Kindred Mom Podcast

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080 // Creativity & Curiosity – Tami Leitz Jun 01, 2020

Show notes

Host Emily Sue Allen chats with mom and artist Tami Leitz about creativity, curiosity, and parenting kids with special needs as part of the Ages & Stages of Childhood series on Kindred Mom.

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About Host Emily Sue Allen:

Emily Sue Allen is the founder of the Kindred Mom blog and host of the Kindred Mom podcast. She also is an ongoing devotional contributor to Joyful Life Magazine, a member of Hope*Writers, and has contributed writing in a variety of online spaces. Living a deeply nourished life, and helping women find joy in the midst of their motherhood journey are among her greatest passions. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of humble things and deeply values the grace and truth of Jesus Christ and the riches found in the word of God. She lives with her husband and seven kids in the Pacific Northwest, and blogs at emilysueallen.com. Subscribe to her monthly newsletter, “The Work of Flourishing,” for personal stories about intentionally nourishing your spirit, mind, and body. Find Kindred Mom on Instagram(@kindred_mom) and Facebook, and say hello to Emily personally on Instagram(@emily_sue_allen).

Mentioned on this Episode

Watercolor Revival on Instagram – Artwork by Tami Leitz

Watercolor Revival on Facebook – Artwork by Tami Leitz

Glitter & Ink Facebook Group led by Tami Leitz

Tattoos on the Heart (affiliate link)

Guests on this Episode

Tami Leitz

From 14-32 years old art made me feel like a fraud. Intuitively I knew there was something more profound inside but I didn’t have words to describe it. Winning scholarships or creating something others found lovely was empty. Why make art if even when you win you losses? I spent the beginning of my adult life working for social justice through foster care and in the special needs community all the while wondering what is the purpose of art anyway? We need shelter, companionship, education… but do we need beauty? Artists wrestle within themselves, creating not because someone has asked for art but because they could not live fully without it. Art is not a competition or a commodity. It is a gift. Art draws from the deep well of humanity, offering form to the unseen. Those years without art were like living without a limb, one I willingly cut off. We were not created to simply survive. Creation is given the ability to create! Look at this extravagant world, every sunset a unique masterpiece. How many wonders are hidden under the ocean or beyond the starts? I couldn’t live out my identity as an artist until I understood that I am myself art. In this paradigm shift it makes perfect sense that I would love people our culture doesn’t. Things like disability and mental illness don’t fit into our prescribed arrangement. Why make people who loose? Because they aren’t loosing, we just don’t see it yet. That is why we need artists, to show us the beauty right here, inside and all around us.

Tami’s Website
Tami on Etsy
Tami on Instagram
Tami on Facebook

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Kindred Mom is a community dedicated to helping moms flourish in motherhood. Through honest and vulnerable real stories of motherhood, this community champions celebrating small victories and the beautiful things that happen when moms share both the triumphs and struggles of their journeys.

To connect with the Kindred Mom community, keep up with the essays that are shared on the blog at KindredMom.comand subscribe to the mailing list so you don’t miss a thing.

You can find Kindred Mom on social media in the following places: Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

Special thanks to Michael Patti for the original music featured on the Kindred Mom Podcast.

**The Wisest Investment Parents Can Make** May 28, 2020
Show notes

I knew this moment was coming, but somehow it arrived more quickly than I anticipated.

As I hesitantly retrieve the last remaining penny from the jar, I’m forced to face the reality that my firstborns’ childhood has now come to a close. Nine hundred thirty-six weeks have passed since my triplet sons made me a mother eighteen years ago.

Scrubbing the daily pile of dirty dishes, I was visually held accountable for how well I was spending the time I’d been given to raise my children. Two glass jars full of 936 pennies graced my kitchen windowsill, begging me to contemplate how I was investing in the fleeting days of childhood.

Dropping the final coin into the spent jar, I remember sitting in the middle school gymnasium halfheartedly watching my sons play yet another game of basketball. My thoughts were centered on what meal I was going to prepare for dinner when we got home. My eyes were focused on the emails lingering in my inbox rather than the court. The mom sitting next to me on the bleacher began telling me about the baby shower present she was gifting her expectant neighbor.

