Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Conversation I Just Had With My Child That Rocked Me!

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I’m going to share a story with you. I almost titled this “my parenting regret,” but regret is probably a strong word. I know I’ve been a good mom, but do you ever look back, wish you could hit rewind, and do things a different way? Maybe my particular hindsight can help you see things in a different light.

I was driving in the car this past week with all three of my daughters, when my eleven year old said, “I’m glad that I’m getting to know you better, now.”

Confused, I asked, “what do you mean?”

She answered, “well, I just feel like I get to see you more now than I did when we lived in the blue house.”

She was referring to our life before traveling, our life before leaving our small town, but most importantly, our existence before we truly discovered what’s important in life. Allow me to recap for those unfamiliar with our personal life.

Almost five years ago I came to a place in life where I realized I wasn’t happy. I mean, I was happy. I had a great husband, children I loved, a wonderful home, and so much more. Yet… something was amiss. I was stressed, struggling, and considered myself what many women affectionately call one another, a “hot mess.” I was always running, always busy, and stretched on every side. My husband owned a business and worked six days a week, at least twelve hours a day, and even on his off day, he was sometimes doing stuff for work. I worked part-time, 24 hours a week, but homeschooled the girls five days a week, and spent my spare time (I know, hilarious) working a side business to try and earn extra income. Crazy. I felt like I was a single parent, breastfeeding around the clock, and striving to be better at all the things. It. Was. Exhausting. I was stressed, my husband was stressed, and apparently so were my children.

Back to present day, riding in the car, I continue the conversation with my oldest, “that’s weird, cause I work more now than I did then!”

Work may not be the best description here. More specifically, I work outside the home more now than then, but looking back, I suppose I was always working on something during that season of the “blue house” as my child put it.

My daughter replied, “yeah, I know, you work more now, but back then it seemed like I never saw you.”

Interested in this line of conversation I purposely asked, “who do you feel was home more, me or your dad?”

She replied quickly, “Dad.”

You know, the dad who worked six, full days a week!

I continued, “I was home way more than him. You don’t remember me there?!”

I watched her contemplation, and then she replied, “I guess I remember doing school with you, but I hated school.”

Ahh, yes, my initiation into homeschooling. Now, if I did call something a regret, it would definitely be how I handled schooling my child at five to six years old. Instead of looking at her as an individual learner, I compared her to other children. I compared her to her public school cousin the same age. I compared her to my SIL’s child who started reading at four, or my other nephew who had no troubling picking up his phonics in kindergarten. But I think my big mistake was the doubt I had for myself as her teacher. I was afraid I wasn’t doing good enough for her, so I unintentionally pushed her too hard, basing my worth as an educator on her unique performance. She would cry through her reader, and I would yell a lot. No wonder she banished it from her memory!

But it gets worse. The nail in the coffin.

She added, “oh, and you cleaned a lot.”

From the backseat my nine year old chips in, “yeah, you cleaned a lot back then.”

Sigh.

Not to be outdone, my eleven year old continues, “I can remember Dad being home really well! He would take me to Walmart, buy me a toy, and we’d sit on the couch watching Sponge Bob and eating Oreos all day.”

First, I made sure I relayed this to my husband later. He had mentioned to me more than once regret over not being around more when our girls were little. After I told this little story, he had peace that they only remembered that time of his overworking with fondness, and he hadn’t mucked things up too bad after all. I suppose all parents are their own worst enemy.

This conversation in the car didn’t so much guilt me as it taught me. I wasn’t drowning in regret, but it did rock my thinking. My husband had one day off a week, but that one day he made sure was quality time. That’s what our girls, six and four at the time, remembered.

I had focused on the things I thought were important at the time. Housework, ensuring my five year old knew all her sight words for the week, cooking every night, and building my business that was supposed to financially bring both of us parents home. I had rushed us to dance classes and homeschool co-op’s, but I had not taken as much time just to simply enjoy them being little.

