Kassie Fowler

Adventures aren’t just for super-humans.

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Adventures don’t just happen.  They don’t interrupt our average days or force themselves into our memories.  Adventures don’t instagram-ad-target us saying, “swipe up for more!”  (that would be nice).  On the flip side, they aren’t merely for the creative photographers or single college students.  I swing back and forth between wanting adventures to be effortless for our family and thinking we should quit our jobs and move into a “tiny house”, as seen on HGTV.  But what I’m finding is that the act of adventuring is not for the lucky or the extreme— it’s for those who say yes.

Due to a move in May, I pulled our two oldest out of school three weeks early.  We had a FULL three-month-summer and while I’d like say it was the summer I’ve always dreamt of, there were plenty of moments I reread this highlighted quote:

Vacations are the act of grabbing minutes and hours and days with both hands, stealing against the inevitability of time. There will be a day when our family as we know it will not exist, and I want to know that in that moment, I wasn’t at the office or doing the dishes when I could have been walking on the dock with my dad, when I could have been drinking tea and eating ginger cookies on the porch with my mom…” –Shauna Niequist

Insert the word “adventures” for vacations and this thought becomes even more real.  Because vacations are scheduled and planned and saved for, and have long pauses between them, but adventures are always waiting.  Adventures can be carefully executed or done on a whim.  They can be at Disney World or in our backyard.  Nonetheless, these beautiful phrases from Shauna convict and inspire me.

Since it would be an extended summer, I knew it was time to visit my family in Louisiana.  Four years had passed since we last saw my grandmother (Mama) and Great Aunt (Aunt Ed) as well as my dad and stepmom (Pops & Mawmaw).  My sister had another baby girl who I hadn’t met.  And I couldn’t deal with this anymore.

So why four years? Well, I’ve got some good excuses… like the biggest one being I prefer to stay sane, and traveling with three boys under the age of seven gives me a 92% chance of failing.  Also, working very full-time jobs didn’t allow us much margin.  And this summer my husband Dougie needed to hang back to work.  So, the 17+ hour road trip from Northern Virginia to Louisiana as a solo parent felt too unsafe to consider.  What if I had a tire blow out? Been there done that as a single college girl.  But with three young boys in my backseat?  I need medical marijuana just thinking about it.  Furthermore, it’s hard enough taking care of them on my own turf much less not having the comforts of my own bed and preferred thermometer night settings and morning coffee routine.  Tired, hot, un-caffeinated moms are scary.

But I couldn’t shake it.  My soul needed some family connection on the heels of a hard year.   And there were adventures we needed this summer for all of our sakes… Ruston (my 4-year-old) hasn’t seen his Louisiana family since he was eight weeks old.  But even Caden and Logan (8 and 6) were confused about who is who.  And my roots were calling me.  Interestingly, I found that as I set my mind to work on this complex feat, strategies began to emerge.  Dougie could drive with us as far as Atlanta, where we would visit friends for a couple of days.  Then he could fly back to Virginia using some airline credits, and I could handle the rest of the eight-hour trip by myself.  One week later, he could fly to Louisiana (on his day off work) to drive us all back.  This combined-then-separated-then-combined trip could work, especially since I wanted to tow a U-Haul full of antiques my mom was ready to pass on.  I like to keep things simple- never.

So, we made it happen.

And on this trip to cajun country, we did both normal and wild things: we rode a ferry, explored a navy ship, threw a football in the backyard, played in a small splash park, ate snowballs in a thunderstorm.  MaiMai (my mom) threw Rus and Sadie (who are 6 weeks apart) a little 4-year-old birthday party at her house with my grandmother and great aunt.  Rus called them the “3 grandmas” and couldn’t understand why mommy has so many grandmas.  We ate jambalaya and cookie cake and the boys bragged about all of their accomplishments to the “3 grandmas.”