As she talked about the 936 penny countdown clock, I realized that I needed to make this gift for myself, even though I had already spent the majority of my pennies. With less than 200 weeks until my firstborn sons turned eighteen, I no longer wanted my meal planning or my smartphone to distract me from the precious moments, sometimes disguised as mundane, of raising my children. I split the pennies into two glass jars, waking up to the fact that more than 700 pennies were already placed in the “spent” jar. The coins remaining seemed so few—yet so valuable.

Each Monday, as I moved a penny into the spent jar, I contemplated how well I had invested in that past week. Had I been more present in the daily happenings, or was I still thinking more about all the tasks I needed to accomplish? Had I mostly been frustrated and angry or joyful and peaceful? Was I more purposeful in my conversations with my sons or in the plans we made as a family together?

I now see an empty jar that began full, signaling the truth—my boys have grown into men now ready to make their way into the world without me.

As I stare at the pile of copper coins, I question what our wisest investment we made while raising our children was. Was it buying the home across the street from our local public school? Was it all of the activities and opportunities that we had allowed our kids to participate in? Was it the vacations we had taken or the family meals shared around our table? Was it the sleepaway summer camp we sacrificially sent them to, the mission trips to Mexico we took, or the simple days we spent hanging out together at home? What was it that brought the most meaning to our full jar of spent pennies?

I contemplated what meaningful gift to give our firstborns to mark their milestone 18th birthday. No material item seemed worthy of such an occasion. It hit me what our best investment had been as we gifted our sons with a series of eighteen dinners, each with one of eighteen different men who have influenced their lives.

My husband and I prepared a guest list and invited one to join our family around our dining table to share a meal and stories twice each month throughout our sons’ senior year of high school. I let go of my insecurities of not being a great cook or having a super clean house to celebrate what mattered the most to us—our relationships with people. Several men flew in for the occasion, others drove across town to surprise the boys on random school nights with a cake and words of wisdom.

Every time we gather for one of these eighteen dinners, I’m reminded of the best use of our 936 pennies—time spent building meaningful connections with others. My efforts to surround our sons with strong family relationships and loving friendships is the wisest investment I made.

While raising my children, I did my best to model what it looks like to be a loving friend, family member, and spouse. I purposely involved my sons and daughter in opportunities to serve others in our home, community, and world. My husband and I proactively sought out ways for our children to be mentored and coached by adults who shared our value system. We used our vacation time to strengthen our relationships, not just entertain ourselves. We invested in experiences instead of purchasing material items throughout our children’s lives, and we now reaped the blessing of our intentional efforts to build a loving community around us.

The visual countdown clock helped hold me accountable for investing in what would matter in the end.

How we choose to invest our time will determine the details of the childhood we provide for our kids and how we, as parents, will feel when it comes time for the imminent launch of our children into adulthood.

God willing, we parents get 936 weeks to raise our child from birth to eighteen. Let’s intentionally invest our time wisely in what will matter the most at the end of full-time parenthood, and our lives- people.

*( Yes! Please send me the weekly Kindred Mom newsletter with the latest podcast episodes, essays, and helpful links! )*

Amy Carney is the Author of Parent on Purpose: A Courageous Approach to Raising Children in a Complicated World. Amy and her husband of 22 years are parents to five teenagers- 18-year-old triplet sons, a 17-year-old daughter, and a 13-year-old son recently adopted out of the Arizona foster care system. You can find her on her blog, Facebook, or Instagram.

079 // Leadership in Motherhood – Lindsey Cornett & Mary Kate Brown May 24, 2020

Show notes

Kindred Mom team members Mary Kate Brown and Lindsey Cornett join host Emily Sue Allen for a conversation about leadership in motherhood as part of the Ages & Stages of Childhood series on Kindred Mom. This episode explores how principles of leadership from any other sphere apply to motherhood and support a thriving family culture.

Subscribe to Kindred Mom and receive the weekly digest newsletter we send to our readers/listeners!

