Of arms and marriages

My physical therapist sent me home with two sheets of exercises I’m supposed to do three to five times a day.  I hate that it’s come to this.  But it’s my new reality for awhile.  (They say 1-3 years.)  I’ve thought about my frozen shoulder and how gradually it came on.  Looking back I suppose I should’ve known what to look for.  I should’ve been researching side effects of node removal or mastectomy on the internet.  Or asked my doctors if I should be aware of anything post-surgery.  Or read the little words on all the papers they sent home with me.  But that’s all so not like me.  I just shoved all that stuff in my cancer file and figured if I noticed anything weird then I’d deal with it later.  No sense looking for trouble.  And so as my arm started bothering me I guessed I’d just slept on it funny.  That I’d tweaked it somehow.  So I babied it and took it out of commission as much as possible for several weeks.  But it got worse and shooting pain would paralyze me for a minute or two and tears would leap to my eyes out of nowhere.  As it became more difficult to ignore, I surrendered and went in.  X-rays, physical therapy, massage ensued. A little exercise routine that makes me feel like an old lady.  It’s been months already.  Acupuncture starts next month.

But as I’ve been tending to my arm, it occurred to me that I’ve experienced this all before.  Not physically, but in my marriage.  And it seems that if we think about it enough, maybe we’ve all been there.  Maybe not in your marriage, but maybe another relationship or some other part of life.  You never saw it coming, you have no idea how you got here, but out of nowhere you’re in some deserted land that wasn’t even on the map.  And you’re not really sure how to get back.

Most of our friends took a similar path as us as we pursued post-graduate work.  It was awesome, loved it.  The midwest enthralled me.  The people were warm, we made sweet friends, we hiked and camped and visited every small town we could.  We loved the antiques, the covered bridges, the fall festivals, the Amish, the state parks.  It was a great, great four years.  But also hard.  Because, you know how it is, you rarely see each other.  We worked.  We had church commitments.  We were just learning to be parents.  We had no family around for hundreds of miles.  He was at school all day and most evenings.  The last year he had rotations and I felt like I never saw him.  (I loved how he got the equine rotation right at foaling time.)  We had dinner together and spent Saturday and Sunday together when we could, but it was still tough.  And that’s life.  But I wasn’t used to it, I didn’t realize how hard it would be on me.  And our marriage.

I remember arriving at the point but not knowing how I’d gotten there.  But one dark night I admitted to myself that I felt completely apathetic about our marriage.  I felt alone.  I didn’t have any fight left in me.  I didn’t really care any more if he was home or gone.  It didn’t seem to matter any way because there was nothing I felt I could do.  I simply let go.

Nothing in my life has scared me as much.  

Kind of the wake-up call you get when you’re driving along the highway late at night and catch yourself falling asleep at the wheel.  This was mine.  I realized I had a choice, I was at a junction.  I could continue to coast.  Or wake up and make some changes.

Just like with my arm, I finally acknowledged things wouldn’t just get better without some intervention.  It’s been forever, so I don’t remember the details.  I just remember deciding.  Sometimes that’s all it takes.  At least that’s where it always starts.  Because of this experience, I’m forever looking at the fork in the road now.  The pivotal moments when a decision will take you one way or another.  And I’m always looking ahead to see where I’ll end up if I take one path versus another.  Some things don’t matter much to me.  But I’m all in when it’s the big stuff. I’m not willing to let my kids or my husband or convictions get away from me.  Way too much at stake.  I think this was the first time when I could see that our little fishing boat had become untied from the dock and that it was slowly inching its way out.  Even though the waves were minimal, you know how water is and how, before you know it, you’re out of touch with your vessel.

Just because I noticed we were drifting doesn’t mean things got better right away.  But I remember we made the effort.  I remember reading and learning about marriage.  I tried to be more supportive as he carried such a heavy load.  Slowly it came together and we pulled it off.  And I’m forever grateful for this wake-up call.  As scary as it was, it’s stuck with me.  I realized then—and am constantly reminded—how precious our marriage is.  And our relationship with our kids.  And with God.  I’m reminded of how gradually these can all slip away from us if we aren’t tethered together.

