Family coach helps put things into perspective

Last week, I met with a certified family coach, Huntersville resident Heather Allen.

Now just what is a family coach? And why do I need one?

A family coach helps busy moms conquer clutter, get organized and achieve goals for their homes.

The day Heather came for my in-home assessment couldn’t have been more chaotic.

My 2-year-old was especially whiny. She had spilled Cheerios and dragged every imaginable toy onto the living room floor. My newborn was fussy, and it’s a miracle I had even showered by the time Heather arrived with her two children that afternoon.

I spent all morning trying to make my house appear spic ‘n span to impress my family coach. But by the time she arrived, it still looked like the toy box had vomited all over the living room.

I imagined Heather would march into my home with clipboard in hand, and in ABC’s “Super Nanny” style, tell me what I needed to do to transform my castle of chaos into a restful retreat for my family. And our four children would play peacefully at our feet.

It didn’t quite turn out that way.

I opened the door and said, “Well, here’s what my home’s really like!” I moved some things from the couch, so she could sit down, and I vacuumed the Cheerios off the floor. It was embarrassing, but I thought it would be even worse if I just left food there for the family coach to stare at our entire visit.

Our two 2-year-old girls enjoyed playing together, but halfway through the visit, they knocked the fish bowl off the kitchen counter, and the poor fish almost didn’t make it.

“Tickle is hurt!” screamed my daughter.

I squeamishly tried scooping up the squirming pet. I just couldn’t do it with my bare hands. But no worries. I rescued Tickle with two spoons and a cereal bowl.

Heather’s baby and my baby—just six weeks apart—both started screaming, so she tended to them, while I ran upstairs to get some towels to clean up what seemed like gallons of water all over my kitchen floor.

Do I even need to tell you why I wanted to see a family coach?

In between the vacuuming and fish bowl fiasco, I shared with Heather some of the reasons I sought her services. I feel overwhelmed. I’ve lived in three states, one foreign country, changed jobs twice and had two babies in the last two years. I just turned 30, and I’ve barely begun to figure homemaking out.

I struggle to effectively care for my children, provide healthy food for my family, keep the house clean and organized, shop wisely and balance my spiritual life with my home life, outside activities and freelance writing.

When it comes to homemaking, I’ve definitely been humbled.

Heather’s response to my confessions of a “humbled homemaker” surprised me.

“I think most moms feel just like you, but we put on fronts so other moms don’t know we struggle,” she said. “We make sure our houses look immaculate when others come over, but nobody’s perfect.”

“So, really, is there any hope?” I asked.

She assured me that there is. In fact, Heather became a coach to learn how to better manage her home and help others along the way.

With Heather’s empathy and encouragement, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I can make this homemaking thing work after all.

Follow Erin Odom’s progress

Giving birth to her second child in October inspired Erin Odom to become a better mom. Read about her progress in Mooresville Weekly on the second and fourth Fridays of every month. Next month, she’ll share her family action plan.

Want to learn more?

Heather Allen is a certified family coach through Family Manager. She charges $99 for a Family Manager Assessment Package. Contact Heather at hlallen@gmail.com. For details on Family Manager, visit http://www.familymanager.com. 

This column first appeared in the January 28 issue of the Mooresville Weekly.

Serving Orphans and Widows--Simultaneously

Image by atl10trader

It only took two weeks into hosting a Latvian orphan through New Horizons for Children this summer for Kirk and Beth Bleavins to know they wanted to become her forever family.

They fell in love with 14-year-old Vanda’s laugh. And it was heart wrenching to send her back to a place where she had no future, Kirk said.

In Latvia, children can’t receive foster or orphanage care once they turn 16, Kirk explained. Many boys turn to crime, and girls turn to prostitution.

“I could sense the Lord nudging us to adopt,” Beth said.

But international adoptions are not cheap. To make Vanda their daughter, the couple will pay between $30,000 and $40,000. With these expenses before them, the Bleavins began praying about some unique ways to earn the money needed to bring Vanda home.

The couple found Lifesong for Orphans, a nonprofit that helps families raise money to adopt. Through Lifesong, Beth and Kirk discovered Both Hands, a partnering charity that makes home repairs for widows.