My boys screamed for their lives at Global Wildlife Center where Pops and Mawmaw (my dad and stepmom) took us to die, I mean, feed free-roaming wildlife on a safari tour.  Buffalo, bulls, llamas, alpacas, deer, giraffes, and many other things I can’t name, put their smelly breath in our faces and slobber on our laps to seize any pebble of food available.  The boys dominated catching baby alligators and loved feeding the birds at the New Orleans Aquarium.  Dougie arrived on our last night in Louisiana and we stuffed our faces in Cajun food and binged on beignets the next morning as we started our expedition home.

Halfway back to Virginia, we found a beautiful waterfall to explore on the border of Alabama and Tennessee.  We talked about sightseeing but had no specific plans so when Dougie saw signs saying “Noccalula Falls Park”, he insisted we pull over.  Much to my comfortable butt and half-read magazine’s demise, I agreed.

A couple of wrong parking lots, a little train ride, and a 45-minute rocky hike later, we finally made it to the stunning sight.  White ribbons of water falling from above, spraying a cool misty breeze behind it where we were standing, totally captivated.  The temperature had to be 15 degrees cooler behind the water fall, and we weren’t complaining about this. Sharp and slippery rocks were below our feet but we carefully carved paths to explore different angles of the view.

The boys learned how tired feet and the risks of scrapes pay off. The white water looked so pure and fresh against the dark brown rocks. It thundered down into a quiet pool that slowly crept toward the sandy beaches below. Couples were kissing and taking selfies and carrying toddlers and the powerful sounds calmed all the children like a vacuum quiets a crying newborn. Fearful of missing the train back to the parking lot as the sun was setting and park closing, we headed back.  Our road-trip legs and psyches needed that unexpected adventure.

Waterfall adventures

Thankfully, my hardcore husband agreed to find a last-minute deal at a Holiday Inn so we could clean up and get a good night’s sleep for the remainder of our trek. The next day, we enjoyed the mountain views almost all the way home and made YouTube videos while Rus asked how many more minutes about every. five. minutes.  We had more urine-filled bottles than anyone wants to know (sorry TMI, but all the praise hands for having little boys with convenient peeing apparatuses).  Yes, I was fearful someone would accidently drink the pee but it saved us many a bathroom stops.

Wow, we did it.

And now I find myself reflecting on our adventures and how hard it was to make it all happen. How a 17+ hour road trip by myself initially felt so impossible with 3 rowdy little boys.  I’m no supermom. I struggle with the daily sacrifices of motherhood and the plaguing mom guilt that accompanies.  But I’m finding once I said yes to adventure, plans came into focus. How it never felt doable, but after we did it, it was instantly worth it.  How the screw in the tire and the near death experience picking up a U-Haul trailer in a dangerous part of Baton Rouge— along with a week without my morning coffee and creamer — and awkward encounters with inexperienced grandparents and grown children who don’t live in the same city and don’t quite know how to naturally interact with each other in those roles — how children who are a little off in their behavior and eating patterns can be the worst display of your parenting abilities and make you want to cower in the shame you’ve been working so hard to overcome— somehow in the midst of all that mess in traveling with kids, you can sit back and say that “not only was it worth it—it was perfect, that was exactly what we needed.”

Friends, adventures await.

In fact, they’re calling. And our adventures may not be easy, and they’re almost guaranteed to be messy and complicated, at least part of the time. But they’re also guaranteed to be full of memories and lessons and awesomeness.  We don’t need to be superhuman, we just need to say yes.

Adventure well xo

 

 

P.S:  Shauna Niequist’s books are inspiring with these topics… highly recommend Cold Tangerines and Present Over Perfect.  

Boys and 2/3 of the "3 grandmas"

Global Wildlife Adventures

feeding birds in NOLA with Pops

waterfall

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Why Can’t You Be More Like Her? A Lesson from Ree Drummond for all the Mothers.