This lesson poignantly came to mind as I realized my shoulder wasn’t healing on its own.  I had  to stop ignoring the pain.  I needed to acknowledge that things needed to change.  Just like before.  I’ve been looking into it, learning about it.  I’ve been diligent—but not perfect—with my exercises.  I forget to do some of the parts.  I don’t even know if it’s working.  This all sounds so familiar.  But I know eventually it will make a difference.  Because I’ve seen it all before.  Small investments of time doing my stretches and massages, hanging out at night together before turning in, making time for each other.  Consistently putting in the effort.  Even when we’re too tired for it all.  Kissing good night.  Long hugs.  Giving the benefit of the doubt.  Pushing myself even when it hurts and makes me tear up.  Love is like that.  It’s not always easy to be honest.  Or to apologize.  But we work through the painful parts because we’re committed.  We know it will all make us stronger.

I look forward to the day when I’ll realize I have my shoulder back.  When I can use all my weights the way I always have instead of sitting out some of the sets.  When I don’t feel pain when I turn a certain way by accident or shift in my sleep.  When I can tie my aprons and dresses behind my back.  And tuck in my shirts.  When I can move my arm in all directions again.  The pain and immobility will leave as it came.  So slowly I’ll hardly notice.  But I know the small, consistent efforts, the attention I’m giving it, will eventually pay off.  Because I’ve been here before.  The investment I’m making will be worth it, no matter how long it takes.  If it’s anything like my marriage, I won’t be able to pinpoint the day it healed; it will be so gradual.  I’ll just know it feels right. But if it’s anything like my marriage, I’ll never take it for granted again.

Getting results

As I was walking through the school parking lot this afternoon, arms laden with books, I couldn’t help myself.  This is a new school year, I told myself.  We can tweak things if we want, the perfect crook in the road to make changes.

I wondered if this was the year I’d finally become that kind of mom.  But nearly as soon as I’d asked myself, I knew my answer.  Not the answer, not probably the right answer.  But my answer.

I admit it.  I don’t make my kids practice the piano.  Or read.  I’ve never been the kind to work on their letters with them before they go to kindergarten or done a lot of flash cards or cared when they actually learned to read.  I don’t check on their homework status.  Or band practice charts.  I leave a lot up to them.  They know what they’re supposed to be doing.  Most of their school-related stuff is between them and their teachers; the saxophone and piano are between them and their instructors.  I bring it up now and then, but I wait for them to bring their practice sheets and reading logs and school planners to me to be signed, I’m not the kind of mom to ride them about things they can handle.  I’m more concerned that they’re making headway—not just in geometry but in life.

I guess my slant is a little non-traditional, certainly not one touted by educators and the kind of moms we love.  But I have learned that the best kind of mom is the one who uses her unique personality and strengths to mother—whatever that looks like.  I have learned that we are happier and more relaxed (and thus, better) moms when we lean on our own instincts.  When we are authentic.  And so, for me, that just translates into worrying less about results and more about what happens along the way.

I know that we’re a results-fueled society.  We compare and judge each other on the bottom line.  But I don’t know that that’s what I’m in it for.  

I don’t know that grades exactly offer a true representation of intelligence or how much a kid has learned or even effort exerted in some cases.  We all know how inflated grades can be (extra credit for bringing in treats?) and how they can’t possibly showcase all a kid has learned (maybe he has absorbed the concepts but is a poor test-taker?).  We’ve all had teachers who refuse to give A’s, whose reputations are legendary, whose classes we learned the most from and whom we hold in highest esteem.  I couldn’t care less if my kid gets a B in a class like that.  We always tell them to take honors classes whenever possible—even though it does little for their college application and might even hurt it when they get Bs instead of As—simply because it will be an enriching learning experience.

