Temptations

We might be one of the weirdest families around.  At least my kids think so.  We’ve had a couple of conversations about this, not sure how they got started, but part of it was me telling them even if I didn’t have my religion I don’t think I’d smoke, and I doubt I’d be into drinking or drugs; that kind of stuff just never appealed to me.  I might love to drink coffee though (since I love coffee flavored treats and the coffee aisle of the grocery store is intoxicating to me).  In fact, I used to pretend to when I was in jr. high when I’d hold a steamy mug of Postum carefully between long gangly fingers with darkly painted fingernails like my mom.  No, those kinds of things don’t tempt me all that much.  So I wondered, if I didn’t have the guidelines I do, what would get to me.  I admitted if I didn’t have to be as disciplined as I am, I’d probably shop a lot more, buy more, spend more.  On credit.  And online.  But I’d want to buy things for the poor people too.  We decided what I’d really like is to be like Robin Hood.  How’s that for a lame confession?  There have been others.  I’m tempted all the time, who isn’t?  This is a pretty tame list I suspect.  It gives away my identity as a middle-aged conservative mother.  I wish I knew how to make a check box and reply feature so we could compare lists with each other.  I’d venture to say we’ve got some things in common.  I know as soon as it’s posted I’ll think of another.  There may be an addendum.  But for now, here’s the short list.

to read a fluff romance novel every now and then… I know, how embarrassing and what a waste

to go out to dinner every weekend instead of being disciplined

to skip exercising and count my weeding as my workout for the day

to share interesting tidbits and gossip with Todd

to take a really long shower even though we’re on cistern

to give up on people or friendships

to make hasty judgments about people

to buy cheap clothes or shoes because they’re cute and a steal but I don’t really love them and I know they won’t hold up

to stay up late watching Netflix or Downton Abby even though I know I’ll be irritable in the morning

to clean rather than engaging with my kids

to linger on an inappropriate song rather than switching the station immediately (they’re usually the best ones, I rationalize that I’m a grown up and it’s not a big deal; but I really do know better and want to set a good example)

to tell stories about my kids that are embarrassing but so funny (I have to admit, I’m pretty good because I hated it when my mom and her friend would sit at the pool and do this, but some have been just too good not to share.  I’m always sorry but am always laughing too.)

to start a book I think will be good for me but know in my heart it’s over my head

to hide my little bag of See’s candy in my closet

to let my kids watch too much tv and play on the computer longer than their allotted time because it’s so quiet

to make easy but unhealthy meals because I’d get fewer complaints

to do their scouts for them; we would’ve been an Eagle Scout family maybe like 5 years ago

to check things off a list rather than doing them with a genuine heart

to comment more than I already do in church

to let an upsetting comment linger instead of blowing it off

to pretend I don’t know our dogs are running around the neighborhood

to pretend to be asleep sometimes

to offer advice when no one’s asked

to pick up after my kids or do their chores or laundry or dishes for them (because I love to clean and organize and make the house look like a hotel and I get impatient waiting)

to wear shorter skirts than I really should

to finish people’s sentences because I get impatient waiting for them to figure out the words they’re looking for

to steal school supplies (admittedly, it’s been decades since I’ve done this, but the office aisles and supply closets still get to me…)

to skip family scriptures and prayers

to be condescending and short

to let Todd take care of the hard stuff

to agree to something in Todd’s behalf without asking him first (like signing him up to sub for a class at church or to help with a project at school or to look at someone’s dog… I still want to all the time, but I’m learning)

to buy earrings at Kohl’s because they’re so cheap and more note cards that scream Caren even though I already have enough of both

to read something a little lighter and count that as my scripture reading for the day

to take a little siesta during the Sunday afternoon session of Conference

to eat more than 4 cookies in a row

to make excuses for all sorts of things

to give away money without telling Todd

to read gossip magazines in the waiting room

to ask more searching questions than people are comfortable with

to always want to stop and get a malt at that ice cream place

to covet youth and looks and good jeans and cute shoes

to skip the temple and just stay home and clean

to not answer the phone even when it’s BYU calling for their annual donation

to let others deal with the weighty issues in the world

to stick with our easy friends and not invite the new or hard people over

to buy the expensive fruit at Costco

to tell the telemarketer he has the wrong number (if he knew us at all he’d know I’m not really lying)

to sneak into bed around 9 with the house still blazing, letting Todd take care of it all

to send money in to all those organizations that send me return address labels and others that I just hear about

to tell the kid at the door that we already bought their stuff from another kid

to read Dear Abby and skip the heavier stuff

to let other people sign up to bring dinner or clean the temple or babysit

to text during church

to say hell’s bells and maybe damn in a really weak (maddening) moment

to swoon over attractive young male singers (acapella, country, I’m not picky)

to wonder what people are thinking  (I know, it’s none of my business. And it doesn’t matter.  Just being honest.)

