It takes a village.

That’s what everybody says about raising children. You need help. You need people. You need a village.

My daughter, just shy of two, is in the “I DO IT MYSELF!” phase where she’ll scream at me for helping and then scream again because she can’t buckle into her car seat all by herself and then goes all wet noodle, forcing me to place my elbow between her legs and my hand on her shoulders just so I can get that dear little stubborn princess buckled long enough to drive five minutes to the grocery store.

When I first became a mom, I was that dear little stubborn “I DO IT MYSELF!” mom princess. Not only could I work full-time while coordinating and communicating with the babysitter. I could cook, clean, organize and plan all family functions, including doctors appointments, extra curriculars, monthly updates on my children to family and friends, as well as write the most kickin’ Christmas letter which I’d send out the day after Thanksgiving. Not to mention, I could still make time to shop for myself, get my hair done, and take my hubby out on dates. “I DO IT MYSELF!”

After maybe two months… or two minutes… of being a mom, I realized the only thing I could really do myself was put my clothes on, hold my baby, and then change my clothes after his spit up projected down the back of my shirt.

When I was teaching, my co-workers rallied behind me. When I kept finding my son in his crib soaking wet, they told me to go up a size in diapers. When he was sick and I had to miss work, they helped piece together my sub plans and told me, “Don’t worry about it.” When I had to find a new sitter, for the third year in a row, they all pitched in with referrals and suggestions. When I came to school with wet hair pulled back in a messy bun for the fourth day… or week… in a row, they didn’t judge. With each and every baby picture I brought in or emailed out, they all cooed with excitement.

They were my village. I just didn’t realize it at the time.

Then I became a stay-at-home mom. I didn’t have to worry about sub plans or stress about finding the right pair of shoes to wear in the morning. I didn’t have to pack a lunch or worry a babysitter would call me in the middle of the afternoon. Wet hair coincided with my uniform, and well, so did spit-up. “I DO IT MYSELF!” Life would be easier.

Or so I thought.

During the morning, I fed my kids, watched a show or two, and then went for a walk. After lunch, we played, maybe they napped and I had time to waste on the computer. In the afternoon, we’d go outside or play downstairs and then I’d try to escape and make dinner. When my husband came home, I talked his ear off. The next day, I pressed Repeat. 

Prior to staying home, I never realized our neighborhood had no other young families. I didn’t consider what I’d do with my kids when I had a doctor’s appointment, or when I was sick. I didn’t plan where my kids could go to play with other kids, especially in the winter, and especially for free. Really, though, what I never considered, was where I could go to connect. Where would I find my village?

Last year, my eldest son started Kindergarten. Often, when it was nice out, before we picked him up from school, I’d take his little brother and sister to the park across the street to play. I am not very good at going out of my way to introduce myself to other moms, but I was slowly convincing myself to get over it and try to make some mommy friends. One of those nice days, I started chatting with another mom of two young kids playing at the park. She asked if I came to the park often. I said I did. She asked if I’d want to meet her there tomorrow. I said I did. Pumped that I finally made a new mommy friend, I happily walked to pick up my son and looked forward to the next day.

When the afternoon rolled around, I showed up at the park armed with things to talk about, only to see she came equipped with an iPad and a cooler of “products.” Bamboozeled. She was no mommy friend. She was trying to sell me stuff. I don’t want stuff!

I just want a friend!

My husband was and always is very supportive. My mom is a huge help to me. I do have a lot of friends who love me and love my kids. But the truth was, in my new day-to-day routine, I was lonely. I was bored. I was deeply in love with my children and happy to be home with them, but I was drowning. I had no one walking the journey with me— next to me.

I needed a village. A mommy village. I realized it now.

Just recently my family moved to a new house in a new town. We chose this place because of the neighborhood. It was by friends and close to our church. When we drove the streets, we saw kids playing, families outside with other families, people who appeared to be in the same stage of life we are.

Could this be our village?

My son, now in first grade, rides the bus home from school. He gets off the bus with another little first grader. Just a few days into our new routine, my doorbell rang around four o’clock in the afternoon. I looked out the window. I couldn’t see anyone standing there (I check for salesmen these days!). I opened the door. “Can TJ come out and play?”

Neighbors have brought us cookies, cinnamon rolls, and soup to welcome us.

Just last night, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find friends. Friends, for no reason. They were out for a walk and came by to say hi and talk.

There is a lot I am capable of doing by myself. There are many things my husband and I do with just our kids. But what I have learned is that not reaching out, not providing opportunities for my children and myself to do life with others, is a lonely place to be. Neighbors are good. Friends are great. A village is a wonderful thing to have. I am making it a priority to keep building my mommy village.

How about you? When did you realize you needed a village?