Ok, I’ll look at this from all angles. I understand that things need to be done. If I didn’t clean the house, we would have been covered in our own trash. And reading is fundamental! Ha! Building my future via a small business was a wonderful plan, and activities and classes are important to childhood development. So, what’s the takeaway?

Remember when I said we had learned what was important over the past four years while traveling? See, we made a decision to sell our big house, sell our possessions, trade in the two cars for one vehicle, and travel for work so one parent could stay at home fulltime. We realized we didn’t need all the square footage. We realized we didn’t need to work more to have more stuff, but we did really enjoy more time. By doing the above, huge life-shift, we discovered what was important to us. Time with one another.

I can’t turn back the clock on the first six years of my oldest daughter’s upbringing, but I can move forward a little wiser. I can understand that young children won’t remember things like the fully-balanced meals every night or what grade they got in their school subjects, but they will remember Oreos and snuggles. Our relationship won’t be built on a foundation of how many days I was home from work with them, but rather the quality of the days we did have. And I’m telling you, as a fulltime working mom, that’s a huge deal. As mothers, we can often feel guilty for working out of the home, but if my experience teaches you anything, know that sometimes you can be home, but not really be there.

If anything, remember to be there when you’re there. That’s what I do now. As a working mother I don’t focus on quantity of the time with those I love, as much as the quality of the time we have. If you’ve lost a parent, like me, then you’ll understand a grieving child mostly wishes for “just one more day.”

I guess my goal, at this season in life, is to leave a legacy of quality. That the time I shared with my children will be fondly remembered as time well-spent, and while they’ll probably still grieve for one more day, more importantly they will recall fondly the days we had, no matter how many there were.

My Husband is a Stay-at-Home Dad, and I Don’t Care What You Think About It

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I am a part of some different Facebook groups, and last week I got a little ruffled over some comments on a thread I was following. Well, ruffled is probably too strong of a word. I’d say I felt defensive for a moment. Why? Because I took it personally. I took personal offense for the love of my life. Wait, I guess I better explain, put it into context for you.

You see, I’m a travel nurse. And I travel in an RV with my family. So I’m a part of several travel nurse, RV, family RV travel, and RV travel nurse groups. Now, if I’ve learned anything in life it’s that the opinion of others isn’t worth my heartache. In other words, not all people will agree with me, and that’s ok. Their opinion doesn’t make me or break me, but I guess it’s a little different when the jab is towards my best friend.

I was scrolling through my feed when I came across a travel nurse asking if any other nurses traveled with their spouse, and wanted to know how their spouse spent their time. There were a lot of answers like mine. Answers of, “my spouse stays home.” And not just housewives either. There were a lot of househusbands. As you would imagine, it didn’t take long for someone to state their opinion about a man not working, and a woman being the primary breadwinner.

A woman commented, “I can’t get over all these deadbeat dudes, and you ladies supporting them. No way I’d put up with that sh*t.”

My heart rate rose as I read the comment. She didn’t know my spouse! She didn’t know he had run his own business for years, working thirteen hour days, six days a week. She didn’t know the stress of all those years, how hard he had worked to support his growing family. I had to tell her these things. I had to defend his honor!

You know, that’s the thing about people who aren’t you. They don’t know you, and they don’t know the specifics of your situation. They don’t know the roads you have walked, or even how hard it was to get there. That’s why you have to just let it slip right on by you. Because they don’t know and probably never will. Most people are so fixed on their own opinion that even if you set them straight, they wouldn’t hear you. You have to decide that you don’t care what they think. Too often we value the opinion of others, and it’s the same people who wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were on fire. It’s the people pointing out the sawdust in your eye when they have a plank in their own. It’s the people who have been wounded, and their opinions and beliefs are often convoluted by their own negative, past experiences. Maybe this lady had been married to a deadbeat once upon a time. It didn’t matter, though.