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About Host Emily Sue Allen:

Books Mentioned on this Episode (affiliate links)

Belonging and Becoming: Creating a Thriving Family Culture by Mark & Lisa Scandrette

Bringing Out the Best in People: How to Enjoy Helping Others Excel by Alan Loy Mcginnis

Fashioned to Reign by Kris Valloton

Guests on this Episode

Lindsey Cornett
Lindsey Cornett is a loud talker, iced coffee drinker, and lover of the written word who writes from the intersection of faith, family, and freedom. She’s married to Evan, and together they live in Grand Rapids, Michigan with three kiddos (four and under). Over time, she is learning to relinquish her perfectionism and embrace her life and creativity as-is. In the process, she’s become passionate about encouraging other women to embrace the freedom Jesus offers, which is rooted in the belief that we are enough just as we are. You can find more of Lindsey’s writing on her personal website, on Instagram, and over at the The Drafting Desk, a thoughtful monthly newsletter which she co-writes to inspire women toward freedom from perfectionism.

Read some of Lindsey’s writing:
Two Bites of Humble Pie / Facing Postpartum Depression / Strong and Brave

Mary Kate Brown

Mary Kate Brown is a homeschooling stay-at-home mama living in the suburbs of Chicago. She is married to her high-school sweetheart Brian, and together they have three daughters. She decorates cakes, is a hobby gardener, enjoys reading, and she writes about faith and motherhood at www.choosinggraceblog.com. Catch up with her on Facebookand Instagram.

Read some of Mary Kate’s writing:
Dare to Dance / New Baby, New Mom

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To connect with the Kindred Mom community, keep up with the essays that are shared on the blog at KindredMom.comand subscribe to the mailing list so you don’t miss a thing.

You can find Kindred Mom on social media in the following places: Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

Special thanks to Michael Patti for the original music featured on the Kindred Mom Podcast.

**It Just Gets Better** May 21, 2020
Show notes

“Come on kids, we’re going to the beach today,” I announced one morning. They’d grown accustomed to impromptu beach days since our move to Western Michigan in early spring. Fortunately, living on the West side of Grand Rapids meant a number of gorgeous beaches were well within a forty-minute drive of our rental home.

I kept beach gear packed in our minivan, towels rolled in a mesh beach bag by the door, swimsuits usually hung out to dry on the back porch, and sunscreen was optional. We slipped flip flops on our feet, made a quick stop by the grocery store for some grapes, cheese cubes, granola bars, and extra water, and we drove to a new spot: Rosy Mound.

Social media is incredibly helpful when you move to a new area. Locals know all of the best spots. Rosy Mound was highly recommended and seemed right up our alley with sand dunes, a quiet beach, and stunning views. Windows down and music turned up, we drove through miles of farmland while the girls and I sang along to our summertime playlist. We pulled up to a small parking lot and visitor center and loaded our essentials. I couldn’t bring a stroller because our one-mile hike to the beach included wooded sandy dune trails and hundreds of stairs. We all had to walk. We left towels and toys behind and set out on our hike. I carried the backpack with water and snacks as I watched my three daughters run ahead.

No one needed diapers. No one needed naptime. No one needed me to tote five million things along with us on every outing. I felt light. Our hike through the shady dune woods felt like a new level of freedom. I was taking my children to the beach, one mile on foot from the car and toilets, with no stroller, alone.

In years prior, I’d never have been able to manage such a day trip. Restaurant outings when I only had one child were stressful enough. Weaving through a tightly packed dining room with an infant carry seat in tow, occupying a restless baby at the table, and barely finishing my own meal, made me despise eating out. Venturing to a secluded beach alone would have never been on my radar as a fun outing in that season of life.

Watching my children grow up is certainly bittersweet. I recall the hours I spent swaying in the darkness watching my babies drift off to sleep. I would linger, holding their tiny bodies close to mine, praying I’d be able to remember what it felt like years later. We spent a good number of years home, keeping with the pace of little legs, short attention spans, and naptimes.

Sentiments like “enjoy every second” or “it goes by so fast” caused me to grieve a little bit of those fleeting baby years. The idea that one day I’d look back on them with nostalgia forged the association of their growing-up with loss. However, I am learning it is not about what I fear we may lose in the early years, it’s about what we have to gain in the coming ones.