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Mothers Day is around the corner and all the praise hands for the predictable day we hear “you’re the best mom in the whole world!”  I could rave over all the ways mothers are super human, rather, I’ll share a story and some of my journey to freedom from feeling like I’m always missing the mark…

Happy Mothers Day

It’s a hot, summer day around noon, and I’ve clicked on The Food Network in hopes of inspiring my i-only-eat-cheese-for-protein 7 year old to broaden his lunch horizons. “Pioneer Woman” is on. If you’ve seen the show, you know it’s a cooking show hosted by Ree Drummond, a former city girl with a hunky rancher husband, a band of adorable kids, a huge ranch, and a special brand of home cooking and elegant celebrations.  She’s an award-winning blogger and best-selling cookbook author.  The show begins with Ree saying,

Hi, I’m Ree Drummond.  I’m a writer, blogger, photographer, mother and I’m an accidental country girl…”

I’m always in a trance during that part but then — like a bucket of ice thrown over my head—  I hear,

Why can’t you be more like HER?”

What?!  I don’t expect to hear this question fire out of my 7 year old son’s mouth.  He was just as mesmerized by Ree as me, apparently.  And it’s hardly bearable for me to hear all of her accolades while watching the beautiful images dangle before my eyes, but then to hear my 7 year old reiterate what’s in my head leaves me a bit dumbfounded.  Do I laugh or do I cry?

I push my defenses down and ask, “what is it you like about her, baby?”

He looks at me and says, “why can’t you cook like her?”

Phew! He’s just thinking with his tummy.  I realize he’s just seen a preview of the cookies and bread Ree is about to teach us to bake.  He wants to eat sugar and carbs ALL THE DAY LONG.  And he knows I won’t agree.

But wait, why did I have such a strong initial reaction to his question? What did I really hear? Was it his voice asking why can’t you be more like her? — Or was it mine?

If I’m being honest, what I hear during the show intro is, “Hi! I’m Ree Drummond… I’m awesome, smart, creative, successful, beautiful, and I can whip up something deliciously amazing while homeschooling my 4 children before you mothers can even brush your teeth for the day.  All while not breaking a sweat or raising my voice.”

So why does the show’s soundbite bother me?  What is it about her talents and successes that leave me feeling like a loser?  These questions sit with me, and I refuse to let them go.  Or do they refuse to let me go?  Not sure, but I’m committed to get answers.  If this is messing with me, then I bet there are other mothers with the same struggles.

And I’m not looking to share some inspiring quote to make us all feel better for five minutes. No, I’m looking for breakthrough.  I’m looking for healing from his shameful question that plagues so many of us… why can’t you be more like her? 

As I start digging, I first discover the important question:

What is an image and what is reality?

I begin with some research on Ree Drummond, to get more information on her as a real-life human being.  How do others see her?  Is she really perfect?  Are these images that I’m captivated by — the beautiful pictures, the perfect recipes, the images on TV displaying a spotless, bright kitchen, with happy and thankful children and a woman who takes care of her manly cowboy of a husband — are they really real?

I find an article in The New Yorker with an interesting take.  It portrays Ree as a busy, distracted mom who’s more interested in taking pictures than homeschooling.  Her cowboy husband defies the traditional role, and actually takes the brunt of caring for the children during the day so they can learn the ways of ranching and so Ree can have time to focus on her blog.  The real Ree wears yoga pants around the house and admits she’s ok with stepping over messes in her home (which is ok, because the guest house on their property is the setting for the show and where the camera crew stays.)  There’s talk of Ree being a savvy businesswoman, insanely ambitious, and like a duck, “ underneath the water, it’s paddling like mad, but above the surface, it’s placid.”  This is not the Ree I envision.  And honestly, I’m relieved by the reality check.

Before I go any further, let me lay this foundation.  I’m not in the business of demonizing celebrities, women, or anyone with ambitions for the sake of making myself look or feel better.  That’s not the true healing work that leads to a better life. That’s envy, insecurity, and beyond.  And it’s only a temporary fix.  My goal here is to identify what’s an image that results in unattainable expectations we set for ourselves.  Which brings me to an even deeper lesson…

