motherhood – Page 2 – Erin Strybis

It’s a wonderful, magical life

Wednesday begins with a glimmer.
I strike a match and watch it burn
away the darkness. Next, I reach
for my journal. Thoughts pour
out of my pen and fill pages.

While I scribble, the tick tick tick
of the dresser clock falls silent. Only sunlight —
slanting in through the blinds — breaks the spell.

The clock reads 7 a.m.
Suddenly, I’m dashing,
dressing,
rinsing,
running towards my children to rouse them.

Our day unfolds
with hot coffee and buttered toast,
school drop off and a package pickup.

Once we’re home,
Paw Patrol plays on the TV for my youngest,
Dishes clink, steam rises, I exhale
after my chores are finished.

I drive us to our third place — the library.

My new hold has arrived, plus
there are toys and stories to explore.
We choose books on potty training
and Christmas. Soon Adam needs his nap,
so we drive and drive until he gives in
to sleep.

Parked safely at a nearby forest preserve,
I recline the driver’s seat and dive into my reading.
The stories I love most are mirrors; they reflect
back blemishes and beauty marks, many of which
I would have missed it if not for the author’s insights.

“Mommy!”
An hour has passed and Adam’s calling me.
I come up for air and announce
“We’re going home for lunch,
a dog walk and school pickup.”

Ever since I began staying home with my children
I relish the rhythm of school pickup —
it may be my only chance to connect
with another mom all day, to listen
and be heard, to linger, to belong.

What’s more, I love being there for Jack,
I love that I’m the one who gets to pick up my son.

At home, Adam builds a MagnaTile house for his stuffies
and I make Jack’s favorite snack:
shredded cheese on tortilla chips warmed
for 30 seconds in the microwave. My mom
made these for me when I was a child.

Between bites of nachos, Jack copies spelling words.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks, looking up from his work.
“I’m taking your picture — I might write about this.
Is that okay?” I answer, my heart skipping a beat.
“Oh sure,” he says, his pale blue eyes twinkling.
“I love when you write about me.”

I feel the pinprick of tears behind my eyes.
I want to hug him, to let him know
how much his words mean to his writer-mother.

All I can muster is, “Thank you, honey.”

Soon, it’s time to cook dinner.
I boil water and reach for the pasta.
Jack plays on his iPad; Adam watches more Paw Patrol.
I used to feel guilty about this screen time,
then my mom told me that both she and her mom played television
for their kids while they cooked. That made me feel relieved.

My husband comes home.
His presence is like lighting a fire — he makes everything more cozy.
Over dinner, we tell our boys we have a surprise for them:
We’re taking them to the Christmas circus
TONIGHT!
They squeal. Fed and bursting with jingly excitement,
we all scurry out the door into a world of ice and snow.

Traffic is bad, but once we arrive,
the boys are bewitched.
Acrobats fly high.
Performers balance, streeeeeetch and juggle.
Wonder washes over Jack and Adam’s faces.
I catch my husband’s eye: we took a simple
school night and made it sparkle.

Hours later, we’re home. The boys are snug
in their beds. My husband and dog doze nearby.
Phone in hand, I sit up in bed and scroll
my camera roll. Images of our comings and goings
fill my screen. They’re simple *and* stunning.

While we rent this apartment and search for
a new, affordable house, I view our time here as
a hallway between one closing door and another opening.
I can’t see the next door yet.
Like Mary, I’m filled with longing
for the future.

And yet
amid a season when wishes and wants abound,
these photos urge me to claim
contentment. Each image whispering,
Do you see it?
Do you see the magic disguised as mundane?
Aren’t you lucky?
Isn’t this life wonderful?

// I wrote this blog post in response to the prompt #ordinarymagic — an invitation to find the sparkle in our typical days using photos and words. My post detailed my day on Wednesday, December 4, 2024. For variations on this prompt, visit the blogs of Jessica Folkema, Melissa Kutsche and KImberly Knowle-Zeller. To write with us, use #ordinarymagic and tag us in your post.