Many of our outings that spring and summer looked much the same: one bag with a few essentials, our able legs, and willing hearts. My three-year-old trotted after her big sisters, my oldest blazed the trail ahead, and my middle kept up somewhere in between. I followed behind our parade. We climbed up a final set of stairs at Rosy Mound, over the last sand dune before we reached the lake. A crisp breeze greeted us at the top as we caught a glimpse of endless blue water just beyond the rolling, sun-baked hills of sand. We were almost there. The descent down the other side of the dune was easier, and as we emerged from the cool shade of the trees, we basked in bright sunshine. Sweaty after our hike, we splashed in the gentle lapping waves and lost track of time.

Hours later, we drip-dried on our hike back through the meandering wooded dune trails to our car. I smiled at each passerby as I carried my three-year-old on my shoulders. Sandy, sweaty, and sunkissed, we settled contentedly into the air-conditioned car to head back home. It wasn’t long before all three girls nodded off to sleep. I glanced back at their messy beach hair and pink cheeks and smiled, feeling the familiar sense of nostalgia I’ve felt before when each of them were just tiny babies. I didn’t want to forget this either.

Venturing out on solo beach trips in this season are akin to the countless days we spent at home in seasons past— we’ve embraced the present. As my children grow, I don’t mourn the departure from their baby and toddlerhood, but embrace the newness of their childhood. Along with beach days, I embrace the skinned knees, loose teeth, two-wheel bike rides, elaborate Lego creations, and the endless adventures their imaginations take them on. I look back on those tender moments of the past and realize they’re ones upon which our new adventurous ones are built. No one ever told me it just gets better, but I am learning that it does.

*( Yes! Please send me the weekly Kindred Mom newsletter with the latest podcast episodes, essays, and helpful links! )*

Mary Kate and her husband Brian are high-school sweethearts who recently left their lifelong home in the Chicago suburbs for a rural property in Western Michigan. Together they homeschool their three daughters and are making plans for turning their new property into a small-scale homestead. After overcoming numerous health challenges due to autoimmunity, Mary Kate is passionate about helping others find healing and wholeness. She leads an online group teaching the basics of an anti-inflammatory diet and inspires others to incorporate simple, nourishing, real-food recipes in their own homes. She also writes online at www.choosinggraceblog.com, and you can catch up with her on Instagram @choosinggraceblog

**What in the World Will You Do With Yourself?** May 19, 2020
Show notes

Floor plans and scholarship applications litter my dining room table these days, and the talk around dinner is all about the future. Life as I know it is about to undergo a drastic change here on this country hill. Having homeschooled a brood of four sons for the past twenty-one years, I’ve seen our story trending in this direction and felt the current of life rushing toward the door. I have not missed the significance of the unpredictable number of place settings at dinner, the unexpected date nights when my good husband and I realize we’re going to be home alone—Again!

I have become an object of concern to some, since the “baby” has turned 18 and is poised to graduate in the spring. They ask, tentatively, kindly, as if, perhaps, it might be a tender subject for me, “What on earth are you going to do with yourself?”

I’m used to questions. Although I did not realize it at the time, I have since noticed how unusual it is to schlep a shopping cart and four sons through a grocery store. “Are they all yours?” was the most common query I received in the season of the loaded blue mini-van, but my favorite was the inappropriate and completely boundary-less, “Do they all have the same father?” (What…??)

Today, standing in this liminal space holding a stack of blue and tan Pfaltzgraff and an indeterminate number of forks, the questions from all the seasons of my mothering life meet and dance in a circle around this emptying nest.

In a sense, nothing has changed.

The duties are all still there: the food prep, the studying, the laundry, the teaching, the vacuuming, the long listening to friends. The proportions are all that differ. Even in the intense season of four daily math lessons and multiple sports-and-music drop-offs and pick-ups, I would have been found rummaging around in the Sermon on the Mount while parked outside the middle school or scrawling lines into a well-floured notebook while rolling pie dough.

The love is all still there: Little hands still hold loaded paintbrushes and cut gingerbread boys from sticky dough at my kitchen counter, but they belong to my grandchildren now. The concerned phone calls, the proffered wisdom, the checking-in now runs in both directions, as our sons have surpassed us in many practical ways, but continue to do us the honor of asking our advice now and then. Band-Aids are no longer dispensed on the daily, but encouragement and help to the young women in my life feels a little bit like healing.