Through Both Hands, the Bleavins gathered a group of 39 volunteers to work on Charlotte resident Wanda Plyler’s house. The volunteers solicited funds through sponsorships for their time working. The money will go directly toward Vanda’s adoption expenses.

Plyler’s husband died in 2007, and she lost her job nine months ago. The Bleavins’ team cleaned, did yard work and made repairs to Plyler’s home that she can’t do herself due to medical conditions.

“God sent them to do this for me,” Plyler said.

The fundraiser appealed to the Bleavins because they felt it helped them and their volunteers fulfill the biblical description of “pure and faultless” religion in James 1:27: “to look after orphans and widows in their distress …”

“It’s two worthy causes for the price of one,” Kirk said.

“This has been an amazing journey,” Kirk said. “It’s tiring and harder than I would have expected, but it’s worth it because the life of a young girl is at stake.

“It’s one thing to know there are orphans out there in this world and another to really know that we can do something about it,” he continued. 

*A longer version of this post first appeared in the Mooresville Weekly, one of the newspapers where I contribute.

Losing Bobby

One of my goals for 2011 was to wean my 2 ½-year-old daughter from her pacifier. Experts say the best time to wean is around six months. So, we’re two years late. Better late than never, right?

In my defense, I’ve known many kids who’ve had their pacies for at least as long as mine and some longer. For our family, it was time.

My daughter has now been pacifier-free for more than two weeks. But let me tell you, it wasn’t easy – for me or her.

You see, “Bobby,” as she called her beloved pacifier, had essentially become a family friend, perfectly personified in my 2 ½-year-old’s growing imagination.

Her relationship with her “bobbies” was more like what some kids have with a favorite toy or blanket. She would drift off to sleep each night with one in her mouth and one in each hand.

There are different techniques on how to rid children of their pacifiers. Some parents go cold turkey and simply take them away. Others “break” the pacifiers and tell their children they cannot be repaired.

We tried something different. We took our daughter to Build-a-Bear and had her pick out a stuffed animal that we would name “Bobby.” She chose a tiger and stuffed the bobbies inside the toy.

I didn’t expect my own torn emotions as we entered the workshop. My heart hurt. Were we deceiving our little girl by making this seem like a fun trip, when in reality, we were taking away something very precious to her?

The first test of the success of our plan came as we tucked our daughter into bed that night.

“I want Bobby!” she demanded.

We handed her the tiger.

“No!” she said, as she flung Bobby across the room.

I showed her how she could feel the bobbies inside Bobby’s tummy, and she finally settled down.

A week passed. Surprisingly, she didn’t mention Bobby. But her sleep was restless at best.

Then, the inevitable happened. I walked past her room one evening and saw none other than a bobby … in her mouth! She quickly spit out the bobby, ran to her bed and hid it under the covers.

To my dismay, Bobby the Tiger lay facedown on her mattress … alive, but barely. “Oh no!” I said, trying not to laugh. “What happened?”

My daughter hung her head. “I wanted my bobbies.”

My Facebook status that night read: Bobby the Tiger has been severely injured and left for dead. While seemingly innocent, my daughter hasn’t mentioned the “bobbies” inside the stuffed animal all week, she’s secretly been plotting his demise. The 2 1/2-year-old ripped open poor Bobby’s back with her bare hands and stole back her beloved “bobbies.”

We told our daughter we would fix Bobby and everything would be ok. And that was the end of it. That night, she slept better than ever. No crying. No screaming. She simply said goodnight and went to sleep.

Perhaps she just needed one last bobby fix.

Perhaps she just needed to say goodbye.

This column first appeared in the January 14, 2010 issue of the Mooresville Weekly.

Resolving to be a Better Mom

Like many of you, I’m entering 2011 with a list of goals for the new year.


Although my list includes some of the stereotypical resolutions, I want my objective for 2011 to focus less on myself and more on my family. Specially, I’d like to become a better wife and mother.


When I was expecting my first daughter, veteran mom friends told me that motherhood would simply “come naturally.” In many respects, it did. I didn’t have to force myself to love my daughters. It was love at first sight. Meeting their basic needs hasn’t been too difficult either.


But organizing toys? Finding a way to economically diaper, feed and clothe my family? Using coupons and planning nutritious meals? Keeping up with piles of laundry and household chores while holding a toddler on one hip and a newborn in a sling? And craft time and play dates? I’m supposed to do that, too?