Images of Perfection are Leading Women to Deep Places of Shame

I’m a Brene Brown fan and if you read or listen to her work, you get it.  Brown is a psychologist, made famous by her TED talk, and a world-renown researcher on the subject of shame.  In her teaching “Men, Women, & Worthiness” Brown shares an example from one of her favorite movies that is filled with beautiful dancing.  A few years ago, Brown learns that these scenes are not accomplished merely by the lone lead actress, but by FIVE different body doubles.  An expert for each part, all coming together to give a mind-blowing performance.  What Brown concludes is,

we try to be that woman that we can come in and we can do it all and do it all perfectly, and the truth is that we’re just one person.  And without the help of filmmakers and editors, we fall and we stumble and we have to work really hard to keep it all together and it doesn’t always work.  For us, shame is being held up against the ideal that somehow we can live lives and edit them as we’re living them so that what the world only sees is what’s perfect about us.”

She further explains that the definition of shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.

Whoa.  So my self talk?  My knee-jerk reaction to my son’s question of why I can’t be like her is really rooted in shame?  I would never use such a word to describe myself.  But how freeing it is to recognize that my own pattern of defensiveness and perfectionism is that I’m embarrassed about my own flaws and shortcomings.  And I’m striving not to be seen as a fraud to other mothers.  I want to appear like I’ve got it all under control to stay-at-home moms so they think I have a spotless and clutter-free home full of activity centers and chore charts.  And yet I want to appear like I’m rockin’ the work-home juggle to working mothers so they think I cook healthy dinners and then read for 1 hour with my kids before I get back on my emails.  When in reality, I need 5 experts like the lead actress (chef, cleaner, nanny, home-organizer, and assistant).

So, this struggle… it’s not really mom guilt.  Mom guilt is “oh crap, I screamed too much, I feel terrible.”  Then, it’s apologies and hugs and resolve to do it differently next time.  Because, as Brown teaches us, guilt is a productive emotion… meaning, it causes you to change something.  Shame, however, is not.  It looks like this, “I screamed at the kids.  I always scream.  I completely suck as a mom.  Will I every get my act together?”

See the difference?

We readily talk about “mom guilt” but don’t admit “mom shame” and I would venture to say that freedom comes from understanding the latter.  Freedom comes from calling shame what it is and then accepting ourselves as we are.  We can leverage the guilt as it helps us strive to be the best version of ourselves BUT ONLY when the guilt is not coupled with shame.

I also notice that when I’m not operating in mom shame, I struggle less with mom guilt.

When I’m confident in who I am, including inadequacies, I let go of keeping up the act that I can do it all.  And that I can be all things to all people.  I am SO DONE with the unrealistic standards and perfection and all the people-pleasing.  I’ve gone from feeling more shame with every image I see to being a pretty good false-image-sniffer and a lie-spotter, recognizing all the lies I’m told and the lies I tell myself.  I’ve gone from making false images my standards to bravely owning my reality.

In a culture pervasive with perfect images, we have to be brave self-acceptors and fierce celebrators of others.  

I’ve got a few more examples and topics around this mom shame topic that I hope to share in the future.  But I would love to hear more about YOUR journey in this area.  How have you fought against feeling like you’re missing the mark?

Happy Mothers Day to all.  You, or the mom in your world, deserves all the Ree Drummond cakes this Mothers Day:)

 

 

The Tensions of the Holidays: Embracing Messy & Letting Go of Perfect

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Oh, the Holidays. The tensions of the season. To be a snowy white Christmas, but the forecast is hot and humid. To find the PERFECT gift, but managing the traffic and the hour-long confines of a lunch break.  Striving for those fitness goals before your sweet but brutally honest grandmother makes some well-intentioned comment about that stubborn baby weight. To have life all figured out in anticipation of all the what-are-you-doing-these-days questions during incessant catch-up conversations.

Beyond the silly pressures and expectations of the holidays, there can be deep human pain.  For me, Christmas has been full of highs and lows…

In 2006, I get engaged at Disney World on Christmas Eve’s eve, and I’m ON TOP OF THE WORLD. But at the same time, my soon-to-be sister-in-law is grieving deeply for her mother. It is the third Christmas without her, and the absence, heightened during the holidays, is overwhelming.