I don’t know that a kid who learns to read as a four-year-old is any better prepared for school than one who learns along the way in kindergarten (which in and of itself if astounding if you think back to what we were learning at that age).  I’d rather expose them to the library, let them choose their own books, read aloud a million picture books on everything from how they make crayons to the fairy tales we grew up with, Shel Silverstein to Percy Jackson.  Giving them nooks and crannies to curl up and read on a warm summer afternoon or snowy wintry night.  Showing them by example how much pleasure (and wisdom) you derive from reading a variety of genres and authors.  I’d rather that my kids have a passion for reading than an accelerated proficiency but who read only to tick another book off their list.

I don’t know that someone who memorizes lengthy scriptures and poems and documents is any better than one who has lived their teachings.  I’d rather have my kid wrap his heart around the meanings of great pieces of writing than to be able to quote them perfectly.  I know scriptorians who have no idea what charity or humility are all about.  And I know some of the sweetest, most tender—maybe even less educated—people who have no idea what the scripture references are or what the word sequence is in one they’re trying to recall, but who embody all the qualities we read about, who have imprinted these words on their hearts.  I know which kind of person I’d rather have my kids emulate.

We read The Battle Cry of the Tiger Mother in our book group awhile back.  While I certainly applaud her efforts and subsequent results, I can’t imagine having a mother-daughter relationship that is more about performance than closeness.  Her daughters certainly delivered, and perhaps that pay-off trumped everything anything else in their lives; but I’d rather have a warm, loving relationship with my daughter than to have her be a renowned concert pianist.  Some families strike the balance, they’re awesome. They have found the sweet spot where the parents are totally involved and oversee daily practice and kids still love their instruments and practice compliantly.  I’m just saying, if that’s not the case, at what cost are we making the instrument (or sport or grade, etc.) more important than the relationship?

I get it though, I do.  When we have put in the effort, we can play more flawlessly, perform confidently and with ease, quote at will, we have been reading years ahead of our peers and have a grand vocabulary and skill base.  But I guess I just have to ask myself, at what price, and is the end result really what we’re after?  Or is there something else?

To me, it’s more about a relationship than it is a destination.  A relationship with the piano and books and our bodies, with our families and friends, with God.

You know the people who are focused on getting married.  Instead of enjoying a variety of relationships in their young adult years, using the time to learn and grow, they’re intense and rigid, citing an engagement as their only goal.  Marriage comes naturally.  Or it doesn’t.  But it’s always better when it’s not forced.  Yes, you got your results.  But is a ring really all you’re after?  Wouldn’t you rather have developed a strong foundation of friendship and love that naturally evolves into a commitment?

Or parents who force religious compliance at the expense of the relationship.  They forget that God is love.  And agency.  That He always, always cares more about the relationship than the dos and don’ts.  Of course that’s not to minimize the commandments or rules in a family or anything like that.  Just that the most important commandments are about love.  A wise pattern to follow as parents.

A million other examples come to mind, especially as we raise our kids and maintain our homes.  In my mind it’s better to let the kids make their own beds—whatever that ends up looking like—than to go behind them (or worse, do it for them) to make sure there are no wrinkles, that the comforter is on squarely and pulled tight simply to impress company.  I’m not espousing an “everyone’s a winner” mentality or giving in to shoddy effort.  I just feel it’s better to let them load the dishwasher their way than to assure all the bowls are maximally spaced and so it looks good.  Giving them free reign in the kitchen to experiment and create is empowering—it’s never been about whether the cupcakes are beautiful or whether it can be done without a mess.  All that we’re doing in the home is really more about developing relationships and teaching than making it all look a certain way.  We’re teaching the reasons behind homemaking skills, why we believe in being tidy and orderly.  Which has nothing to do with showing off a beautiful house but is more about creating a climate that is nurturing and comforting, where we can feel the spirit of God soothing our souls.  We teach them skills in laundry and bathroom maintenance and cooking so that they can be self-sufficient, to build confidence, to let them feel the satisfaction of a job well done, to know they can do it.  We let them plant their own garden boxes of herbs and wildflowers, not simply to earn money or compare production to last year, but to provide a setting where we can spend time together.  Different from farmers who are really tied in to yields, our garden is more to teach the kids the law of the harvest, to teach them to work, to encourage healthy eating, to showcase God’s handiwork and miracles, to provide a sense of accomplishment as they sell their produce or turn it into salsa.  And when crops unfortunately fail, it’s always been more about the lessons and the process than the outcome. 

