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"