What will they love?! Will my daughter still love horses, or is that just a little girl thing? Will my son still love golf and ask me to drive him to a tryout? Oh how I can’t wait to jump in the car and take them towards what they want to do. I can’t wait to show them that all those years of saying no were building to the time that I could scream “YES!!”

(Or maybe act really casual about it…like it’s no big deal at all that their dream could come true in a few weeks. Whatevs. Totally up to you. If you wanna go, I’ll take you.)

Yes, part of me yearns for the future. But really, it’s only a small part of me.

The majority of me recognizes that everything my kids ask for is actually meaningful to them now. They ask for a lot, because they have big desires and big feelings for the things that are important to them now. It might not be things that they’ll pursue with passion as a career, but that doesn’t mean their requests are small. The asks are big to them.

My son asks about playdates constantly because his friends mean the world to him. He is the happiest when he’s with his little buddies.

They ask about food because they want to make decisions for themselves, and they want to choose things that taste good!! Honestly, I feel that deeply because I want to eat only things that taste good as well.

They ask about coffee because they’re curious about being an adult and they want to do adult things as they get older.

They ask about Hawaii because we went with extended family and it was the best time of their lives, and who wouldn’t want to go back?

They ask about Art Club because reading and math haven’t come easily and they want to do something that feels more natural and positive.

He wants to drive my car because… well, because he wants to drive my car and some things are still a hard no.

But I’m doing my best to be the kind of mom who will say yes to my little kids.

The kind of mom who understands that it’s hard to believe in yourself sometimes. So yes, do Art Club, and let your eyes light up with what you can accomplish and create. And yes, I’ll volunteer.

The kind of mom who will let you make your own decisions, even if deep down I have an opinion on it. So yes, let’s have popsicles for breakfast today. Probably not tomorrow, but yes today.

The kind of mom who will be steady when you feel all shaken up inside and not sure of what to do. So if something at school isn’t going well and you need a mental health day at home with me, yes, you can take one.

The kind of mom who will get in the car and drive you to… playdates and birthday parties, because that’s what dreams are made of when you’re 5 & 7.

So, if you wanna go to the trampoline place, I’ll take you.

My (former) problem with Chilli Heeler

When we first discovered the show Bluey, like millions of families, we fell in love with the Australian Heeler family.  There are as many reasons to love and adore this show as there are viewers - I have laughed and cried more times than I can count while watching their family inhabit the same kind of world I do… the world of little kids.  And recently, a friend helped me rediscover the truest gift the Heeler family could ever have given me: the joy I had lost in playing with my kids.

Let me start with a confession:  I don’t enjoy play.  I don’t like make-believe.  I struggle to use my imagination.  I can color and use play-doh like a pro, but I don’t like being bossed around by a 5 year old telling me “Say this… no not like that, like this!”  My days are filled with statements like: “Mom!  I’m a puppy and you find me on the street and I have no mom so you become my mom,” or, “You’re a horse and I’m going to ride you!  Run faster!”  I have spent hours and hours willing myself to engage and find the actress deep down inside me so as to elicit the delight I wanted to see in my kids, my daughter in particular.  I have tried and done my best to play ALL. THE. GAMES.

But I found myself… tired.  Distracted.  Watching the clock as time seemed to drag on, glancing at the overflowing sink, unfolded laundry and unanswered emails.  I found myself wishing away the playtime because there was so much more to do.  And it filled me with guilt.  Why couldn’t I be more like Chilli? Why couldn’t I be a fun mom? 

While Heeler family adoration is (rightfully so) immense in our culture right now, there is also no shortage of commentary about how Bandit and Chilli are setting up parents for failure.  The games they play.  The entertainment they provide their kids, leaking its way into our homes and filling them up with unrealistic expectations.  My kids have wanted us to play Tina what feels like a million times.  I watched Chilli act like a chicken at dinnertime, and instead of giggling, I felt resentment.  I’m just not like her.

I brought this up with some mom friends recently.  And there on a park bench, surrounded by screaming kids and a sense of my motherhood doom, one friend changed my life.  She said, “Ya, but each Bluey episode is only like 8 minutes, right?  So if you can play for 8 minutes, you’ve basically done what they do.”

The conversation turned and everyone moved on, but I was FLOORED.  Why had I never considered this before?  

I had unknowingly put myself in a position where I was choosing between endless play with my kids or not playing at all.  I was filled with irritation or guilt, depending on which way I went on a particular day, and neither of those are the feelings I want when it comes to parenting.

So, I did an experiment.  I started to set limits on my playtime, but I did it in a way that was exciting to my daughter.  I would say things like, “Oh gosh, I have to start dinner in 10 minutes, but I want to play with you first!  What game would you like to play?”  And, much to my delight, she was filled with delight.  Her imagination would come pouring out, and instead of dreading the game, I felt joy in connecting with her.  I galloped like a horse throughout our house with her shrieking on my back.  I winnied to the best of my ability and she doubled over laughing.  She tied me up at the barn (a.k.a the couch) and fed me apples (not so bad, actually.)

And then, a few minutes later, I went to make dinner.

It was miraculous.  Fun, even.

She was THRILLED, and I was happy too.  What I had shown my daughter in those 10 minutes was “I love you.  I see you.  It brings me great joy to be with you.”  That is what our kids need from us, whether we communicate it over an entire day of being together, or just a few minutes of focused time doing what they love.  

And now, many months removed from that day at the park, I still am finding joy in playing with my kids.  I give all that I can to their imaginations.  I try to immerse myself in their world.  I see their twinkly eyes and hear their giggles and I let them boss me around.  I pet my “dogs,” ask them to do tricks for me and feed them treats.  And then I feel the freedom to give them a hug, say thank you for playing, and excuse myself to do the other things that need my attention.  Because that’s part of being a parent too.  And here’s what I have discovered: they never needed me for hours, they just needed all of me for whatever time I could give.

I am overwhelmingly grateful that this shift happened inside of me, because I know soon enough they won’t want to play with me anymore.  I know one day I will look back longingly at my days playing Pet Store and wish that my little babes would play one more time, so I knew it was the last.  I think I would treasure that last game, and wish it would go longer.  There will come a morning when I don’t wake up to Brixey the Raccoon, Buttercup the Bunny, or Francie Fox, but rather an angsty tween who doesn’t want to talk to me.  I know it’s coming.

So for now, like Chilli and Bandit, I play.  And I’m so thankful for their example, because this mama needs some more ideas for games.