I didn’t need to say a word to defend my man’s honor. After all, I knew he was amazing. I knew his heart. I knew he homeschooled our children while I worked. I knew he did all the housework, cooking, laundry, vehicle/RV maintenance, and outside work. I knew I didn’t lift a finger when I was home because he had done it all already. I knew what he did was hard work. I was a stay-at-home mom for six or seven years, and I knew there wasn’t a fatigue that compared to child-raising. It’s the kind that made you want to run away or hide in a closet and cry.

I knew my stay-at-home husband worked hard. He worked hard at everything he did for us, whether in the home or out of the home. And I guess, at the end of the day, I was the only one who needed to know that. The opinionated commenter on Facebook had her own opinions of men she had never met, and I’m sure a lot of acquaintances (or even family) I know have their own opinions of my life too. But you know what?

I don’t care what you think. I just don’t have time for that. I’m too busy enjoying quality time with my family.

We live in a strange world. On one hand we have women everywhere marching for equal rights, but those same women will shun a man who stays home in what has traditionally been a female role. We have women who want to hold tight to traditional and Biblical roles of the man being the provider, but these same women have no qualms about usurping their husband’s authority, domineering the relationship, or ridiculing his opinions for the family unit. We have men and women who lament about not getting enough time together, but these same couples work overtime. We have men and women who want to homeschool or not put their babies in daycare, but these same people can’t find a way to cut the budget to make a one income family unit a reality. I’ve heard so many people say that nowadays it takes both parents working, and I guess that’s true if we consider a huge home, multiple cars, or namebrand clothing a must. Yes, everyone has to work to take a Disney vacation every year. Am I stepping on your toes?

A lot of people may think a man is lazy who stays at home, but I would say he’s loving. He loves his children, and he loves his wife enough to lay down macho stereotypes, worries about his friends or family’s opinion, and his own ego to be labeled a stay-at-home father. It’s not easy being a stay-at-home dad. You fight stereotypes and stupid comments. It’s not easy being a working mom. You face the same. You have to decide you don’t care what people think.

We made a decision collectively as a couple to do what was best for our family. A couple of years ago we both worked, but we still lived paycheck to paycheck. I rarely had a day off with my spouse, and he missed everything. He missed every softball game our eldest daughter played. He was exhausted most days. He never got to accompany us on fun, summer outings or exciting holiday gatherings. We never saw him. I was almost like a single parent. He came home tired where I unloaded the bad behavior of the children. So he was left to spend his minuscule time home disciplining kids or nodding off on the couch while we tried to spend quality time together.

Now we get at least four full days a week off together. We get two weeks of vacation together a few times a year. We take three-day, mini vacays once a month. We rose above the opinion of the status quo and made our happy happen. Instead of us both working ourselves to death we found a way to divide the workload. They say parenting is hard, and yes, it used to be, but now it’s enjoyable. Work used to be so much harder because I fulltime parented basically alone and worked, but no longer. I have never been more content, rested, or relaxed in my life! And that’s with a “deadbeat dude” with me.

I say, no deadbeat here, but I do have an amazing, supportive partner who has the same dreams in life as me. We dream of a happy, relaxed life where you enjoy your children and life with them. A life where you’re not stressed and exhausted. We are truly living that dream. And you know what? I don’t care what anyone thinks of that.

A Word for the Working Mom

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I held my eight year old daughter in my arms, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. She wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffled, and buried herself deeper into my chest. We held each other for a long time.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I had said.

That’s really all I could say. Well, I said other things, trying to explain why it was necessary and such, but I knew that whatever I said didn’t really matter. At the time she just needed me to hold her.

“What if we stop asking for so many toys in the store that we don’t need? Would that help?” She asked.

My heart broke at her comment, so sweet, so naive, and I also felt burdened by Mommy Guilt.

I had not always worked full time, and that was probably part of the problem. Since she had been nine months old I had worked only part time. Desiring to be a mother more than anything we had made the changes to make part time work a possibility for me. It involved my husband working overtime, me picking up something I could work on the side from home, and not indulging in frivolous things. We were a family that believed in a mindset of the husband being the primary breadwinner, and we carried that model out for a successful six years. So my eldest had gotten used to having me around more. My younger children seemed to be adjusting well, but my oldest had been very emotional about me going to work the past month or so.