The heartbeat of my life

Each October, we take family photos. Anyone who shares this tradition knows it’s an ordeal — choosing outfits, ironing shirts, wrangling silly kids, hoping for *just one picture* where everyone is smiling at the camera with their eyes open. Five minutes posing with wiggly children — and a dog! — may feel like five billion hours.

Still, I adore family photos. We smile, we laugh, we bask in the light from the setting sun. The images come back and, like magic, they freeze our family in time and capture our togetherness. The children are taller and cuter, and as for us adults, well, our eye crinkles have grown deeper. Is that really us? I think, my breath catching.

The truth is, sometimes I take my family’s presence for granted. I wish I didn’t, but I think everyone does this a little with the blessings we’ve been given.

In this season of gratitude, I hope you’re able to connect with and give thanks for the family, friends and/or chosen family you hold dear. You know — the ones who spin hours into gold. Cherish them. Pray for them. Let them know how much they matter.

Because when I look at our photos, it’s evident: These boys are the heartbeat of my life. They’re a sweet symphony. They’re pure sunshine. Their presence is a gift from above. And I’m grateful to love them.

Photos by Rachel Liv Photography

Blessing for another school year

For my second grader

May your backpack be light
and your friend circle widened,

May your mind be opened
and your mouth shut when the teacher is speaking!

May you multiply joy and create beauty,
keep wondering “Why?” and discovering answers,

May your lunch be nourishing
and may you actually eat it!

May you recess, leap, laugh, race
and be a good sport, no matter the outcome,

May you dwell less on competing
and more on doing your very best,

May you stay safe at school
and be a safehaven for others,

May you walk tall and stay humble,
be slow to anger and quick to apologize,

And when you stumble or cry,
may you feel comfort and care,
and remember you’re deeply loved
by your family and your Creator,

As you enter a new grade,
hold onto that “fresh minty feeling,”
and even when it wanes, know that
the work will eventually end,
the bell will ring and free time is coming,

Remember another school year — with its highs, lows,
laughter and tears — is part of your becoming.

I CAN’T WRITE

Because school’s out for the summer and my kids are here all.the.time.

Because there’s baseball practice tonight, basketball tomorrow and soccer camp next week.

Because we have swim lessons and playdates and birthday parties on the calendar. Because long luxurious playground visits. Because concerts, nature walks and dining al fresco. Because pool days, beach trips, splash pads and water tables.

Because wet towels and swimsuits are strewn across the floor and need to be hung to dry. Because the dishwasher needs to be loaded, the laundry needs to be changed and the dog taken out. Because my toddler just woke from his nap and needs cuddles.

Because, have you ever felt the grass underneath your bare feet while watching your kids swing in sync, and thought, “This is what I always dreamed of”? Because I want to revel in this tiny slice of peace before the moment passes and these kids start whining again…

Because one wants yogurt, the other watermelon, and they both want ice cream (but need dinner) and it’s hot and I don’t feel like cooking, so I unearth the mint chip from the fridge and the sugar cones from the cabinet and dole out three big cones for us to relish on the patio under the sun and isn’t summer a master class in shirking what’s sensible and savoring all that’s sweet?

Because, when my kids say, “Mom, watch this!” I want to bear witness to their joy — canonballs and somersaults, chasing cicadas and biking down the sidewalk, swishing down the slide and bouncing on a trampoline.

Because, have you ever seen the whole day stretch ahead of you like a giant buffet just waiting to be tasted?

Because the words can always be placed on hold while we live our summer story.

***

Post inspired by Callie Feyen, Dani Elgas and Kimberly Knowle-Zeller.

The champion

In the summer, she’d set up a makeshift baseball field in our cul-de-sac. Mom dug out the bats, gloves and tennis balls from our garage and plopped them down near our mailbox. The driveway held home base. My brother and I must have been in elementary or middle school back then, and she, in her forties.

She roped in our next-door neighbors – the freckled Maher boys – and the handsome bachelor who lived across the street from us for a few years. I don’t remember his name. I do remember his dog, a white and orange mut named Boomer who caught fly balls in his teeth, and the way Mom’s eyes lit up when she’d assembled up a team for pickup baseball.

