I thought it was a brilliant plan. Loved it! And was secretly thrilled to be included, thinking it was an exclusive right given to only the long-time residents of the area. So when I went to the first babysitting exchange meeting of the year, it tickled me that someone was so organized. I was duly impressed. This was way back when Todd was in vet school and we just had baby Andrew. I was such a novice and everything about being a mom was new and eye-opening; here was another lesson for my book. So as the leader handed out tiny coupons at our informational gathering, I felt rich. And grown-up. The idea was that one ticket could be exchanged for one half-hour of babysitting per child. Like I said, brilliant! And so the other ladies and I began our swaps. It was a system of checks and balances in a way because you could only acquire more tickets by babysitting yourself; no money was exchanged. (Which was good because no one had much.) If you were running low you’d have to watch a few kids before going out again. And so it worked. For the most part. But I couldn’t help the unsettled feelings I had about leaving Andrew for my friend to watch while I went to work to earn money while later on I’d watch Anna because her mom had to go do her church work. She didn’t choose to do that really, it wasn’t for fun or money. Her assignment just required her to be gone a lot, and my particular calling didn’t. And so I wondered about it all. I know. I do that a lot.
I started feeling funny about using our tickets once we all became closer friends. It seemed so cold and business-like to use a form of payment for simply watching each others’ kids, who now felt more like our nieces and nephews. So then it morphed into us calling each other and setting up something like, “I can watch your kids Thursday from 9-11 if you can watch mine Tuesday from 12-2.” Which is fine. But I felt like we had to have a pay-back in place before the favor could be granted. Tit for tat. It still didn’t sit well with me. I eventually stopped making it so even. I just figured I’d watch people’s kids when they needed it and told them they could watch my kids sometime later on; I was sure it would all work out. And it did. Because what if I had two kids and had someone watch for two hours. But another mom just had one kid and I watched for three hours. Or another mom had four kids but I watched for one hour. Can you see how ridiculous it would be to keep track? It just didn’t feel that great to me to measure it all, and I was glad the last 2-3 years that we just became like each others’ sisters-in-law, aunts and cousins. It was a blessed co-existence and I have no idea in the world which side of the coupon count I wound up on. It was a wash as far as I’m concerned.
But it happened again when I moved to our current town with now two little boys. Another group of women had the same system in place, and I was so grateful! Because a) I couldn’t wait to meet other moms and b) I was so glad for a child-care clause in our new life. I was open to the idea once again because it seemed to be the only way to immerse myself, knowing I’d need to rely on these new women. But I eventually found myself unsettled all over again. For the same reasons. I happily accepted my little bundle of coupons, and I gladly consented to watch others’ kids. We became friends, we played at parks and each others’ houses. But again the coupons began again to seem stiff and formal. And unnecessary. I have no idea what happened to the group or our coupons. Maybe I wasn’t playing by the rules and so I just wasn’t invited back. I have no idea. But it didn’t matter because they didn’t matter any more. We’d already figured out how to trade for visiting teaching and for the temple each week. We knew we could call each other and it wouldn’t matter how long or how many, it would all work out. I love these ladies still; they feel like sisters to me. The ones we left behind in Illinois, as well as those I’ve loved here in Montana over the past almost 15 years. I just don’t know how you keep track of years and years of service and love that goes back and forth.
I owe so many people. We don’t have family for hundreds of miles. And so we’ve necessarily leaned on our friends. We’ve asked people to watch our kids overnight or for a long week when I’ve been out of town. They might not have the same scenario come up, but we try to give back in our own way. We have grandparents in town, not by blood, but just because our lives have blended over the years. How can I even begin to pay back all the times they’ve watched our little ones or folded clothes or brought dinner? Where do I even start? They don’t need that kind of service in return. But they might like a homemade treat now and then, an occasional visit, a love note, I don’t know. I can’t think about it too much because it might make me feel a little guilty, but I just take opportunities as I see them and hope eventually they feel like it was reciprocal, that they gained as much as they gave within the framework of our friendship.