“I wish you didn’t have to go to work,” she would exclaim!

It tore my heart open.

That’s the thing, you know. Moms have this unique parenting desire to be everything for their children. We want to be the present mom, but also the one that can shower them with presents! And although we know time is more important than anything, that doesn’t change the reality of bills or necessities. I had been a “mostly” stay-at-home mom for six or seven years, but then circumstances had required a change. After much prayerful consideration and discussion I re-entered the full time workforce, and though I found my vocation as a nurse extremely rewarding and satisfying, the challenges of being a working mom were huge.

I wanted to be everything my children needed me to be.

This morning as I was thinking about it I felt the Lord impress this to my heart.

It’s not how much you work, but rather the quality of the time you are home.

I smiled immediately.

Things had certainly changed. Before, when I stayed at home more than I worked outside the home, I was often frazzled and short-tempered. My mindset and reactions to life had changed. I used to strive to be this perfect, homeschooling mom. I kept the house tidy, made homemade meals every night, worked a small business from home (that took up a lot of my time and energy), and still spent quiet time with the Lord. I got my girls involved in classes and sports, went to Bible Study, and made an extra effort to be attractive for my spouse (even though he found me gorgeous, regardless). I was just always trying. Always trying to be everything to everyone. I was stressed to the max!

Many times over the past year (since I went back to work full time), I’ve told my husband, “I work less now than I ever did before!”

And it was true. My work hours (outside the home) had increased, but my endless, pointless striving, spinning on a hamster wheel of perceived self-expectations had slowed.

I stopped trying to be the perfect mom and instead simply enjoyed being a mom.

I let go of the things that weren’t important so I could focus on the things that were.

Now when I was home I was relaxed and enjoyed every moment with my spouse and children. My husband and I didn’t have to try and carve out time alone since he wasn’t working 60 hour weeks anymore. We could parent together, we could minimize our schedule, reduce debt. I could lighten-up, let go of what other people thought, and realize life didn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.

It was a simple matter of quality over quantity, and the fact was I was a more present mom than I had ever been before. My mind wasn’t elsewhere when I was home. I wasn’t rushing to the next thing, trying to obtain some sort of greatness with my side gigs or reach some great, unachievable level of parenting. I was trusting God more, being patient, not flustered, and enjoying watching my children grow.

Sometimes moms have to work, and that’s okay. I would rather work out of the home a day or two more out of the week than be angry and harried the entire time I’m home. You can still work outside of the home and be a present mom! There are some women who spend every waking moment in the home. Their physical body is there, but their mind is in Facebook, or their heart out with their friends. Years down the road my daughters won’t remember so much how many days a week mom worked as they will the memories of the great times we spent together. They’ll remember the parks, hiking, the beach. They’ll remember the travel, the games, the campfire stories. They’ll remember how mom smiled, laughed, held dad’s hand, and never said “hurry up” once.

Sometimes women are made to feel guilty for working outside the home, but I think our only regret should be not enjoying the time we’re there.

Embracing the Season

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I stood at the sink scrubbing dried cheese off a baking sheet. A smile played across my lips as I rinsed this very last dish, and thoughts of what to do for supper flitted through my mind. The baby napped, the dog slept protectively by the patio door, and I could hear my two eldest daughters in the next room chatting together. I was sure they were one moment from having an argument, the baby was likely a second away from waking, and the dog was probably dreaming about chasing off the mailman and eating my packages. But still I smiled. 

I was made for this season of life. 

Worship music played from my charging phone, I stood barefoot at the sink on a somewhat clean floor, and I felt overcome by joy at the obviously mundane. I was content as I cleaned, and although some days (make that most days) I teetered on feeling mildly insane, I truly was happy with the gig of motherhood and homemaker. 

I had gotten called off from working at the bedside as a Registered Nurse, and though I’d miss the pay, I thought of no place I’d rather be than home. Even though I loved nursing and serving others through that vocation, my heart belonged to serving my family during this season. 

