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
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