Natalie Whatley

The paragraphs below are what I hashed out after three weeks of running at a crazed pace. In some ways I can hardly wait for life to slow down, but I’m very aware of the price. Like many of you, I’m in the trenches of parenthood 24/7. Some days the trench fills with water, and I struggle to keep my head above the surface. Others…why, I have the most beautiful trench there ever was. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

‘Twas the week of Christmas, and all through my mind, not a coherent thought was stirring, not even a rhyme. The lights were hung ‘round the house without harm, no body parts broken, or too much cause for alarm. Christmas parties were had, social obligations fulfilled, and all I wanted was some quiet and still. The children wrote lists as long as North Main, while dollar signs floated ‘round their father’s brain.

And Papa with his headache, and I with my new cat, were hoping one day it’d be possible to just take a nap. When from the upstairs there came a horrid smell. I looked up at the ceiling and started to yell. Away to grab Lysol, I ran a mad dash, began spraying the air wondering which kid to splash.

The light on the carpet outside the bathroom lit the offending parties — they’ll be needing a broom. When what to my frustrated eyes should appear three young people frolicking in good cheer. With an old dog in on the fun, I knew right that moment they’d better run! Faster than lightning the children they split, as they had no idea which gluteal target I’d get.

To a clean bathroom before the herd bathes, I pay homage to my silly rage. So down to the rooms I fly lickety-split, with a few thoughts in mind and envisioning a sit. In that moment, I felt in my heart, the tugging of strings from children so smart.

As I drew in a breath and dared turn around, up in years they went, almost without making a sound. Dressed in much bigger clothes, they’ll all be taller than me. I barely saw it happen. Could it truly be? Larger amounts of knowledge they now carry in their heads. Looks like they’re growing up; it’s full speed ahead.

Their eyes how they wonder, their smiles, how toothy. Their faces are changing, and at times they act goofy. Their mouths sometimes speak in ways that amaze.  And the kind things they do leave me in a proud haze.

With a tiny bit of childhood left, maybe they can handle my not always being deft. The years they’ve gone by faster than I ever imagined, like the blink of an eye, faster than I ever fathomed. It’s had its ups and downs — I’ve always had doubts. And sometimes I cried after filling their day with shouts.

On the brink of tears, and with a new vision in sight, I’ve learned that giving my best would make things mostly right.  They love me anyway, in spite of mistakes. And I’ll see them through no matter what it takes.  Bowing my head, I pray they’ll be safe, while asking forgiveness for decisions made in haste.

Onward and upward, I hope we’ll proceed; it’s not easy being the one in the lead. But a quiet voice tells me as I turn in for the night, it will all be OK, for your path I will light.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Happy Mother’s Day to all who have given themselves to paving the road into the future.  

In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson declared the second Sunday in May a national holiday for honoring mothers’ contributions to society.  It’s an incredibly important job with lengthy tenure, long hours, pay outside the material realm, and rewards beyond measure.  As a mother, I know the trials and tribulations as well as the immense pride and joy. I didn’t know there would be special angels sent to shed some light on the meaning of true love and incredible faith.

On this day reserved for celebrating, I’d like to recognize a very special group – mothers of special needs children. You are an inspiration, and I marvel at your grace, patience and strength.  I’ve realized it’s no coincidence that I encountered you after what I perceived as difficulty with one of my own children. I may have been angry, or glum, and there you were to remind me to put my petty grievances into perspective. You carry a far greater load, and I had no right being the one feeling saddled down. You often pick me up, and today, it’s my turn.

While getting to know some of you, I learned what I knew had to be true. There was a time in your life when acceptance of what had been placed in your hands was difficult. Yet, it’s you, who have taught me about acceptance and true unconditional love. You have all the same hopes and dreams that I have for my children – happiness, success, and societal acceptance.  

Your days are filled with more challenges than I’ll see in a lifetime. You handle it all with poise and an inner peace I can’t even begin to understand. Sure, you have bad days, and lose it just like the rest of us, but there’s something in you…you’re fighters and you take it all in stride.

I imagine that the triumphs of your child must be far sweeter than anything I can fathom. How many of you were told, “He/she will never…..” So many of you took that as a challenge, and it’s the greatest act of defiance I’ve ever seen. You’re tenacious in pushing beyond the limits someone else placed on you and your child’s life. Some say you’re in denial.  I call it amazing.

Neither you, nor your child chose the fate of a lifelong disability, and you wish people understood that fact. Even in the face of cruelty, exhaustion, and isolation you move forward – grateful to the people who offer support, compassion, or just plain kindness. 

Necessity often requires you to be consumed by what must be done each day.  I see YOU.  That child is precious and surely would not be where they are today had it not been for your perseverance and dedication. Don’t think for one second you’ve become invisible. You’re beautiful inside and out, with a heart of gold, and a halo to match. I’m honored to be a mom alongside true angels on earth, and humbled in your presence.  