Even in business, where you’d think this philosophy wouldn’t apply, I see it working.  Think of the companies we love most like Nordstrom, Chick-fil-A, Ace Hardware, Starbucks, Costco (they’re all rated in the top 10 for customer service).  Granted, their bottom line is to make money (that’s what businesses are all about)—just as our goals are to have our kids excel in school and sports and music and life—but look at the way they go about it.  That’s what makes all the difference.  The way they do business feels softer, less cut-throat, less intense.  They have learned that when the relationship with the customer is their top priority—instead of money—business naturally follows.

Our instructor this summer—a long-distance runner—told our class about his experience with goals.  He had been wrapped up in his times, focusing solely on the outcome.  Deciding to switch things up, he kept his goal time to himself and instead use his race time differently.  His only “goals” were to thank every volunteer along the route and to notice three things to be grateful for throughout the course.  Instead of worrying so much about when he’d cross the line and what his numbers would be, he backed off and focused more on the journey and the relationships with the volunteers, nature, and himself.  His times naturally improved.  But his better race-times became a by-product and not his sole motivation.

I loved happening upon this thought as I was reading the other day, “The ultimate measure of success is not in achieving goals but in the service you render and the progress of others [and yourself].  Goals are [merely, I would add] a means of helping you bring about much good….” 

And I guess that’s my slant.  Not that we don’t set goals or strive for excellence.  Or teach our kids to give life their best effort or to work hard.   But rather to view success less in results and more in what they learned or felt or experienced along the way.  To see people and relationships and connections as the greatest of all successes.

*  Preach My Gospel, 146

A few of my favorite things

This started out as real items that I’ve bought and swear by.  But then it went a little past that, as my blog posts usually do.  Sorry it’s another list.  Bulleted items are easier this summer than analogies.  Again, another insight into a person; I encourage you to write a list for your own kids. By the way, I think a list like this is absolutely never done.  Every day I find another part of life that makes me happy, and I know you're exactly the same.

Yellow rubber gloves that fit just right.  I know how weird that sounds.  But I was cleaning the church bathroom and felt over the moon relieved that there was a substantial barrier between my skin and the residue of so many strangers.  I also love their protection especially in the winter months, when I’m home and making food more than usual, so many dishes and bouts with water.  Sore, cracked hands.  It’s a pleasure to have lotioned them and veil them in a shroud of rubber.  A bargain considering all the work I get out of them.  I buy them by the box at Costco.

Skinny rubber spatulas.  Perfect for tight jars, since you know how I hate to waste.  My favorites are the short tiny ones from Williams Sonoma.

Speaking of which, we love their winter dish soap.  Immensely.  It’s like a little walk in the forest every time we wash our dishes.

Brand new tight running socks.  Perfect for just-lotioned feet.  They feel massaged and coddled, cocooned and protected.

A first cold night with warmly dried flannel sheets.  And likewise, the freshly laundered summer variety—crisp and cool on the first hot night of the season.

The potted ivy in my kitchen window.  I’ve kept it alive for three years.  I know.

Todd dressed in his suit for church, smelling awesome.

Finally pj’d with brushed teeth, hunkered down with my Real Simple that just arrived that afternoon.

My shower towel warmed by the heating vent.

The smell of potpourri on the stove.  The kind with the orange and cloves and cinnamon simmering away on a fall afternoon.  I think I love that it not only smells fresh and homey, but also that it was essentially free and I know that it's not messing with my health, it's natural.

The satisfaction and the tired feeling of a really productive day.  They usually start early and with a plan.  Not all days need to be, but I love a great day of yard work and house work or just getting more done than I thought.