I know.  Lame.  I’ve given in to them all.  And I’ll probably succumb in the future to them, as well as others I haven’t even identified yet.  But I know I’ve made some strides because some temptations from the past no longer entice me.  I still have work to do.  Loads.  But I love this counsel because it encourages me to make incremental steps in overcoming past habits.

Each of us can do a little better than we have been doing.  We can be a little more kind.  We can be a little more merciful.  We can be a little more forgiving.  We can put behind us our weaknesses of the past, and go forth with new energy and increased resolution to improve the world about us.  May we go with determination to try a little harder to be a little better.*

* President Hinckley

A week with the girls

I knew I was home when I saw my sister eating a couple of homemade cookies and my mom had a chocolate in her mouth.  Before breakfast.  Sigh.  There’s no place like home.  I’m totally the kind to have dessert after lunch and dinner.  A lot of the time my whole reason for having a healthy meal is so I can have dessert, maybe even a couple.  If the choice is just too hard.  Twisted, wrong, so not in the health books.  So tasty though.  And obviously a habit that runs deep in the family.  Love it.

They are all just as inconsistent as I am because at the same counter as the cookies and caramel brownies were the lunch makings.  We’re all about whole wheat, not so into lunch meat and cheese, preferring salads and loads of fruit.  We nearly exclusively drink water and avoid fast food (except In and Out) and fat (except in our desserts).  We like oatmeal and Wheetabix and whole wheat toast and fruit for breakfast.  We’re just not into waffles and pancakes and white things.  Except if it’s a Costco cake.

During one of those healthy lunches I polished off some Greek yogurt and went to throw away the container.  My sister immediately called me on it and reprimanded, “You’re going to recycle that, aren’t you?”  Of course!!  I’m home!  They recycle here!  I was joyous that someone was as Nazi as I am about it.  We commiserated that we can hardly bear to look in the garbage away from home because of all the potential that is just tossed.  We both admitted to bringing home items to recycle from large gatherings.  My mom cleans houses and is the exact same.  In fact, when she comes to my house she tosses all sorts of items in the recycling pile that we just don’t have the resources here to take care of.  Kind of throws her off-kilter and I am just as sorry about it as she is.  But I appreciate her vigilance as well as being in the company of fellow greenies.  So much.

We all need 9.5 hours of sleep.  Random, but tested.  Independently.  If I could change five things about myself, that might be #2.  Cheri and I take naps every chance we can, daily if possible.

My mom came into the room I was staying in one morning at 7:15, shaking me awake.  I told her I was just tired, that I was fine, just wanted to sleep a little later.  Her pillows were so fluffy that they puffed all around my head and I was basically lying flat on the bed and she keeps her house so cozy that I just hadn’t gotten great sleep the first couple of nights.  She came in again at 7:30, visibly upset, wondering what was going on.  I was up.  It wasn’t worth it.  I finally realized I’d made her nervous, she was scared that something serious was wrong.  Understandable, since she had been the one to find my dad just a couple of days earlier.  I got it.  But I also had to kind of laugh.  My mom and sister Cheri get up early.  Like 4:30 or 5.  Yikes.  I’m middle-ground, 5:30-6 usually.  But they are happy and cheery from the moment their toe nails hit the carpet.  My other sister (Cheryl) and I take a minute more.  A good long hour more, if we’re honest.  Which is why I avoid everyone and just go exercise.  It’s the only way I know to let myself warm up to the fact that I’m up.  The sister like me stays downstairs and showers and keeps to herself for the same reason.  We’re slow, but we eventually make the transition.  At the other end of the day, the early birds are in pajamas by 7 or 8.  Good grief.  While Cheryl and I are pleased to be sitting down to HGTV for the evening.  So good to be around people who get me.