Those things just didn’t come naturally to this journalist-turned-mommy.


My own mother jokes that both her daughters are domestically challenged. It’s not that she didn’t try teaching us how to cook and clean when we were children. But it was terribly frustrating when we threw her expensive silverware in the trash instead of loading them in the dishwasher. Eventually, she just began doing things herself.


My husband knew how to cook more than I did when we married five and a half years ago. And cleaning? I once told him that I knew why he cleaned better, too – I grew up with a maid. “You did?” he questioned. “Yes,” I said. “Her name was Mom.”


I’ve improved quite a bit in my domestic pursuits the past five and a half years. I ushered my husband out of the kitchen our first week married. He rarely returns, so I must be doing something right. I also quickly learned that sorting laundry can spare him the embarrassment of pink socks and T-shirts.


But two and a half years since our first daughter was born, I often still feel lost when it comes to motherhood.
Since college, I’ve worked as a teacher, missionary, communications specialist and writer. Give me a story to write any day. I studied journalism and Spanish in college, but nothing prepared me for homemaking.


But while pondering my goals for 2011 recently, it hit me. What would happen if I were to manage motherhood the same way I’d approach any other job?


After all, isn’t motherhood the job of my life? If I mess up, there are no second chances. My little girls will only be little once, and I don’t want to miss my one and only opportunity to help forever shape who they are and who they will become.


Thus far, motherhood has been my most challenging yet most rewarding job. But it’s the one job that truly matters more than anything else I can ever do or ever be.


Sure, I don’t have a boss to answer to or keep me accountable in this job. Instead, I have two beautiful, red-headed, blue-eyed little girls looking up to me every day.


So, this year, my goal is to work on sharpening my homemaking skills in a self-made professional development plan. I’ll strive to work on one area of my plan each month, and I’ll write about it here.


My goals include meeting with a professional family coach, who will help me de-clutter and better organize my home. I’ll try my hand at cloth diapering my newborn and potty-training my toddler. I’ll develop a system for couponing and meal planning. And I’ll write about ways moms like me can network with other Mooresville mothers.
 

I welcome your suggestions. I hope we can laugh together and learn together as I chronicle my yearlong process of bettering myself as a homemaker.


Undoubtedly, this will be a lot of hard work. But at the end of the day, after our bedtime routine of reading to, praying with and singing “Jesus Loves Me” with our daughters, it’ll all be worth it when my little girl hugs me and says, “I love you, Mommy.”


“More than rainbows!” I’ll answer.


She’ll smile: “And to the moon and back.”

This column first appeared in the December 29, 2010 issue of the Mooresville Weekly.

Happy to be Back Where She Nearly Started

Today, as you read this, I celebrate my 30th birthday. I’m probably at home, caring for my 2-year-old and newborn. Perhaps I’m writing, perhaps not.


If you had asked me a few years ago where I’d be on my 30th birthday, a work-at-home mom living in my hometown would have been the last place I would have named. I envisioned myself living in some faraway land as a missionary. But life often takes unexpected twists and turns, and last year, I ended up back here after a 10-year hiatus, where I lived both out of state and in two different countries.


During that time, besides an occasional visit to see my parents, my hometown wasn’t anywhere on my radar.
You see, I’m one of the few residents of this town who actually grew up here. My favorite childhood memories include Carrigan’s strawberries and pumpkins, the library’s summer reading program and downtown’s Christmas parade.


Now, I’m not technically a native. I call myself a first-generation transplant. My parents moved to here when I was 8. When people around town laugh at my Southern accent, I say, “Watch out. Your kids may just end up talking like me.”


Three weeks ago, my second daughter was born in my hometown. Even as a child, I never once imagined my own would be born here. I’ll admit when I found out I was pregnant, I naively thought my hospital choices looked bleak. My family was living in a different city and state when my first daughter was born, and I delivered her at a large, “state-of-the-art” hospital. I mistakenly believed I wouldn’t be able to find the same care in a smaller city.


Boy, was I wrong.


My husband and I looked at three different area hospitals and four local providers before entrusting my care to Lake Norman Regional Medical Center and the midwives at Lake Norman OBGYN.


And it was the best choice we could have made.


After a long, intervention-laced labor with my firstborn, I was determined to do my research and prepare for the most natural delivery possible with my second.