She pitched. Standing in the center of the cul-de-sac, Mom threw straight, steady pitches, encouraging us to swing with a gentle, “Hey batta-batta, swing batta-batta.” When it was her turn to bat, she smacked line drives and fly balls into the outfield, which was the handsome neighbor’s front yard. Boomer sprinted and strained to snag them.

Looking back today, I get the sense she held back some of her power when we played ball in the street together. A gym teacher by calling, she was a natural athlete and our first coach at everything. Her skilled hands showed our novice ones how to hit, how to catch and how to throw hard. She taught my brother and me that playing with all your heart was more important than winning or losing.

Her love of the game was palpable.

Mom’s the reason I played shortstop in summer league softball. My softball coach said I had a good arm – honed from endless games of catch out with my mother. I could field well, too, but my hitting was unreliable.

This became a problem when I moved on to high school softball. I made the A team, but I ended up benched more often than not. We lost the majority of our games. What I hated more than losing was not getting to play at all.

Mom didn’t come to all my games – school was in session, and she had several after school commitments of her own – but when she showed up in the stands, my confidence blossomed.

After another game lost, I sat in the car with my mother, head in my hands. She put her hand on my arm and said to me, “You should be out there, too, Erin. You’re just as good as the other girls are. You deserve a chance to play.”

She was right; after all, we’d gotten destroyed. It would have been nice if the coaches cut me a break and put me in in the eighth inning. Unlike my mother, I was a mediocre softball player.

The next year, I tried out for the school musical instead. Everyone who could sing made the school musical — it was my chance to get in the game. Mom came to my performance and cheered me on, same as always. She brought me a bouquet. Her love for me was palpable.

Psst! Still need a gift for Mother’s Day? My book, The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years, is available in store at Barnes & Noble Old Orchard or Village Crossing and can be ordered via Amazon and other major booksellers.

Fear and courage

My son declares
“I’m not scared
of anything”

Almost 7 and still a wonder
boy whose life began with a lack of breath,
who, since he found his voice
rarely stops talking, who’s made of
sugar, steel and laughter

“That’s nice, honey,” I tell him, folding
his words and slipping
them into my back pocket
like a note I want to revisit later

Me? I’m scared of all sorts of things:
Showing up late. Wearing
the wrong outfit. Singing off-key.
Saying something off-color.
My kids getting hurt or worse — dying.
Mass shootings. War. Global warming.
Cockroaches in the house and maxing
out my credit card at Target.

Scared of success
and scared of failure.
Missed naps and moldy leftovers.
Scared of parties and public speaking.
Scared of home renovations
—but also scared of moving(?)—
literally anyone who rings our doorbell.
Tantrums at the grocery store. PTA meetings.
The cool moms at school pickup. Forgetting
a deadline. Forgetting
to return a text. Forgetting.

Scared of aging. Scared of dying.
Scared I won’t ever get to the point of this poem.

Scared of tornadoes.
Scared of blizzards.
Scared of men, when I walk alone
at night, midday or early in the morning.
Scared of running into ex-boyfriends,
that band teacher who despised me,
even scarier, my ex-best friend from high school.

Scared of weight gain. Scared of wrinkles.
Car crashes. Insomnia. Cancer.
Losing track of my kids anywhere,
especially near water.
Losing my husband, mother or father.

Scared I’ve said too much.
Scared I ate too much.
Scared of all the want inside me.
Scared how much I love my children.
Scared I’ve not been a good enough mother.

All this fear inside. Where does it come from?
What I wouldn’t give to soak up
some of wonder boy’s courage

Often I feel scared of writing
especially publishing.
Scared I’ll be judged.
Worse, no one cares.
Years of writing and I’m still scared
by all the rejection.

Then I think
of my son, and the world I want
him to inherit, a society steeped
in justice, peace and kindness.

So I keep writing,
keep chasing truth and beauty,
keep confronting my fears on the page,
emerging
braver and stronger,
keep penning hope
into a world riddled
by brokenness.