The reason Cheryl and I like HGTV so much is we don’t get it at our houses.  Are you kidding?  She doesn’t even have wi-fi; we don’t even have a tv that gets channels.  We are the most old-fashioned youngish people I know of.  And my mom’s on our team, as you would expect.   Cheri is high-tech, but we still accept her.  She takes care of the rest of us and provides our kids with all sorts of pads and computers and phones to entertain them in a pinch.  But only for a limited time.  Cheryl and I are sticklers about wanting our kids to play the old-fashioned way.

We love it when our boys come in sweaty and stinky from a hard-day’s play.  But they take showers and wash their hair every single day.  Without exception.  We’re big on keeping nails short and ears cleaned.  I come from a fastidiously clean family.  But I’m the black sheep here.  While I love clean sheets, fresh laundry, and daily showers, I’m not as concerned about germs and dirt as they all are.  I’m good camping, eating a peanut that fell on the floor, or leaving the hand-washing dishes for a day.  Or more.  The others are clean, clean, clean.  And I think I love it.  I just can’t keep up.  But when it comes to organizing, we’re all on the same page.  We cleaned out an entire closet and set of bathroom drawers, lugging away huge bags-full of donations.  Heartily satisfying.

Likewise, I can always count on these girls to be on the same page when it comes to what we read.  We’re all voyeurs in a sense, wanting the inside scoop on anyone’s life or culture or business.  We’ll occasionally read a fluff novel, but they sort of bore us.  We’re nearly exclusively a non-fiction kind of family, and only with them will I offer my wares.  I know we’re weird, but at least I’m in good company.

I also had to laugh because I say hells bells a lot, just so engrained in me from growing up with my mom.  Bronwyn (my 9 year old) has called me on it and has asked me not to say it.  I’m trying.  But being back home, I felt normal.  It came up a lot.  It always has.  Lots of damns and hells.  I know.  Not the best choices, and hells bells is about as far as I take it.  But ahhh.  I felt so at home.  And it made me smile.

Which is so funny.  When you laugh with siblings.  Because you sound exactly the same.  At least my sisters and I do.  We belly laugh.  And we can hardly breathe.  And we get tears streaming down our cheeks.  It might be embarrassing.  But not when we have each other for comfort.  And we laugh all the time when we’re together.    There’s no way around it when we’re dealing with mom or talking about dad.  There’s no better combination to get us going.  We wonder what kind of money we could make if they left hidden cameras rolling, just capturing normal interactions in our parents’ house.  Even in the midst of what probably should’ve been a reverential and somber week as we prepared for my dad’s funeral, we really couldn’t help ourselves.  We laughed at what kind of golden casket he’d want, with puffy tufts and velvet lining, the 21 gun salute, maybe even a parade and fireworks if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.  We laughed when we were thinking of headstones.  Because he would’ve wanted a tall one, with lots of words and maybe roses and a poem.  Or country song he’d written.  We laughed when we came up with a pun he would’ve thought of.  We just couldn’t help ourselves, and I bet you it was cathartic.  I know it felt good.  The whole time we were together.

The whole week was therapeutic, so calming, so nice to be home.  Sometimes I feel like the odd nut, a little off, wondering why I’m so different, why I can’t just stick with a green smoothie like all my health-nut friends and forgo the cookie, why I think it’s my personal crusade to save the world through recycling and turning off the water, why I like to organize and clean on my day off, why I can’t laugh a soft and pretty little laugh without tears, and why I can’t seem to overcome my hells bells habit.  And now I know.  That it’s ok if I don’t.  I just need a trip home every now and then to remind me.

My talk for my dad's funeral

(My dad died very unexpectedly last Saturday evening at home from a heart attack.  My two sisters and I went out as soon as we could and stayed the week with my mom.  The funeral was yesterday and my two sisters and mom spoke.  I just wanted to save my talk here as part of our family record.)

I can think of a lot better ways to get us all together than a funeral, but despite the circumstances that brought us here, I'm so happy to see so many familiar faces and to see a few of you I haven't seen in over 20 years.  What a blessing you've been to our family over the years, just knowing you're there in the background of our lives has been so comforting.

We want to thank you for all you've done for us this week, all the visits and calls, texts, food, meals, flowers, cards, help with our kids, and especially all the prayers.  There's nothing that could've prepared me for the outpouring of kindness we've witnessed.  With every card or phone call or gift my mom has teared up, just overwhelmed with how generous and supportive you've all been.  We have felt so comforted both because of the love you've shown us and because of all the prayers.  I know that is why it has gone so smoothly.