I spent my pregnancy reading books and articles and watching documentaries on natural childbirth, and I solicited the help of a local doula, Gayle Robertson, of LKN Doula. Gayle moved here a little more than a year ago and began fulfilling her dream of assisting women in one of the most significant events of their lives.


Along with Gayle and my husband, my good friend and massage therapist, Leanna Taylor, attended the birth. I couldn’t have done it without them, my midwife, Beverly Holmes, and the wonderful hospital staff.


My labor only lasted 8 hours. I arrived at the hospital about 3 1/2 hours after it started. I felt completely respected by Beverly throughout the experience. She was professional yet personable and never pressured me regarding any unnecessary interventions. The result was the natural labor I desired.


The post-partum nurses were friendly and respectful as well. They complied with my wishes not to give my baby a bottle or pacifier since I’m nursing her. They sought my permission before performing any tests on my baby — even before giving her a bath!


After having my second baby, I have an even greater appreciation for medical professionals. They care for you in your most vulnerable moments, and it was clear the top concern of the staff at our community hospital was my health and the health of my baby. I can’t imagine finding better care anywhere else.


I see nursing and midwifery as two of the noblest professions. If I were a little better at science and a little less squeamish around blood I’d consider one as a second career … but I better stick to motherhood and writing.


Motherhood and writing … and living in my hometown. No, it’s not where I imagined myself at 30, but it’s where God knew I’d be, and I’m thankful. For now, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather call home.

This column first appeared in the November 12, 2010 issue of the Mooresville Weekly

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My Second Pregnancy

When I discovered I was expecting my second daughter, it was the middle of one of the coldest winters in North Carolina history. And while I’ve built my share of snowmen and get nostalgic about sitting by the fireplace sipping hot cocoa, by the third or fourth snowfall, I declared summer couldn’t come fast enough.

By June, I wondered what I had been thinking. The year with record lows turned into a year of record highs. As the weather got hotter, I wasn’t getting any smaller. I spent many days inside or at the pool. Whenever I braved the grocery store, strangers gave me sympathetic looks. “When are you due? Is it any day now?”

I tried not to look embarrassed because—as everyone told me—I showed much quicker this time around and probably did look like I was due any day. “Um…not until October.”

“Oh, you poor girl!”

I can’t complain too much, though. I’m one of few women who don’t experience morning sickness. But both pregnancies I came down with a stomach virus halfway through. As I hugged the toilet that very long weekend, I realized God was giving me empathy for all the ladies who suffer through endless months of vomit.

Then came the third trimester. Anyone who’s ever been pregnant will tell you about the dreaded glucose tolerance test—where doctors force you to gulp down a nasty syrupy concoction in a matter of minutes. Well, I failed, and I had to drink the stuff twice. After the second test, despite not having consumed anything but that sugary drink all day, I decided to stop by the library to check out the childbirth section. The fact that I broke into a cold sweat and almost fainted while bent down looking at books should have clued me in that something was wrong.

A few days later my midwife diagnosed me with gestational diabetes. I must follow a strict, high protein and no sugar diet and prick my finger four times a day. Seriously—isn’t pregnancy supposed to be the one time in life when women can actually indulge in cupcakes and ice cream?

To top everything off, I must wear compression hose to aid in leg circulation. My two-year-old calls them “Mommy’s silly socks.” If you’ve seen a pregnant lady walking around wearing grandma stockings in 90-degree weather, that’s probably me.

Maybe God allows all these strange things to happen to our bodies, so the desire for the baby to come will outweigh all the fear that accompanies the impending labor.
 

And despite any momentary discomforts, feeling my baby move is wonderful. Just weeks before I birthed my first baby, I wrote that life was about to change forever. I was becoming a mother. I was nervous and excited and hopeful. Months of preparation would pay off with one look at my baby girl.

Over two years later, many of the same sentiments have returned. I know a little more what to expect this time around, but life is still going to change in a major way. The birth itself might be interesting because I'm using a doula (a professional labor support person). I’m hoping labor won’t be quite as long and a more natural experience than my more than 16-hour, pitocin-augmented, medication-laced delivery with my firstborn.

But, even if it is, it will be worth it.

The bags are packed, the car seat’s installed and the nursery awaits the arrival of a new little princess. She will enter the world any day now. I can’t wait to meet her. 