A couple of years later in December, I suffer a miscarriage. It is my first pregnancy and as we decorate our tree, I look at an ornament gifted to us, Husband and Wife bears, with Wifey bear sporting a huge belly bump. I sob and decide it’s still worth hanging on our little Christmas tree in the corner of our apartment. That same year, I travel to DC to spend the holidays with my sister and her healthy, nine month pregnant belly. While still physically recovering from my own surgery, I’m now faced with an up-close visual of what I’ve lost.

Thankfully, overt trauma isn’t always a part of the holidays, but still, the smaller things can surely haunt us in a similar fashion.

For example, courageously attending that holiday party or family get-together, and in the midst of having a good time, you realize you’re stumbling into a minefield of shame, via the questions of friends and family…

“Your instagram makes your life look so perfect… it’s suprising to hear you’re actually dealing with so much.”

“Your 3 year old still sucks on a paci, drinks a bottle, and sleeps in a crib? You need to get rid of all that baby stuff! A.S.A.P!”

Ugh… these tensions, common in everyday life and further escalated by the holidays. We all crave the PERFECT Christmas, with all the right moments, perfect memories, and effortless interactions. No drama, no fuss, all holiday spirit and champagne toasts. Where love and kindness abound between friends, family, and maybe even foes. And our lives can be displayed gloriously, #nofilter necessary.

And somehow, every year, I still strive for this far-from-reality perfection.

I get sucked back into this vision of me as a perfect mom, wife, and holiday hostess. How can I make the holidays perfectly “magical” like they’re supposed to be, like I see in the movies and hear in the classic Christmas songs on the radio? Maybe I need more strategy for my elf on a shelf? More homemade gingerbread houses for the kids to decorate? Extended romantic Christmas dates with my husband (like life pre-kids)? Or maybe just more trips to Michael’s for all those crafty gifts I have no idea how to make. Maybe I can go on a 10-day juice cleanse for that extra baby weight. Wait, which gifts are for which kid’s??? I’m forgetting everything like my mom used to!! ? How can my kids have THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER with our budget… we’re screwed. They get just as many questions as we do during the holidays, instead of how their careers are going, they get “what’s Santa bringing you this Christmas?” We might as well schedule them counseling January 1.  Maybe that should be their biggest Christmas gift… the gift that keeps on giving after all this is over with. ?

And through all the pressures, expectations, and tensions, I’m learning what my soul craves is to be set free from my need for perfection.

My soul needs a break from this imitation “Christmas”, the Christmas we humans have created. This substitute of a holiday stresses me, overextends me, and if I’m not careful, blinds me to the true reason we celebrate. Imitation Christmas forces me into extremely vulnerable positions. Positions where shame-triggers are heightened through social gatherings, overeating, and overspending. I find myself in spaces where I feel “lesser than” and where I fear judgment. I ask myself all sorts of questions in these sticky places: Am I a good enough host— did I make others feel at home? Am I a good mom — am I being a fun adventurer? or a boring nag? Am I a good wife — did I lift my husband’s burdens this week and affirm him well? or did I wallow in all of my to do’s and fears of inadequacies? Am I a good Christmas planner — did I think through all the right gifts & recipes?

Yikes— how did I arrive at such an anxious, insecure state? How did I ever allow myself to buy into the idea of these counterfeit standards? Rather than giving up when I fail to achieve the perfections demanded by Imitation Christmas, I find myself trying even harder, striving for even more… more performance, more approval, more shopping, more juggling.  Anything to avoid the truth — that I’m terribly insufficient, flawed, and inadequate.

But the irony of it all is that this Imitation Christmas we’ve created robs our souls of the joy and peace the True Christmas came to give us.

You see, True Christmas is the antidote to it all. True Christmas is the message that, yes, we are NOT good enough. We never will be. We won’t be able to perform our way out of this, and we’ll never attain the level of perfection we seek, in every area of life. But in spite of all of our imperfections and flaws, True Christmas tells us this…we. are. loved. We are worthy and we belong, just as we are. In all of our glorious mess. True Christmas embraces mess. It was birthed in the messiest of all places, enjoyed the company of the messiest of all society, and gave everything to clean up the mess of this world, our world, once and for all.