Cuddled up on the couch in late afternoon with a pillow and blanket and the breeze wafting over me and being woken by the kids coming home from school one by one.

A handwritten love note amid the bills and junk mail, not an obligatory thank you note, something just out of the blue, completely unexpected.  It rarely happens.  But it has.  And I love it so much.  It carries me for days.

Flowers on the table cut from our yard.   I love how cheerful they are.  And that they’re free.

Walking through Hobby Lobby and Michael’s and even Target’s holiday section starting at Halloween time.  I love the tiny house displays—I’d love to lift my kids to show them the moving parts.  I love the colors, the reminder of fall and winter holidays.  It’s as if all is right in the world when all we have to worry about is decorating for the next occasion.

Peanut butter and chocolate.  In just about anything.  Smoothies, candy, granola bars, ice cream.  I’m a sucker for it all.

The blue tube of $4 Cover Girl mascara that I’ve been using for years.  Holds up exceptionally well under teary conditions.  I hear.

Watching tv as a family, could be a church clip, stand up comedy, a Redbox movie or just re-runs of Little House or Brady Bunch that I’m trying to introduce to my kids.  Just a cozy, intimate time cuddled under fuzzy blankets with homemade popcorn.

New shoes.  If I was rich this is what I’d splurge on.  Good quality ones for every occasion.

My lettuce knife.  It is the color of lettuce—bright green—and plastic.  I know Pampered Chef sells them, but I got mine for $3.99.  It prevents lettuce from turning brown, it’s totally light-weight, and a gem!

The smell and feel of a brand new paperback.  Intoxicating.

Fruit salad.  If I was on a deserted island and could have only one food for the rest of my life, this would be it.  I have it breakfast, lunch, and dinner many, many days of my life.  Any combination, any size pieces.  Cool and refreshing with blasts of flavor of all kinds.  Love!!!

The swimsuit makeovers in Good Housekeeping and of course What Not to Wear.  I don’t know why.  I think because we all have flaws and I love how they can make everyone look good!

A new entry in the book Todd and I share with Bronwyn.  It goes back and forth between us each night with us writing questions and answers to each other.  I love her little messages to us!

Lunch at a park next to a river or creek or waterfall in the middle of a road trip.  Better than a nasty fast-food place for sure.  Peaceful, beautiful sounds.  I love the smell of pine trees and watching the critters around us.  I love that it’s healthier, cheaper, so very, very us.

A couple hours in the middle of the day to sit and write with no interruptions.

Seasonal paper napkins with pretty designs. Totally my mom’s daughter!!

Reading on the couch to my kids.  We’re in the middle of a chapter book, but we still do picture books.  They’re 10 and 12.  I’m holding out.  It’s probably the only thing I do as a mom than I’m 100% confident about, certain that I’m getting it right.

The Christmas issues of all my favorite magazines, a peek into dream world!

Lying on one of the kids’ beds in the middle of the day sort of resting, mostly just cuddling and talking.

Indulging in a movie just for me.  Doesn’t have to satisfy anyone else.  It can be cheesy, romantic, motivational, a documentary, it can scream my name and no one will judge me.

A new email in my in-box that isn’t about scheduling something or giving me an assignment.  An email where a friend or sister or kid shares what’s going on inside.  I love a conversation that goes back and forth throughout the day as we analyze life from a variety of angles.

Being invited to someone’s house.  For any reason.  Any occasion.  I love taking a night off.  I love not having to clean my own house.  I love the company.  Mostly I love that someone thought of us.  Even if we can’t go.  I love that someone made the effort.

Movie theater popcorn.  And everything about the whole movie theater experience.  It’s like $100 for our family to go, so it hardly ever happens.  But I LOVE it.

Watching romantic Christmas movies with the girls and knowing they’re crying too.

Falling asleep listening to Todd and the kids playing their game.  Especially on a holiday when it goes extra late.