This column first appeared in the October 1, 2010 issue of the Mooresville Weekly.

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Ministering to Those at the End of Life's Race

To Cheryl Pletcher, life is a race. And in her line of work, people happen to be at the finish line.

“If people have lived a good life, we want them to have a good end,” said Pletcher, the executive director of the Carolina Comfort Coalition, a non-profit organization which provides round-the-clock care for terminally ill patients.

Pletcher, along with her small staff and volunteers are helping people from across the community finish the race well at the Serenity House. In partnership with Centre Presbyterian Church, Pletcher opened the home in Oct. 2007. The New York native had started a similar home there in 1993 and felt God leading her to continue the ministry when she relocated to Mooresville.

“I had done this before, so when God first touched my heart about it, I said, ‘I’ve been there and done that. It’s too hard,’” she said. “But in God’s mind, this is exactly what he wanted me to do.”

Although all residents of Serenity are served by hospice, the comfort care home model differs from a hospice home in that staff and volunteers are considered as “surrogate family” for the residents and provide 24-hour care, seven days a week, completely free of charge. 

All residents have a prognosis of three months or less left to live.

Volunteers prepare meals for the residents in the kitchen, but families can use the facility to cook for their loved ones. The dining room table has held many family dinners over the years, Pletcher said.

“When you’re here, this is your home,” she said. “This may be their final family dinner with their loved one.”

Home is what Serenity House has recently become for Jessie Sneyd. The 84-year-old lung cancer patient moved there three weeks ago, and his daughter, Ozella Pratt, is convinced he’s receiving the best care available.

“He’s been really happy here,” she said. “He’s talking more, and we can use the house just like home.”

Sneyd has been impressed with the patience of the staff and volunteers as they’ve cared for him. “I’ve never seen anybody seem like they’re aggravated, mad or anything. I feel comfortable here.”

Pratt looked into the home for her father because she was afraid he would fall and hurt himself at her house, where he had been living for 14 months. While Sneyd lived with her, Pratt said she spent many sleepless nights worrying about her father.

“At least I know someone is here 24 hours, and I can sleep better,” she said. “If they hadn’t had this open, I’d have to sit up all night.”

Pletcher sees Serenity as a ministry to the families as much as to the residents themselves. Like them, she was closely involved in her grandparents’ and father’s final days. Her mother is currently on hospice and living in a group home. Families often seem “lost in the journey called the end of life,” she said.

“Some families do well with just hospice support at home. Other families are terrified of what lies ahead because they can't comprehend even the words ‘dying’  when it’s related to ‘my mom or my dad,’” Pletcher continued. “My heart of compassion is for those families that seem so lost and afraid. Peace comes with the love and security that we offer day by day until the family is able to rest in the reality of the situation.”

For Pletcher, expanding quality end-of-life care in the community is “sacred work.”

“This is a spiritual metaphor for me,” she said. 

“Serenity House is like being held in the arms of Jesus, safe and secure through the final storm of life.”

*A longer version of this post appeared in The Mooresville Weekly, one of the newspapers where I contribute. 

The Humbled Homemaker

I’m a 30-year-old stay-at-home wife and mother and freelance writer who’s hopelessly flawed on my own but redeemed by my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I’m a work in progress: the same God who created me in my mother’s womb is still weaving and spinning to make me who He wants me to be.

I’m launching this blog in January 2011 because I’m hoping to work towards becoming a better homemaker this year and in the years to come.

Although I enjoy reading and have learned a lot from other mom blogs, I often find myself frustrated that I can’t measure up or live the perfectly-ordered lives of the writers.

My life is FAR from perfect. I struggle every day to effectively care for my two children, provide healthy food for my family, keep the house clean and organized, shop wisely, balance time with the Lord with home life, outside-of-the-home activities and keeping up with a part-time writing gig at several local newspapers.

Most of the time, I fail. Sometimes I feel WAY over my head.

But I’ve given my desires to the Lord to help me somehow figure this whole homemaking thing out, and I hope real, less-than-perfect wives and mothers like myself will join me on this journey.

I hope that through my blog, we will laugh, learn and be inspired  together.

We may be “humbled homemakers,” but if we seek the Lord, He will lift us up!

-Erin