My mothering life goes on, and this is surely what will lie at the center of whatever response I live my way into in answer to this season’s new line of questioning. When the house was perpetually noisy, when pizza was on the menu every Friday, and we argued over which Disney movie to pop into the VCR, I thought I would never forget any of it—I would remember it always just the way it was. The stories we tell one another about our family in the past have been molded by the shape of our family today. Funny stories become a better memory every year. Wrongs of the past, while still wrong and regrettable, have been so completely forgiven that the sting of the story has been swallowed up in love.

Maybe what author Madeleine L’Engle said of herself, looking back upon a full life, is also true of my family: “I am still every age that I have been.” The stages of a mothering life are built from a series of moments: now, now, and now quickly become then, and my family-as-it-is collides in memory with my family-as-it-was. An action verb, mothering always has and will continue to comprise elements of giving and telling, listening, and nurturing. Mothers in every season are tasked with the creation of safe emotional space, long after the need for clean socks, and a full lunch box has expired.

What in the world will I do with myself now that my boys have become young men and my mothering in the flesh will soon be, primarily, a mothering of the spirit? The answer, I believe, will be another question, because it has been the question all along:

“What story do I want to be able to tell going forward?”

*( Yes! Please send me the weekly Kindred Mom newsletter with the latest podcast episodes, essays, and helpful links! )*

Michele Morin is a teacher, reader, writer, and gardener who does life with her family on a country hill in Maine. She has been married to an unreasonably patient husband for nearly 30 years, and together they have four sons, two daughters-in-love, and three adorable grandchildren. Michele is active in educational ministries with her local church and delights in sitting at a table surrounded by women with open Bibles. You can find Michele on her blog, Facebook, and Instagram.

**Lessons Learned in the Produce Aisle** May 14, 2020
Show notes

Nothing in my life welcomed unsolicited (and unhelpful) advice quite like the terrible twos. Though tenderly given, the primary encouragement I received loudly affirmed, “Just wait until she’s three! Three is far worse.” The exact statement varied, but the big idea was clear: no one liked three and I wouldn’t either.

Two was hard, and it did, in fact, contain some incredibly challenging and truly terrible days. It brought big emotions, big challenges and lots of tears—for her and me both. But Two, and all the terrible it brought, was nearly overshadowed by the impending doom that supposedly was Three. It was my understanding that Three would bring me to my knees, and it would begin the inevitable breakdown in my relationship with my daughter. Three, the monster, was about to rear its head and devour my family.

But Three rolled up one gray, soggy summer morning, peeked its sweet little head into my room and requested a tattoo and a good cup of coffee to start her year off. I’d been prepared to greet Three with trepidation, armed with tools to take on the year before me—far more terrible than Two. I was ready for the hardship, the struggles and battles before me. I was, however, not prepared for the laughter that Three would bring to my home. I was caught off guard by all the joy that came roaring in with Three.

Three is laughter and stories and invitations into an incredible world of imagination. A world that’s filled with rich storytelling, curiosity, messy crafts and so many too big words. I won’t dismiss Three. Three has left me with some sizable breaks and bruises. It is hard. Perhaps it is even a bit harder than Two, but likely only because I already survived Two, and Three is yet to be overcome.

I’ve noticed how easy it is to romanticize the victories we’ve already attained. Just stand in front of the produce section at the grocery store until your child has a meltdown and wait for that first wise one to step up. At this point, I’ve already heard so many varying versions of “You think that’s hard? Just wait until…” You’ve heard it too. Wait until their attitude comes out full force, wait until puberty hits, wait until they’re a teenager. Then it will really be difficult. But it’s never a mom in the throes of a big Three tantrum whispering this to you next to the asparagus. No, it’s always someone who has already arrived on the other side of the exact place your feet are planted.