We have a small family and we just hadn't experienced this kind of thing first-hand up until now.  So it's all been new to us.  We haven't known how to proceed or what exactly to expect, but it has been a great, great week in a lot of ways.  It has been especially good to just be with my sisters and mom, to spend lots of time just talking and visiting and even shopping and cleaning, just enjoying everyday activities amid the necessary preparations.

I have no idea what a typical family's mourning time is like, but I'm sure we threw our friend at the mortuary off because we laughed and joked so much.  Probably not very reverent, but we could hardly help ourselves thinking how it would be if dad had been the making his own funeral arrangements.  Throughout the week we've laughed about dad and the way he'd do things, the jokes he'd make, his funny ways.

Obviously, he's been everywhere we've looked this week.  The smell of wood and fabric linger in his newly cleaned garage.  I couldn't help but think the sound of the garage door closing would bring him in to the house to say, "Well, my baby girl, come give your ol' dad a hug."  We handled what might be the world's puffiest coats as we went through his closet.  Cheryl and I even sang a couple of his old country songs he'd written when a friend was over visiting the other night.   It's all just so familiar, and we've felt like maybe he's just been at work.  It's just surreal thinking that he's not coming home.  We can't help but regret the future memories we would've had, the Father's Day cards he didn't get to read, the holidays he won't be around for.  Of course that makes me sad.  I also wish I'd done more to make his life easier, that I would've written and called more, you know how you wonder what more you could've done.  Probably normal to have a few regrets.  But at the same time, I really do feel he knew I loved him, and I never doubted his love for me ever.  He'd squeeze it into me every chance he got, and he never stopped holding my hand.  There isn't much stronger than a dad's love for his kids.  He loved all seven of his kids--so much.  He'd always show us the pictures of our four other siblings, he longed to be reunited with them.  He never ever stopped loving them, and that was probably his biggest heartache: that he couldn't be with them.  Until Cheri helped reunite us all just a few years ago, I can't think of anything that's made him as happy in his later years.

Like all of us, I know he of course had other regrets.  He talked a lot about wanting to take us girls to the zoo or the park so his daughters would have concrete outings to look back on.  But we all know that the best memories and the times we long to go back to are the regular, ordinary days.  We were making memories all along the way without ever giving it much thought.

We spent a lot of time with our dad in his upholstery shop playing office or lying on his workbench sipping soup made from a package when we were sick.  We'd drive up and down the hills of La Mesa dodging flying newspapers as he did his paper route.  We learned to rip down couches, and sometimes we'd even help move them.  He'd make us malts and pancakes and we'd laugh with tears rolling down our cheeks watching sit-coms of the 80s.  He'd serve us ice cream slices after cutting through the carton and made us BLTs every Thursday night with gobs of mayonnaise.  We'd feed him cherries and lay our heads on his chest.

We'd visit our cousins in Utah one week every summer but we'd never be able to leave until he changed the oil and stopped to fill up with gas less than a mile from our house.  He'd always buy a beef jerky and usually new sunglasses.  Most times when he'd be on vacation he'd buy himself a new pair of tennis shoes--a lot of times white--and a new pair of jeans.  Whenever he came to visit he'd take the kids to get tacos, he'd take long naps, watch old MacGyver re-runs with my boys, and lap up all our home cooking, requesting peach cobbler and cinnamon rolls, but happy with anything.  He was easy to please.

He never seemed encumbered by what other people thought.  He spoke to everyone, made small talk with every waitress or salesclerk we ever encountered.  We'd be so embarrassed as kids, and my mom usually kind of walked away.  But I find myself doing the same thing these days and talk to all sorts of people I meet in airports and stores, just like my dad.  It makes the world a little friendlier feeling, a little smaller, a little easier to navigate when we feel connected like that.

Without realizing it he taught us a few things along the road.  Nothing formal; in fact, I don't ever remember having talks or lectures.  But he taught us to work hard because he worked so hard himself.  He taught us to not hold grudges, to be positive, and to be the first to forgive.  I'm not that great at any of that, but I can't ever remember him being condescending or grumpy even though I always seemed to be moody as a teenager and could be so mean.  He never seemed to let it bother him.  He just overlooked my faults and kept loving me.