It’s the same thing when we invite people to dinner. I don’t have to wait until they invite us over before I invite them back. It just isn’t like that. We have friends who take my kids out to eat when they’re over playing. I think we’ve done that like five times in our lives. Maybe. Because we just don’t eat out that much. But we will totally let them play messy and have free reign in the kitchen at our house. I will make treats for any kid who asks. Just as long as we don’t have to run an errand. We have watched the Olympics with our neighbors, and they have come over to eat. Our friends loaned us their car for a week; Todd helped out with their cat. We will loan you our rototiller and give you some garden produce; you might come over with an apple pie later on. Or not. We don’t care. I’m not planning on it, we’re just being neighborly. And so are you.
And so that’s why I may seem a little nonchalant about giving back right away. If you loan me an egg or a cup of flour, you will probably never see my kids running back with an egg or a little baggie of flour right when we get home from the store. But I will just happily spot you some yeast or butter when you’re out. It all goes around. It doesn’t have to look the same.
Recently (maybe the past fifteen years?) there’s been a movement to pay it forward, and that works. Because even though I’ve had people watch my kids who will never need me to babysit for them, I might be able to help out another young mom down the road. The guys at the auto shop do a little extra for us without pay, creating a wave that makes Todd want to be a little generous when it comes to helping neighbors with their pet plights. It all just goes around.
But some people don’t see it like this, least of all with their children, buying three of the same toy even to assure equality. But life isn’t fair and certainly this lesson is most aptly and easily taught when kids are young, within the bounds of love and home. We’ve faced this in a million different ways. As I know you have. We’ve paid for Andrew to go to Washington DC with his eighth grade class. And we’ve bought airfare for Avery to go to Scotland. We’ve paid for half of two kids’ guns. Mitchell hasn’t gone on a trip yet. And Bronwyn hasn’t bought a gun. So do we just give those kids the same amount of money in their pocket just to make sure it’s all fair? Not at all. They will have their own opportunities. Their times will come. It may not be a trip across the country, and the receipts may not match up. Maybe one will need more help with college than another, maybe one will have an opportunity for study abroad that another won’t. We’ll see. I’m not worried about it, and neither are they.
Parents even parade this sort of mindset all the way through the years of having grown children, which perplexes me to no end. One set of married kids might be in medical school for their fifth year and they are squeezing five kids into a tiny apartment. How fun to buy a bunk bed for them! But do you buy a bunk bed for the other two kids, one who has a 3,500 square foot house and no kids and one who isn’t even married? It’s absurd to even entertain the question. Maybe you want to help a set with infertility costs or cover the airfare for a single kid struggling through college to join everyone for a family reunion. The dollar amount won’t be the same. Because the needs and desires and the kids aren’t the same. Just because you give one kid $100 doesn’t mean you need to hand out $100 bills to all the others. Their unique needs will show up in other ways eventually. And it will most likely not even be about money. We’ve seen this when one child has developmental issues and necessarily requires more time from the parents. But in less obvious ways we play the game of life, spending more time on the phone with one daughter dealing with depression, flying to help out with a complicated pregnancy of another, driving one to piano and helping another to tie flies. It doesn’t show up the same, and yet we are meeting one another’s needs in individual ways.
Because, after all, isn’t this God’s pattern? He blesses none of us equally. He gives us according to our needs and righteous desires. But not always right away. We don’t get reimbursed immediately with twenty dollars for the hour we spent with a woman at a nursing home. But we may develop a sweet friendship and love with her. And we certainly aren’t able to pay Him back for the blessing of another beautiful day, but we can use our hours and abilities to serve people around us within the day. I’ve seen how He more than compensates us for any resource we may think we’re giving Him, whether it’s energy to stay up just a little later to talk to a friend or teen, money we don’t seem to have but feel to give, a little extra patience when it requires everything within us to bite our tongues. But somehow He doesn’t keep track, returning our small gifts with only a blessing of equal proportion. Not at all. He not only compensates what we’ve sacrificed, He pours His blessing upon us. To the point of overflowing.
I think there’s a lesson in this for us. As we go about life with our eyes open, looking for opportunities to serve, and as we necessarily need others to help us, I’ve found it works best to ditch the coupon system. It feels better to give unabashedly, widely, without thought of return. I ask the same of my friends, that they’ll have faith in me that I will gladly repay them—maybe not with exactly the same teaspoon of baking soda later that afternoon, but in ways they uniquely need. Even without a ticket as collateral, you can count on me.
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