My mom survived eight rounds of Three. “You’re allowed to like your kids.” She said it quietly, gently, as I shared my frustrations and mixed emotions with her. “You’re allowed to enjoy this stage, even if it’s hard. It’s okay to laugh and enjoy it without wondering what’s coming next.” This wisdom, the words I needed, spoke life into my weary heart when I confessed feeling discontent with the stages I felt stuck in. Hers was one of few voices assuring me that I didn’t have to dwell in the worst parts of the ages my kids were in. Those words planted a seed of rest in a heart that was desperately desiring it.

Three is challenging. So is One, Two and, as you intimately know, each age and stage our children walk through. If I could relay back advice to my slightly younger self, I’d assure her that it’s okay to admit that raising little people is hard—regardless of what transpires this day. Regardless of the naysayers’ prediction of the hard to come, here and now is allowed to be hard as well. I wish I’d allowed myself the permission then to simply delight in the little joys of One without looking for all the signs of the next terrible stage coming.

I’d like to think that when I’m an old woman, quietly grocery shopping on my own, I’ll be able to observe a mother-child scuffle and simply smile in remembrance. Instead of extending my own knowledge of the potential gloom and doom on the way, I’ll offer a quick, “You’re doing great. It’s hard, but you’re doing it!” Because I know, despite the very real and very big challenges Three dragged into my home, it primarily brought laughter and curiosity.

Terrific, tremendous Three, I would never trade you.

*( Yes! Please send me the weekly Kindred Mom newsletter with the latest podcast episodes, essays, and helpful links! )*

Stephanie Wilcox is a wife and stay at home mom to two delicious little girls. She fell in love with the written word at a young age and delights in the life pursuit of loving and knowing the Living Word. You are most likely to find her hiding from the laundry or outside barefoot with a book in hand. Find her on Facebook or Instagram.

078 // Legacy Begins in the Little Years – Jennifer Van Winkle & Song Harri May 11, 2020

Show notes

Kindred Mom team member Jenni Van Winkle and KM Alum Song Harri join host Emily Sue Allen for a conversation about building a legacy beginning in the early years of childhood, as part of the Ages & Stages of Childhood series on Kindred Mom. This episode explores the investment moms can make in their children that help them grow into capable, honorable adults.

Subscribe to Kindred Mom and receive the weekly digest newsletter we send to our readers/listeners!

Follow Kindred Mom on Instagram

Follow Kindred Mom on Facebook

About Host Emily Sue Allen:

Emily Sue Allen is the founder of the Kindred Mom blog and host of the Kindred Mom podcast. She also is an ongoing devotional contributor to Joyful Life Magazine, a member of Hope*Writers, and has contributed writing in a variety of online spaces. Living a deeply nourished life, and helping women find joy in the midst of their motherhood journey are among her greatest passions. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of humble things and deeply values the grace and truth of Jesus Christ and the riches found in the word of God. She lives with her husband and seven kids in the Pacific Northwest, and blogs at emilysueallen.com. Subscribe to her monthly newsletter, “Notes on Nourishing,” for personal stories about intentionally nourishing your spirit, mind, and body. Find Kindred Mom on Instagram(@kindred_mom) and Facebook, and say hello to Emily personally on Instagram (@emily_sue_allen).

Guests on this Episode

Jennifer Van Winkle

Jennifer Van Winkle is a fun-loving and intentional-but-casual minimalist. She is an editor of and regular contributor to the Kindred Mom Blog and Podcast. Currently, she writes from home with kids underfoot on her personal blog Pepper Sprout Home. She is passionate about squeezing the most fun out of life in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and 3 children. She is always in search of truth and what it looks like to live authentically and if that surrounds a plate of delicious food shared with good friends and family, then she’s pretty much in the happiest place she can imagine. Find Jenni on Instagram.

Read some of Jenni’s Writing:
Poop Mountain / Go Get Him, Tiger / Speed Boat : Ocean Liner

Song Harri

Marilynn Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

Read some of Marilynn Song’s writing:
Transformation Series – Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 / Riding Into Love

—————

To connect with the Kindred Mom community, keep up with the essays that are shared on the blog at KindredMom.comand subscribe to the mailing list so you don’t miss a thing.

You can find Kindred Mom on social media in the following places: Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

Special thanks to Michael Patti for the original music featured on the Kindred Mom Podcast.

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