It's a blessing in a girl's life to have a dad to protect her, to help her feel safe, to encourage her to work hard at school, to tell her she looked nice and to be proud of her.  It has made all the difference that he took us to church, that he was devoted to his family, and that he worked hard to provide for us.  Like all of us, he had some rough edges.  But he didn't dwell on his or anyone else's.  He helped us feel confident even though we had weaknesses.  He accepted us and encouraged us.  I'm forever grateful I had a dad who was committed to his family, through all the ups and downs of life.  Things weren't always easy, but that's life.  He stayed with it and with us.

And so I'm grateful.  For all of life's experiences that stretch us, that teach us and humble us.  We can be grateful during hard times as well as the good times, even death.  The truths I've been taught my whole life are so comforting.  Maybe it's only when we come to a crossroad like this that we put them to the test and see if they hold up.  I can tell you they do.  As we said our family prayer Saturday night, just a couple hours after finding out my dad had died, I gathered with the kids and told them again, "This is why we do everything we do.  This is what the gospel is all about.  So we can live with our families.  Relationships matter.  How we love each other is what it's all about."  I know this is true.  I also know my dad is still alive, happy and at peace.  He's probably making jokes with his family in heaven, even the angels are probably exchanging polite smiles, and I know he's having a great time catching up with everyone.  It makes me happy just thinking about it.  I'm grateful for this perspective, that I had a dad who loved me, and that I will see him and hug him again.

Words to live by:  "May we live in thanksgiving daily--especially during the seemingly unexplainable endings that are part of mortality.  May we allow our souls to expand in thankfulness toward our merciful Heavenly Father.  May we ever and constantly raise our voices and show by word and deed our gratitude to our Father in Heaven and to His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ."*  And so I am grateful even now when I long for more time, just a few more short years or even hours.  I'm grateful for the many years I had with a good dad and for the memories we made when we weren't even watching.  And I'm grateful you were so kind to him and so accepting.  I am grateful to all of you who have made efforts to show your love.  Thank you so much.

* Grateful in Any Circumstances

Not choosing it all

Our oldest was 11 at the time.  I had four others, two shared the double stroller.  Life was nuts for lots of reasons, mainly just because I had kids, but I recall Saturdays on the soccer field, a game for each of the three kids who could play.  Todd seemed to mostly be at work or otherwise engaged.  I don’t know that the whole soccer experience was entirely bad; a lot of it was great in fact.  In the spring we’d have evening games and practices, some kids with two practices a week (which I realize is nothing compared to football and baseball).  All over town.  We live close to nothing.  I did that for years.  As they got older we tried some karate until we had to start going twice a week from 5-6 p.m.  (Is there a worse time?)  A year of 4-H.  On Monday nights.  And on back country roads—sometimes icy and snow-packed—to the next town.  6:30-8 I think.  I’ve always taken whatever kids have been home to these kinds of things because Todd is rarely home before 6:30 or so (unless we have nothing planned).  Avery did volleyball at school.  That was perfect.  Right after classes until 5.  Loved it.  Until the games began.  All over town.  I’d have to leave once in awhile to take Callum to his karate and return to get them both, thankfully staggered just right.  It wasn’t that it couldn’t be done.  Or that it wasn’t being done.  But I felt unsettled inside. 

I honestly can’t remember if there was a moment when I decided or if it was kind of gradual, but I started questioning.  Just because soccer sign up forms came home, did we have to fill them out?  What did we hope to gain or learn from the experience?  Was there a different way, an easier or better way to learn a similar lesson?  So when I saw the forms the next time I asked the kids what they thought.  Some were on the fence.  That was good enough for a no.  If all they were in it for was the Capri Sun and Nutter Butters in a package, no deal.  I was done running our tank down every week, not to mention my own tank.  I was constantly packing up food to eat at the fields, blankets, chairs, water, coats, sunscreen.  And we’d get home late, our time spent.  And yet of course some of it was great.  I loved having a picnic on the field, Todd would usually come meet us after awhile.  We’d see our friends.  Those were good times.  But was it all worth what we sacrificed?  Like I mentioned, there was a point when we felt Callum could use some structure, and karate was just right.  Until he started crying when it would be time to go that he didn’t have time to play anymore.  We’d end up skipping and going to the make-up classes.  Twice a week for an eight-year old?  At dinner time?  It would be dark and snowy much of the year it seemed.  I’d take my daughter (and her friend a lot of the time).  They’d have to be quiet sitting on metal chairs beside me for an hour.  It added stress to our evenings.  For what?  That was a hard, hard decision.  I loved what they taught.  I liked his teachers and believed in their philosophy.  I loved what he learned and could practice at home; it was a good fit.  But it didn’t fit in with what my higher priorities were.  And so, in spite of having just purchased brand new gear that he’d only used a handful of times, we decided to take a break from all extra-curriculars for just awhile.  If only to catch our breath and re-evaluate.