Especially when

Especially when
the sunrise catches in the bushes, sliding
across the sidewalk, gilding
every zinnia and robin in its path
another day’s on the cusp of unfurling,
and I am bursting
with possibility and hope,

Especially when
two fair-haired boys melt
their bodies against mine, sleep dusting
their eye creases, last night’s dreams curling
in the air like the steam rising off my morning coffee and though the clock tick tick ticks
and the piled dishes beckon, Creativity calls me
(and I am not one to ignore *her* messages),

Especially when
I’ve just read something positively delicious
my cup is full — no, overflowing —
and my time is scarce
the page is blank and ready to be storied
I must write. What better time to spin
beauty and truth into gold
than the present?

// a response to “Especially when,” a prompt from Callie Feyen, Kaitlin Rogers, Jenna Brack, Megan Willome and others

The Beauty of Motherhood in the world

The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years, which I wrote with my friend Kim Knowle-Zeller, has been out in the world for more than two months. Even now, it’s wild to type this sentence, to know our stories have been read by mamas and friends near and far.

You might have a copy of our book on your nightstand or have gifted it to friends. You may have attended a book event, prayed for us, sent encouraging messages, joined our blog tour, posted about our book on social media or reviewed The Beauty of Motherhood on Amazon and elsewhere. What’s more, you’ve been recommending this book to other mamas looking for spiritual refreshment. For all that and more, thank you!

As our initial promotions for The Beauty of Motherhood close out, I’m taking a moment to celebrate this little pink book and its big message of grace.

Virtual Book Launch

On March 28, the evening our book launched, Kim and I gathered for a virtual launch party on Zoom, hosted by our friend, author Ellie Roscher. We shared two readings from The Beauty of Motherhood, then joined in conversation with Ellie about faith, our writing process and takeaways from writing this book. I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude for my coauthor Kim and for the small band of friends that joined us to celebrate. Our host’s warm presence made it a meaningful evening for all.

Local Launch Event

The morning of my local book launch, I stood in my church sanctuary, clutching my phone as messages trickled in. Two friends’ kids were sick. Another two were tied up with other commitments. A pit formed in my stomach. Would anyone (other than my family) show up? Would I be able to speak eloquently?

Little by little, the pews filled — with friends, fellow church members and my family. Soon we had a small crowd, but I couldn’t shake the tightness that had lodged itself in my gut. I felt the fright you feel at the top of a climbing wall, just before you release your grip and rappel to the earth. I worried: What if I crash?

Then I surveyed the scene. I saw my pastors, and the kind souls who came to hear me read. You are safe, their eyes said. It’s okay to let go.

I stepped into the center of the sanctuary. I felt the heft of my stories in my hands. It was time to release these stories, trusting they would land with their intended readers. I let the Spirit lead me until I was touching solid ground.

As I read, which was a new experience for me, my heart began to calm. I reveled in the audience’s bursts of laughter and audible sighs. When their final applause washed over me, I felt a deep sense of peace. They convinced me that the countless hours of work and vulnerability Kim and I poured into this devotional are indeed serving a greater purpose — to connect others with God’s abundant love.

After my reading, I spent time on stage immersed in conversation with my pastor. We discussed what it means to raise children in faith and the challenges we experience along the way. We reflected on how to model forgiveness for our children, and how to be curious together about our faith questions and doubts. Afterwards, I signed copies of books for those present. By the end of our gathering, my cheeks hurt from smiling. At each point during this special day, I had the sense I was being held by my friends, my family and God.

Barnes & Noble Signing

The weekend before Mother’s Day, my local Barnes & Noble hosted me for a book signing. I had a table near the entrance to greet and connect with new readers who were looking for gifts. A handful decided a signed copy of The Beauty of Motherhood would be a good option for their loved ones, which delighted me.

In addition, many of the friends who couldn’t make it to my launch event popped in to have their books signed, which brought tears of joy to my eyes. While I would much rather stay in my writer’s cave than be out in public, this event moved me and reminded me that connecting with readers is more fun than scary. The experience was both humbling and holy.