What a relief.

So, this Christmas, I’m doing my best to let go. To laugh off the expectations. To embrace the messy. And to allow myself to celebrate and enjoy True Christmas… it is truly the most magical holiday of all. I sure hope you’ll join me.

The weary world rejoices,

 

 

The Tensions of the Holidays: No more Imitation Christmas

 

New mom, you are doing great.

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A few years ago I encountered a post on instagram that changed my perspective as a new mom.  One of my friend’s shared a note from her mom after giving birth to her daughter… it read,

“You are doing great!  Remember, she didn’t come with a manual and Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

young mom encouragement

Without warning, I bawl… like my baby.  With puckering lips and tears streaming, I want someone to rescue me from my own emotions.  Thank you crazy hormones.

Desperate to hear encouragement as a new mom, my soul longed for words that share hope.  Words that not only give perspective, but also chill me out from my own self-talk of defeat.

Even a few years after the new mom phase, I’m still well aware that my compass for this motherhood thing can be quite broken.

In the midst of the intense challenges of caring for little ones, I give in to the voice shaming me that I have so much to learn.  That nagging whisper points out how I should play more creatively.  Teach more strategically. Clean more thoroughly. Plan ahead more clearly.  And just when I think I master something with one child, the next one throws me for a loop!

After a long day, I sit down for a glass of wine, or maybe a shower, and my brain opens up.  It starts recounting every moment of failure.  I raised my voice too much.  So and so’s 2 year old is potty trained already.  This chick on instagram loves motherhood more than life.  I bet she never raises her voice like I do… or waits til 9pm to take a shower.

A lot of people think social media is a waste of time, but I find that some days it helps me understand the state of my heart.  And this day, it helped me to recognize which voice is replaying in my head.  And will continue to in every phase of my children’s development IF I DON’T GET A GRIP on it.  From pregnancy comparison through high school graduation, that voice will nag if there’s an in.

In stark contrast, the voice I do not hear very well but so desperately crave is the one that declares “you’re doing GREAT!”  I can’t remember the last time I thought to myself, “Wow, Kassie, you really hit that day out of the ballpark!  You are rocking motherhood.  There’s no one better at raising your kids and taking care of your home than you!”  (Like how guys can look in a mirror, flex their muscles and say, “check this out babe!”  While we point out every little flaw we see in ourselves. How nice for them?!)

Imagine if every mom really believes the words…You are doing GREAT.

I’m probably the worst at celebrating what was accomplished.  I tend to look at what needs improvement. all. the. time.  But, I’m learning that I’m a better mom when I can say “it is good.”  I’m also a better wife and an all-around healthier person.

Not to say we’ve arrived (because who ever does?), but what if at the end of the day, we say to ourselves “it is good”?  It’s like muscle training… training your brain to think a different way.  To feel uncomfortable when it starts to dwell on shame and guilt.  Training it to feel at home, not in a foreign land, when it is filled with satisfaction.  Satisfaction in adding one more brick to the building. Satisfaction in how you moved the ball forward today.

One day may feel like a win and the next a loss, but collectively, you are building something in that little human.  And it does not happen overnight.  Just like Rome.

Most importantly, the message read that day through a tiny square photo spelled out an essential lesson to me, “You are NOT failing.  Give yourself some grace.  None of us know what we’re doing, and we continue to build day after day.”

So, the good news is that you can feel defeated somedays without living like a loser.  You can feel disappointed without living hopeless.  The brain can be trained to dwell on higher thoughts.  So let’s shut down that voice that whispers all the things we could do better and celebrate that our kids are alive and deeply loved.

Tuck in those kiddos, send that final email, wash that last dish… and then celebrate, “It is good”  because your job is not easy, my friend, and YOU are doing great.

I think the world of you.  xoxo

 

 

 

P.S: I’m curious… do you struggle with ever feeling like you do a good job?  And how do you overcome?  Please share…