And we haven’t looked back.  Except to sigh with relief and smile.  Life is awesome these days.  I still sometimes worry that I’m not giving my kids all the “enriching” experiences their friends are getting.  I wonder if they’ll be left out down the road because they aren’t good at baseball or basketball.  I wonder if they’ll feel bad they don’t know how to play the piano.  And so I still think about things.  But that’s just it.  I’m really thinking now.  Not just reflexively signing the papers, committing to something that will overwhelm our family and take us away from matters most.  At what expense?  I completely believe in educational experiences.  I’m all about having them develop talents and exposing them to a variety of learning opportunities.  I believe in being a part of society and soaking up all that life has to teach us.  But I’m learning I have to be careful and cognizant of how added activities will affect our whole family.  I’m thinking maybe Bronwyn will learn the piano this fall; that’s manageable.  And Avery’s taken a handful of art lessons from a friend twice a month (who happens to live less than a mile away).  The boys do cross country and track and some clubs at school.  That’s fine; they can drive.  I actually don’t mind watching a meet now and then; it’s an enjoyable way to spend the afternoon once in awhile.  That’s different to me.

Instead of running to the van, making sure we have our snacks and water bottles and sweatshirts, we make snacks at home—in the oven a lot of days.  They play Legos, build forts, and jump on the tramp with balls and ice cubes.  Callum makes posters.  Avery sews.  Bronwyn writes stories.  Andrew makes knives.  Mitchell does something in strange language on the computer.  They do their chores and mow the lawn, rake and weed.  They cuddle up in front of the fireplace with a book or magazine in the winter, play in the sprinklers in the summer.  They ride their bikes and get hot and sweaty.  They draw with chalk and look up questions about tetanus and mutual funds.  Avery tries new recipes.  She and Mitchell make stir fry sauces and vegetables after school.  They help me cook dinner.  They do their laundry.  They try new smoothies.  We’re actively involved in our church, an extra-curricular activity in and of itself.  Like being a stay-at-home mom, it’s hard to pinpoint what we do.  I just know it’s peaceful.  We have quiet background music on most afternoons.  Our flag and trees wave to me through open windows.  Sometimes we have friends over and put on dancing music.  I make a lot of treats.  We watch all sorts of talented people who sing and dance for us on our computer.  We’re inspired by the most amazing stories of compassion and service.  We read the newspaper, especially the comics.  We eat dinner at 6:30 and still have evening activities (scouts, youth group, family night, PTO), but we keep things to a minimum so we can work in the yard or play games and still have time for stories.

But that’s just us.  I wonder if we’d be different if I was different.  If I had been an athlete or musician.  If we had fewer kids or if I had more patience.  If Todd was home at 5.  If we lived closer to town.  If I had friends close by to carpool with.  If I had more energy.  If I was more organized and on the ball.  I think so.  It’s not anything more than this is what feels good to us.  This fits our family for now.  We’re still catching our breath, taking it easy for a season.  Like I said, this life isn’t for everyone.  In fact, most everyone I know is doing it all.  They amaze me, they are supermoms in my eyes.  Their kids are learning so many great lessons.  I just could never see a way to make it work that well.  And to be honest with you, I still sometimes wonder if I’m doing what’s best for our family.  

We love the unencumbered life.  We went for ice cream Monday night in the next town over.  Sometimes we’ll even drive to the mountain town an hour away during the summer just for dinner by the creek and to get malts on the way home.  We’ll pack tin foil dinners and go to Riverfront Park for the evening.  Sometimes they’ll take the bikes.  Most of the time we’re just happy to putter in the yard and relax from a full day.