Connecting with Moms’ Groups

*Image courtesy of Immanuel Lutheran Church in Batavia*

In April and May, I had opportunities to connect with local parents’ groups both online and in person to offer selected readings from The Beauty of Motherhood and facilitate group discussion. There’s nothing I love more than being in conversation with others about books, and to hear readers respond to the prompts we included with our devotions was such a treat.

Although I entered these group settings as a discussion facilitator, I found myself comforted and convicted by the stories of those who joined us. These gatherings have been powerful, meaningful and Spirit-led. I pray that all attendees walked away nourished by the gifts of community.

If you have a parents’/moms’ group in your church, school or neighborhood that might benefit from a book study of The Beauty of Motherhood, I’d love to hear from you! Use my contact form to be in touch with me via email.

What’s next

Summer’s right around the corner, which means I’m leaning into rest and time with my two boys while I recover from the mental and spiritual challenges of book marketing.

Later this year I have some events in the works, including another local book study and an upcoming women’s conference at which Kim and I will be workshop facilitators. If you’d like to be the first to know about my upcoming events, you can sign up for my monthly newsletter, Nourish.

I’m deeply grateful for each and every act of support readers have offered during book launch season. While my coauthor Kim and I share a byline for The Beauty of Motherhood, we know it takes a village to birth a book. Thank you for being part of ours!

Keep Me Awake: Prayer as a Mother

“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed”
— Mary Oliver, from “The Summer Day”

I stand in an open field, watching for signs of rain. An hour ago, I hollered to my family, “I’ll be back later!” and strode toward the woods outside our neighborhood. I walked and walked until my legs ached and landed here—in the company of fading wildflowers.

Gray clouds coat the sky. Somewhere not far from here, leaves are burning. Their scent twists and lingers in the air like incense.

Walking usually soothes my nerves, but today my whole body feels restless. It’s been half a year since my husband and I pulled our son Jack out of preschool due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Months without childcare support have left me utterly exhausted, but I can’t go home. Not yet. A friend once told me she finds peace by grounding herself. I take her advice and collapse into a cross-legged position. Then, instinctively, I fold my hands to pray.

Images clip through my mind’s eye. Another negative pregnancy test in the garbage. My son playing alone in our backyard. Another period come and gone. Why can’t I get pregnant again?

The calendar turning—my 35th birthday marching closer. When Jack asked, “Mom, can we get a baby?” Another pregnancy announcement. Please help me.

A breeze rustles through my coat, and I blink my eyes open, watching it wave through straw-colored prairie grass. I splay out my legs, roll onto my back, and shift my gaze toward the hazy heavens.

God, I think, twitching at a hair that blows across my forehead, are you out there?

Read the rest of the essay over at Mothering Spirit.

Why I let him nap in my arms…again

Because he woke up early from his nap.
Because he was calling “Ma-ma! Ma-ma!”
Because when I collected him from the crib,
he nestled his head against my shoulder.
Because he needed more sleep.
Because I needed him, too.
Because I could *not* answer another email or tidy another toy or wash another dish.
Because being his safe space is more important to me than being productive.
Because even though sleep experts say to avoid “bad habits,” they can’t deny that nursing a baby to sleep is positively delicious.
Because he just turned one, and his babyhood is slipping away like fine sand.
Because an hour ago, he stuck his hand in the toilet, then dumped out the dog’s water bowl and wailed when I changed his diaper and I just needed to recall his sweetness.
Because here, in the curve of my arms,
he looks like an angel.
Because he is likely my last child.
Because one day I’ll tell him,
“When you were a baby, your favorite
place to fall asleep was in my arms.”
Because he’s not ready to give this up.
Because I can’t let this go — not yet.
Because someday I’ll look back on this season —
when the house was a mess
and I wore tiredness like a uniform
and my baby stuck to me like my shadow — and realize all of it was magic.

If you liked this post, you may enjoy my book, The Beauty of Motherhood, releasing March 21. Preorders are so important; I’d be honored if you purchased this devotional for yourself or a new mama you love. For more information, visit my book page.

Category Archives: motherhood