I was made for such a season as this. 

Playing out by the pool. Making a breakfast of eggs and pancakes. Reading library books together. Kissing booboos and praying for my family. Pretending to be the queen of the mermaids, and even trying to insert life lessons along the way. It was just some of the things my day had held. 

There was something about serving my family, teaching them, and simply just looking at them play that made me feel like a part of me was finally complete. So many days held unique challenges, and on the especially hard days I wondered if I was doing well, but above all I felt a peace that I was doing exactly what the Lord had led me to do. When I watched my four year old laugh as she played, held a baby close while I rocked her to sleep, or got lost in my six year old’s blue eyes I was certain of one simple thing. 


I was made for this. 

So no matter how challenging, how difficult, how heartbreaking, or even frustrating, I know God placed me right here, right now, with a grand purpose to care for and help shape and mold my children for His glory. To lead them with humility, to serve my husband with love, and to accept the lessons the Lord taught me along the way. 

I can think of no greater service than this. Along the way I cared for patients at the hospital hopefully helping make their lives a little better, and I shared it all with strangers across the world, hoping to inspire others with my words. I lead a team of entrepreneurs, and I tried to help my family and friends in love. But above all I tried to remember that each day I lived I could lead my children closer to knowing Jesus. 

I was made for that. 

The Truth About Stay-at-Home Moms

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I stood over my large, high-efficiency washer, and I surveyed the contents of an already full load. A pile of soiled sheets lay at my feet, waiting their turn, and as I looked down at my yoga pants I glimpsed a stain from the recent diaper blow-out. Number 2. Looked like I’d be changing my clothes a third time. In the past 24 hours there’d been two peepee accidents, one diaper blowout, three episodes of vomiting (all three projected onto my person), and one diarrhea disaster (on the new rug). I had read a fellow homeschooling mom’s blog that morning that discussed the need to relax this holiday week, and enjoy the time off school with our kids. I agreed with her, but I was about relaxed out for the day. And it was only one o’clock. 

My husband had recently enjoyed a rare string of consecutive days home from work for Christmas, and after the big day he just kept getting exasperated at the chaos. 

“Every time you pick something up, you turn around and they’ve made another mess!” He exclaimed. 

I chuckled to myself. “Welcome to my world.”

When my husband came home at night he was welcomed by a clean house. And when I say clean, I don’t mean pristine. That’s impossible with three kids six and under. I meant livable. Like not tripping over our own filth, clean silverware, and sometimes the freshly laundered socks and undies even made it to the drawer. Sometimes. The scene he saw when he arrived home didn’t come by chance. It came with blood, sweat, and most definitely overwhelmed tears. Often times it came with mom up on two wheels, skating very close to the edge of a mental breakdown. Just being honest. 

Keeping a home under control and children safe, (mostly) clean, and especially loved wasn’t a burden for me. It was my great love. And because I respected and appreciated my husband’s hard work away from the home, I took extra measures to have a warm, home-cooked meal waiting, and a tidy home front in which he could relax. I didn’t do it because I had to. It was a labor of love, for me, a language my heart spoke to his through action, not just mere words. I loved being a stay-at-home wife and mother, but that didn’t mean it came easy. 

Being a stay-at-home mom meant more work than ever! Having been a career mom too, I could definitely say that I spent more time cleaning now than I had ever done before. When you make the decision to stay home with your children you make the decision to take all the extras that come with the job. Kids at home means more meals. More dishes. More messes. More laundry. More sweeping. More wiping of smudgy fingerprints. More activities. More… I think you get the point. 

As a SAHM you are a teacher (especially if you choose to homeschool like me), a chef, a referee (when you have multiple kids), a nurse, a counselor, a pastor, a taxi driver, and that’s just getting started. You also take on the role of caring for issues around the home (since you don’t have anything to do), and the assigned errands pile up almost as high as the dishes in the sink. Everything you do on the daily makes a mess you must cleanup, and some days you feel like the movie Groundhog Day; you’re picking up the same messes over and over, and over. 