So maybe it’s not teaching the kids sportsmanship (but playing made up games with the neighbor kids might) or cooperation (just having siblings might) or lifelong skills (cooking and yard work and laundry might) or how to develop their talents (maybe we can make do with the tools we have at home) or all the other things we hope to gain from extra-curricular activities, but for us at this point in our lives it feels good to let them play and create and build and to just let go after a day at a desk.

I know this isn’t a popular philosophy these days, but we rarely consider that as a guideline when we’re deciding how to raise our family.  I have loved and clung to the following counsel since it was given nearly seven years ago.  Even now, many years later, every time I read it I kind of get teary-eyed.  I know that’s weird, but the words and wisdom resonate with me.  Because I feel it’s true and divinely given counsel for our day.

“Mothers who know do less. They permit less of what will not bear good fruit eternally. They allow less media in their homes, less distraction, less activity that draws their children away from their home. Mothers who know are willing to live on less and consume less of the world’s goods in order to spend more time with their children—more time eating together, more time working together, more time reading together, more time talking, laughing, singing, and exemplifying. These mothers choose carefully and do not try to choose it all. Their goal is to prepare a rising generation of children…. Their goal is to prepare future fathers and mothers… That is influence; that is power.” *

So maybe I’m weak in the eyes of the world.  Maybe I’m robbing my children of their potential.  Maybe I should get back on track.  And there’s a chance we’ll re-engage in a bit.  But maybe we’ll just stay where we are for a season longer.

*"Mothers Who Know"

To be honest, I'm just afraid

My 10 year-old son keeps pestering me to help him set up a Minecraft account.  And I keep putting him off.  My older son has one, I know about it.  But when I’m really honest with myself I realize it’s fear again.  I’m afraid he’ll get sucked into a mind-numbing, time-wasting game.  I’m afraid he won’t like to read anymore, that nothing slow will be entertaining to him anymore.  What about all our board games?  Will that phase of his life be done?  And so I wait.

Another son, the 15 year-old, just got his driver’s license a few weeks back.  He wanted to drive to the park downtown one of those first nights and play fugitive or capture the flag.  It wasn’t that I wanted to ruin his plans or fun.  It all just made me a little nervous.  Not the safest part of town.  He’d never driven alone at night.  I wasn’t even sure he knew how to get there on his own since he’s always reading whenever we’ve driven anywhere.  It was one of his first times he’d be driving by himself.  I was just afraid how it all might end up.

And it’s not that driving scares me.  I’ve actually got a lead foot, I think because of my drive to be efficient.  And you know I love being alone.  But long road trips alone do make me apprehensive.  Because I’m afraid I’ll end up with car trouble on the side of the road in an area with no cell reception.  And I’ll be stuck.  At least if someone’s with me I’ll feel less vulnerable.

Todd always plants the garden.  Granted, it’s usually early May and freezing when he decides the time is right, but it’s more than not wanting to brave the Montana spring that makes me hesitate.  It’s that I’m afraid I won’t do it his way.  Not that he’s ever mean about it, I just know that he loves his garden and has his special way of making it all line up, which bed is designated for which vegetable, etc.  I don’t want to mess it up by planting things too close or too far, too shallow or too deep.  It’s easier on me if I just wait for the weeds to pop up.

Like I’ve said before, I’ve got lots of strong opinions about all sorts of things.  But I’m not that keen on sharing them.  For all sorts of reasons.  I’m afraid I’ll be wrong.  That I don’t have good support or evidence to back them up.  That I won’t be able to articulate my argument.  That I’ll offend you or put my foot in my mouth.  I have some thoughts I’d like to share in church, but I’m not a very good extemporaneous speaker.  I’m afraid I’d get it all jumbled.  I’m afraid it won’t make sense, that I’ll make a fool out of myself, that I’ll take too long, that it will be worse than if I had just stayed in my seat.  So that’s usually where you’ll find me.  And my family.  We’re kind of the same that way.

I remember buying the thick book for my freshman Honors English class during the summer:  One Hundred Years of Solitude.  I took a look at the family pedigree chart just inside within the first few pages just to help keep track of the characters.  It was too much.  In my heart I knew I was in over my head and bowed out, opting instead for the regular English class.  I did the same thing when it came time to decide between AP and regular government.  You already know which one I chose.  I was afraid of making a fool of myself, of confirming what I already suspected.  I still wonder if I could’ve done the work.  I just didn’t know—and still don’t—if I was smart enough.  I was afraid I might not be.