Getting my hair cut.  All the parts.  From the smell of the shampoo and massage as it’s being washed to the finishing spritz of the fancy hairspray and the extra smooth way it feels as I leave.

Putting on jeans on a late summer evening when you sense a touch of fall in the air.  I love the warm caress that hugs me tight.

Randomly going for ice cream in the next town over on a summer evening.  On a weekday.

Camping with everyone in the same tent and falling asleep all cuddled together.

Sandals and painted toes.

When someone totally understands.  A conversation when I felt completely heard and validated.  That’s all I really ever want, just to connect.

Cozy talk with one or two other couples around our fireplace on a late weekend night.

Saving a bundle because of good timing and coupons that worked out.  With free shipping to boot.

The perfect lipstick.  You have no idea how hard it is to find.

Short filed nails with clear polish.

The smell of Mary Kay and Ponds.  Even after more than twenty years of using them.

Freshly mowed lawn on a late Saturday afternoon, ready for the night’s company.  I don’t even care that the tiny blades litter our kitchen floor.  It just feels so fresh and tidy!

My annual hour-long massage in that dark cozy room with the pretty music and candles.  I love the heated table, the smelly lotion, and her soft warm blankets.  Heavenly.

Tahitian Renewal body wash.  I’ve tried a million others and I always go back. 

A freshly vacuumed vehicle.  Sort of embarrassing how good something so little can make me feel.

This great invention, Cover Gray.  It comes in a tube like lipstick but is about the consistency of shoe polish.  Whatever, it stretches the time between coloring if you’re dark-headed like me but have just enough grays to not be able to pull it off.

Two-packet hot chocolate made with milk.

The smell coming out of dryer vents when we’re on our neighborhood walks.

Lemonade/strawberry slushies I make in our blender (just lemon juice, sugar, frozen strawberries and water).  I was desperate for a treat this summer and we had no cookies.

You’ll laugh, but I love buying my kids new socks and underwear.  I feel so motherly, so in-tune with even the small details of their lives, and so grateful to be able to provide the basics.  I guess I just think of all the moms in the world who can’t, and so it just makes me so happy.

The perfume Todd and I fought over two Mother’s Days ago because it’s so expensive.  But I love it.  Dolci & Gabbana.

Driving to the airport to pick up Aunt Cheri or nana.  I think this about tops the kids’ lists.

Getting to my doctor appointments early and having a stack of Good Housekeepings nearby.  I don’t care how behind the doctor is—I’m in my happy place.

A clear desk, all the bills and papers filed away.  Or, to be honest, a desk with papers and junk just waiting for me to organize.

Fruit-smelling shaving cream made just for girls.  I always use soap because it’s cheaper.  But it is so indulgent to use the can of cream.

My huge white tablecloth that fits our table even with the extensions and white cloth napkins.  I love how black and white embellishments make a sophisticated tablescape, Christmas is magical, and even pastel Easter candies and napkins and flowers look sweet and lovely.

A song on the radio that makes you think back to being a teenager, summoning up a whole collection of memories in just a few seconds.  I can’t help but smile remembering back to being young.  I’m a sucker for the old slow country songs of the early 90s because they were my backdrop to falling in love with Todd.  Even now when we’re driving or I’m just working alone at home, those same feelings come to life and I’m a young college freshman falling in love all over again.

Fleece-lined tights.  My sister bought me a pair a few years back and they are revolutionary.  Slide right under even slimmer jeans.  I like the ones with feet and then I add thick socks.  For a wimp like me, it’s just what the doctor ordered.

Nights when the house is clean and smells good and friends are coming over and all the window sills have three twinkling candle votives with more on the table.  It feels so cozy and romantic.

Chocolate chip skillet cookies with hot fudge and vanilla ice cream.  Hands down one of my very favorite parts of life.

Topped only by having my family all home for the night, connecting after a busy day, knowing we’re not getting even most of it right, but feeling that we’re tight as a family.  That, if nothing else, we really do have a good relationship with each other and with each of the kids.  I could skip the whole list and be content if all I had was this.