Here’s the important part, though. I chose this mom life, and I love it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact, I worked very hard to make this SAHM thing possible (as did/does the hubby), and I consider it an answer to prayer/gift from God. But it sure ain’t easy! And it’s definitely not for the faint of heart.

 

But here’s the cool part. Somewhere in between wiping liquid poop off my new rug, scrambling eggs (don’t worry, I washed my hands), and rocking a baby down for a nap, I get to spend my day with little versions of myself. There’s this room full of tiny girls who came from my body, and now I get to try and teach them the best parts of what I’ve learned, and hopefully mentor them not to make the same mistakes I did once upon a time. What an absolute honor. 

Mom life ain’t easy, but it’s certainly grand. It’s hard work, but the best job I’ve ever had! Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go change out the laundry while the baby’s still asleep. 

Confessions of a Clean-Freak Mom

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As I stood in the shower quickly working shampoo into my hair that I hadn’t washed in over three days I glimpsed streaks of soap sud residue marring my tile wall. I thought again how I really needed to clean the shower. I sure would like to try that vinegar solution I saw on Pinterest. 

In the background, as water ran through my thick hair, I heard the baby begin to cry. Her nap was over, I cleaned myself briskly, and I knew in my heart I wouldn’t get to scrubbing my tile walls today. No matter how much I wanted to. 

I guess that sounds peculiar to some, but for a closet clean-freak it was my sanctuary, my happy place. Cleanliness made everything seem okay with the world, and if my house was in order then I was good. Like how heroin was the drug of choice for some addicts, shiny countertops, freshly swept kitchen floors, and the way just-vacuumed carpet stood up erect gave me the ultimate high. 

Yeah, I’m a weirdo. 
It wasn’t that hard after my first baby. I was able to clean while she napped, and thereby kept a semblance of normalcy to my uncluttered life. But then the strangest thing happened. I discovered I loved that drooly, chubby baby way more than I loved a dust-free mantle, so I knew mothering was the tip-top job I wanted to do forever. Naturally I had more babies. 

And that’s when it really got crazy. I was surrounded with such adorable cuteness I could hardly stand it. But they were so flipping messy I could hardly stand it. It’s like my life goal was to love them to the best of my ability, and their life goal was to make as many disasters as possible. Gone forever were the days of my perfectly alphabetized DVD collection. I looked at my sweet daughters’ faces and realized I was fine with that. 

The problem for a woman addicted to order is that when confronted with a pile of old hair in the corner of the bathroom her right eye begins to twitch a little, and when dust lines the top of all the picture frames she feels unbalanced. So factor in a continuously overflowing sink and tiny little socks scattered everywhere, and it’s pretty anxiety inducing. I’m a closet clean-freak stuck in a frumpy, spit-up-covered mama body.

I’m a woman who desires things a certain way, and when accosted with the reality that things just aren’t in the cards for me in that regard, I’m left feeling kinda defeated. I’m left feeling a step behind, a dollar short, and last place in a race of my own design. It’s exhausting. 

Then I find myself in the shower staring at soap residue streaked across the fixtures, and I hear myself praying to God to help me manage my time wisely. Help me get just enough done that I don’t internally combust, Lord. 

I’m reminded that this is the season in which I find myself, and while it’s a messy, booger-stained season, it’s my season. And by golly, I love it; dust bunnies and all. 

As I later buttoned my toddler’s coat she asked in her perfectly squeaky voice, “can we go play on the playground?” Although I had to disappoint her with a no, it occurred to me then how much I adored taking them to play. I wondered what I would do when they no longer wanted to play. I supposed I’d have more time to clean, and that was a sobering thought. 

So for now I’ll enjoy the chaos as it comes, be it rings around the tub or stained sofa cushions. For I know God is stretching me, refining me, and making something lovely for His service via spilt milk and mounds of unfolded laundry. Plus, the playing part is so much fun.