I didn’t go to our senior night/party in high school.   It was a Medieval Times Dinner Show, a couple hours away on a bus.  Not that I didn’t think it would be fun.  I was just scared.  To be alone.  My best friend had to work.  My other good friend was a year younger and obviously not in my graduating class.  I was friends with some of the smart kids from my classes.  Some ASB kids.  No one was mean at all; they just all had their own little groups. Honestly, I was afraid I wouldn’t have anyone to sit with on the bus or hang out with during the evening.  That’s the only reason for not going with my class.  And I can’t decide if I would make the same decision again or not even now.  I think I might.

I was offered an opportunity many years ago when I was a student at BYU to go on a tour with a performing group as part of the tech crew.  I knew it was a great chance to see the world and to have some amazing experiences.  But I was afraid.  Of messing up their performances by not turning on the lights at the right time.  Maybe of breaking something.  Of eating weird food.  Of doing something so adventurous.  So I said no (way).

I quickly dismissed another opportunity at BYU, to be a teaching assistant in my graduate program.  I quietly signed up to be a research assistant instead.  You know the story: behind the scenes, not in front of a group.  I can’t think of anything scarier than standing in front of my peers, pretending that I was qualified to teach them.

Along those lines, I’ve told you before, I’d planned on being a missionary for years, had my bags and clothes, had gone out with other young missionaries and was ready to put college on hold for awhile.  Then I found out I wouldn’t be going.  Not only did I feel peaceful about this turn of events and knew it was right for me to stay in school, I was genuinely relieved.  It scared me to death to go for the same reasons I just told you about.  Being assigned to absolutely any land in the world, eating strange food for a year and a half, learning a new language, living in a foreign country all by myself… the whole thing scared me to death.  When I was really honest with myself.  Although I know it was the right thing for me in my life to stay home, I still wonder all the time how I would’ve done.  I wonder if I would’ve been a good missionary, if I would’ve adapted, if I could ever have learned to speak another language.  I have real doubts.  And it scares me to think I would’ve failed on all accounts.  Frankly, I’m scared to know the truth about how I would’ve done.

I’ve told you before, I’m scared to get a real job.  That I’ll mess things up for them.  Just one of the reasons I haven’t looked.

I’m also afraid of the pressure cooker.  I just buy frozen vegetables and make freezer jam instead.  It’s not that I’m lazy, we have canned things; I’m just afraid of explosions.

And of working with people I don’t know.  Which is why I hesitated getting really involved with our recent all-night grad party.  I’m nervous around the high school and didn’t feel like I was the right kind of mom to get involved.  Until a good friend got desperate and I jumped in one night with the decorations and another night with the food.  I could kick myself for not doing more sooner and for leaving it all for the other moms.  I was just scared.  But I had a great time.  I can do better next year.  And I will.

I have all sorts of people and families in mind that I’d like to interact with, some who I suspect might be lonely or just need someone to make the first move; they seem like they’d be good friends.  But I’m afraid of small-talk.  What if our families don’t click?  What if it doesn’t work out?  I usually go ahead anyway and just invite people before I can talk myself out of it, but Todd can tell if it’s a group that I’m nervous about because the dessert or some part of the dinner I’m making usually flops.  Or I kind of get in a cleaning mode.  You know if you’re a close friend because I usually skip that part.

As many times as these kinds of things have happened, I can’t believe I still don’t always recognize why I feel so scrambled under my skin every now and then.  But if I’m honest with myself, I recognize before long that my irritation or stress is really just a mask for my fear.  Maybe you’ve noticed that too.  Maybe we play it off, not ever connecting the dots that it’s fear that’s making us hesitate.

I didn’t realize until I made this short sample list just how paralyzed I’ve been over the years. How sad.  So many experiences I forfeited by staying on the shore, where the sand was warm, where I made a little body impression, where things were supposedly stable.  But we know how sand is.  Before you know it, the tide comes in, and things shift.  So I’ve unavoidably faced a few of my fears along the shore.  I’ve gotten wet, my foundation has faltered.  And yet it’s been so good for me.  I’m the kind who likes to get wet toenail by toenail rather than jumping in.  Usually I stay far away from the water because I’m afraid someone will push me in.  But I have the second half of my life ahead of me, and if you let me do things at my speed, I will eventually get in.  I will even swim with you.  Just don’t expect me to go off the high dive.