Happy Mother’s Day, Donna and Jennifer. Thank you for lighting the path so that I could see.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

A little over a week ago, thirteen-year-old Johnathan Kaufusi of Baytown became a hero when he pulled nearly-drowned Chriszetta Owens from the water at Banana Bend. She had gone out to rescue a younger cousin, and although successful, found herself in big trouble. Lucky for her, Johnathan was prepared to make good on the Boy Scout promise, “To help other people at all times.”  I, along with many, applaud this young man who sprang into action during moments when it mattered most.  

I often lament the fact that we as a society spend too much time ruminating over, and shining the spotlight on a few bad apples instead of praising to high heavens the youth of today who aren’t involved in creating chaos and tragic events.  I’ve learned to look for the silver lining, and while there are days I have to get past societal myopia, I always find it.

As a parent, I’m guilty of noticing less-than-desirable behavior, while not frequently enough taking note and verbalizing my appreciation for the fact that my children make me immensely proud a majority of the time. “I can’t do anything right”, uttered to me by one of my own cuts me to the core, and causes me to remember  once again that it takes many “atta-boys”  to make up for one  “what in the world  were you thinking?”

I’ve never been one to subscribe to  the “it takes a village” theory, but I believe we  all need to be on the constant lookout in our daily travels for young people making good decisions, and as a fellow columnist friend of mine would say, “be all over it like a hobo on a hotdog”.  The investment of a few seconds of our time could have huge returns, and I’ve found giving praise runs a close second to receiving it. Give it a try this week, I dare you.

Human beings rise up, respond, and far exceed expectations when positively acknowledged. Don’t believe me? Visit a classroom full of children, and watch most of them snap-to when the teacher compliments noticeably good behavior on display. It’s a contagion we should intentionally spread.

Paying attention to a degree that will allow us to see the good in our youth requires each and every one of us to unplug from the TV, computer, cell phone and video gaming system, and plug into their lives. Trade the electronics for a Q-Beam, and be prepared to shed some light on why our future is as bright as we choose to make it.   

Johnny Mercer got it right when he sang, “You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, and latch on to the affirmative, don’t mess with Mister In-Between, you’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum, bring gloom down to the minimum, have faith or pandemonium’s, liable to walk upon the scene”

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

I’ve come to the realization that my life mimics an electrical appliance. I’m an overgrown, walking, talking (I confess, sometimes shouting), iron. As a stay-at-home mom, my primary function is to smooth the wrinkles in my family’s life. Occasionally, I have notions of taking some problems to the cleaners, but experience has taught me it’s best to take care of one’s own dirty laundry. Mostly, I get creative, call those pesky creases pleats, and hope no one notices.

Ironing seems a mindless, often-robotic task, but I’ve concluded it has major implications as I’m preparing fabrics to make their own way in the world. Heat and steam lovingly applied seems to ensure a much smoother path. Starch is never used as stiff is not the desired result.

My productivity could be greatly increased if I really could plug into an electrical outlet.  Some days, the fabrics needing my care drain my reserves, and I often wonder why I was given a Sunbeam body when a Rowenta is better suited for the job.

I  also have physical features similar to the iron: a stainless steel soleplate, as moms need a suit of armor; steam surge, as I’ve been known to blow from the ears and nostrils, simultaneously; soft-grip handle, of which I’ll refrain from elaboration; retractable cord to unplug, and reel in my attachment  in a moment’s notice (this comes in very handy when out with a teenager who suddenly spots a friend); and a large, easy to fill reservoir – fill me with water (or even ice chips), and I can labor for hours.

For the most part, I’m learning through trial and error. I’ve been reading the garment care tags for years, but I’m often confronted with new materials that inspire changes in my methods.  The relatively new teen-aged male cotton organdy feels very inflexible and rough, leading me to believe it needs full heat. I’m finding that a lower setting actually works better, and minimizes the scorching. Then there’s the female pre-teen acrylic; it’s very delicate, and I must use the very lowest setting or burn right through.

I’m hoping no one will have long-lasting recollections of instances when I applied far too much heat for the given material. The stubborn, sticky residue left on my soleplate is a visual reminder of the soul I scorched.  I’ve found the mess is best cleaned while it’s fresh to avoid smearing on other fabrics, or hardening to a point that’s difficult to remove later.

I fear that by the time I get the hang of this household chore, my ironing days will be over. I’m starting to spit rust, and finding that I care less and less about wrinkle removal, and more about having resilient fabrics that don’t wrinkle much in the first place.

Now if I could just do something about the wrinkles appearing on my face. It seems the more ironing I do, the more wrinkles I have. Since each one has been earned through some pretty rewarding work, I think I’ll call them pleats and wear them proudly.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley