Parenting the olders

I had to apologize to my daughter.  Back on Sunday I suggested she figure out a way to do her homework earlier in the weekend so she wouldn’t be so stressed and so she could keep Sundays clear for doing things as a family. Which she always makes time for, she’s great like that.  It’s just that her dad and I learned that Sundays were so much more peaceful in college when we weren’t worrying about our homework or tests, and we wanted to pass along our collective wisdom.  But as we talked she said it felt like I was judging her any time I shared one of my good ideas.

You may not know this about me, but this is when I shut down.  Self preservation takes hold.  In my mind I resolved to not make any other suggestions to her or the older kids. Ever.  I mean, of course it didn’t last, as a mom I still find myself wanting to offer unsolicited advice all the time, but I’m learning quickly that no one wants it.

But what am I needed for then?  What do teens and young adults need moms for?  Yes, I wrote her school a check for fees in the next breath. Dinner possibly.  When she’s ever home.  But is that it?

This happened again last night.  In fact, I turned over and went to sleep, upset with Todd and our conversation, I just bowed out altogether, so mature of me.  We were talking about what our young adults need from us as parents.  His thoughts were actually the exact same as mine:  nothing really.  They don’t need us to check in to see if they’re reading their scriptures or saving their money or eating right.  They may need to bounce some ideas off us as they’re charting their course and making decisions about dating and majors, but honestly, that’s about all.  But I was sad and a little mad because I felt like Todd was insinuating that I butt into their business too much.  And I was embarrassed.  Because I try so hard not to.  I feel like I’m constantly holding back.  I have so much advice I’d love to impart, so many good ideas, so much I’ve learned!  And yet I try to keep most of it to myself.  But I felt like he was telling me I meddle too much.  Which is exactly comical because we’re the least hands-on parents I know of.  I knew he was talking in generalities, but I wondered if I was even a little bit guilty.  A little pride surfaced as I recognized I have been on occasion.

It’s just that I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it’s over.  After all I’ve (we’ve) invested, now we’re on par with any other adult mentors our kids have grown up with.  They don’t seem to need us as parents as much as simply go-to, easy-to-reach counselors for scheduling and financial needs and a place to go for holidays.

I’ve mulled all this over so much the past few years.  I’ve asked everyone I can think of.  I and my friends who are in the same stage all shrug to each other, each of us as baffled as the next.  I’ve wondered when the What to Expect When They’re All Grown Up edition is due to come out, I’m running out of time.

Every year as I get further and further from the starting line, I realize this is what all my older friends have been trying to tell me.  As I become more of the matron at so many lunches these days, and as the kids we used to have playgroup with grow up and get married, I’m seeing how it all comes full circle.  We’ve decided this is why we cry so easily these days.  It’s because we’ve seen life from beginning to end. Todd and I have experienced babies and toddlers and school years fully engaged, close relatives and friends have passed on, we’ve raised a couple of sons to adulthood, we’re catching a glimpse of what the next phase might look like as our friends’ kids are getting married and having kids themselves. We’re seeing firsthand what really matters in life, I feel like we at least get that.  And so of course I want to shout it from the rooftops.

When our kids are worried or wondering, when they’re at a crossroads or wandering, when we can see clearly what might help and when we’re seeing them struggle with things we’ve gone through ourselves, it’s natural to want to offer some input. But I can’t.  Unless they ask.  It’s just something I intuitively know as a parent.  And that’s what Todd was saying last night, but I took offense thinking he was implying that’s what I was doing.

It’s just hard for me to transition out of the only real job I’ve cared about.  To abdicate my favorite role I’ve ever had (even though I still have the title, it feels like emeritus status). It’s hard to see my life’s lessons not benefitting someone else.  Honestly, even though it’s super easy in most ways, this actually might be the hardest stint of all as a parent.  Because now I’m left to watch them use everything we’ve tried to teach them.  And when they struggle I feel like I failed them, I inevitably ask myself why I didn’t teach them better, why didn’t we cover that, why don’t they get it, where was I? But it’s futile to get caught up in that kind of thinking.  I would do better now that I’ve learned some things, but that’s all I had to give at the time I was raising my littles.  They’ll have to figure out the rest on their own.  And we need to let that happen.

So when it comes down to it, as a parent of olders, here’s all I feel to do.

Pray.

Support.

Listen.

And keep ourselves and our marriage and family relationships strong.

But above all, simply love them.  Through it all.  Just let them know without equivocation that our love is always and forever available, nothing they can do can change or diminish it.

That’s it. I can’t think of anything else they want from us or anything we could possibly do that would actually benefit them.  As Todd reminded me, anything more would just push them away from us.  So I’m learning to step back, to take on more of a supportive role, to humbly recognize I’m not needed the way I once was, to know that while I’ll always be a mom, the job description just obviously needs to change a bit as they grow older.

Post-Thanksgiving funk

Along with most American women, I spent the good part of Wednesday in the kitchen prepping for Thanksgiving.  I taped the list for the two days on the cabinets and enlisted some help from the kids, just a productive day of cooking and dishes.  Same with Thursday.  Although nothing to write home about, it all turned out fine.  But it did all kind of make me a little tired.

Friday Todd was up at 4:30 to go hunting.  Which means I ended up just getting up as soon as he left, too close to my normal time.  So I exercised at 5:30 and was ready for the day when the kids got up and were getting ready to go snowboarding/skiing.  They had a frightful drive, sliding and slipping down the mountain; they just couldn’t get up and had to come back, so sad.

But by this time I’d dragged all the Christmas boxes from the garage, maybe twelve 18-gallon totes.  Not a lot by some standards, but it took longer than you’d think to get get around the piles in the garage.  I had a huge mess on my hands by the time they got home a couple hours later.  Piles of greenery and lights to sort through, everyday decorations to pack up for the season, and candles and nativities to remember where I’d put last year.  But the kids came home giddy, energized, ready for a day out.  They wanted to go shopping and to lunch, but the kids had one of their favorite cousin-friends along, as well as their brother from college.  I knew as a mom I would just get in the way of their fun, plus I hate shopping for no good reason especially when it’s crowded, and the last thing I felt like doing was eating out. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with the shrapnel everywhere, the dryer wasn’t working and needed some attention, and I had a couple Christmas projects I wanted to work on. Besides, the 12 of us would be gathering again that night for dinner and I hated the disarray the house was in. I had planned in my mind a day at home to do Christmas stuff, uncover the kitchen from all that cooking, get caught up on all the laundry, and maybe even get to my quilt or puzzle.  I just didn’t have it in me to fight crowds, to deal with the materialism out there, or to eat fast food.  I was admittedly torn though.  Of course I want to be that kind of mom and friend.  But I paid attention to how I was feeling and knew it would be ok this once to take a step back and let the kids just go have fun on their own.

And today we did it all over again; the kids are all back up the mountain, Todd left for fishing long ago.  And I’m home to putter all over again.  Which is fine, I actually love a sink full of dishes and tidying up.  I love the whole house to myself.  It’s calm and quiet and I can do whatever I want.

But I found myself a little grumpy last night and it’s carried over to this morning.  I know my emotions are really just my thoughts and so I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on.  Maybe a couple of things.  I feel a tad bit resentful that everyone else is off doing something really fun and different from everyday life  and I’m left behind to pick up the pieces, the shards of breakfast, lunch makings, and dinner from the night before, just like regular life.  Todd asked last night if we were going to get out all the Christmas stuff.  To which I told him I’d just spent the whole day decorating.  Sigh.  But I tried to be positive and point out that we didn’t have the tree yet and so it’s hard to tell, it would make a difference once we did that.  Good grief.  I was also thinking of my 17 year old daughter who is very aware of women’s roles, especially in the family. And I wonder what kind of example I’m setting for her, that I’m just staying home helping everyone on their way to a good time.  Is that all she thinks I’m for?  I also think deep down I’m embarrassed by how un-fun I am in traditional ways, that I don’t have anything interesting to contribute to conversations about what we did over the weekend, and that I’m so easily amused and content with cleaning out a closet while listening to a podcast.

But then I thought, Caren, let’s be honest.  You hate snow sports.  And the cold. There’s no way you’d go hunting or fishing all day.  You hate shopping (unless you have a purposeful list).  And besides, you actually love puttering at home.  You like decorating for Christmas on your own listening to your music, you like getting the dishes and laundry done, writing, and having time to think.  You’re really into your quiet home life, so why are you disgruntled?

I didn’t know.  So I asked myself what I’d like to do all day if I could just play.  And I immediately thought of writing.  I love, love, love to write.  And I can never think straight with a house full of commotion, so it’s perfect to do on a cold wintry day all by myself.

Except it makes me a little sad.  And unmotivated.  Because I wonder what the point is.  No one but my mom and like two girlfriends even reads what I write. Why do I invest my time and heart just to throw it to the wind and have it disappear into the cyber-world abyss?  And yet I know it’s ok that I just get some practice in and that it’s none of my business if people don’t read it. It can just be for me, I get that; I just need to be ok with that.

It’s just that I wonder what my identity is.  Not always, but occasionally on weekends like this.  Do I have hobbies, talents, loves, or possibly even abilities that define or describe me?  Or am I just a mom and a friend who makes things pleasant for other people while they go about pursuing real life?

It’s still early in the day and in my questioning, and so I’m not sure.  But I’m having a couple of thoughts for myself.  Continue to embrace what you love.  You truly do enjoy making things nice for your family and your friends.  You like keeping things running smoothly and it makes you happy to provide a home where people gather and feel comfortable, you love seeing your friends and family enjoying a home cooked meal, chattering and laughing.  Admit that, be ok with it.  And then take things a little further.  What else would you like to do or be?  You have a choice to make more of yourself, you’re not stuck with who you already are.  And so work on your writing and sewing, but try something new (we talked about cross country skiing as a family—something I’ve enjoyed), volunteer in different, uncomfortable ways (something I actually looked into yesterday while I was eating my sandwich—yikes!), and find some activities that speak to you.  Become the person you want to be, don’t assume this is all there is to you.

So that’s my pep talk to myself this morning. I’m loving the hum of the dishwasher, the swishy sound of the clothes washer, the freshly-vacuumed rugs, the tidiness of a put-together house.  Of course I derive joy from such things, that’s genuinely who I am.  So instead of feeling resentful or sorry for myself because I’m here and they’re all out there, I choose to remind myself of that. But as I putter, I’m going to be considering other possible enriching ways to spend the rest of my time.

I know this is mostly just for me, but I wonder if there’s a lesson in this for all of us.  How often do we look around and tell ourselves we’re missing out, we’re not that kind, we could never do that, we’re not good at that?  I heard a little rumbling like that from my two daughters as they were prepping for their ski day.  They have very little experience, and one confided she hopes she does ok and doesn’t embarrass herself.  To which the other consoled, no one can see her under all that stuff anyway so it wouldn’t matter.  I’m just proud of them for trying something new-ish, for being brave, for getting out of their comfort zone.

And I guess that’s something we can all reflect on.  Are we truly stuck in a job we’re not crazy about, hobbies we’ve just had because our parents liked them, an identity that everyone knows us by but feels a little stifling?  Or can we change, can we do something different, can we at least entertain the possibility?  I guess that’s where I’ve come to this morning.  Yes, keep the parts that work, the hobbies and elements of your life that are serving you, but maybe consider that there might be more.

Thankful

Sunday was another brisk (but beautifully bright) windy, wintry day, so we congregated on the love seats around the fire as we made our yearly lists.  There’s always a bit of commotion among the males of the family when I tell everyone to gather and to bring their journals.  Callum can rarely find his without hints from me; Todd never knows where his is even though it’s always on his closet shelf.  (I must say, that was one of the best buys I ever made: a gift for him—with name engraved no less—back when we were freshmen in college.  It has lasted all these years with nary a scuff and several pages left for future musings.  And I like his wistful, reminiscent look as he reads pages from years and years ago. So endearing.)  But finally we all settle in.  Except no one (but Avery with her vintage fashion pouch full) has a pen.  Good grief.  It’s not like this is our first rodeo, we do this every single Thanksgiving.  And a lot of other Sundays. Finally, like half an hour after I suggest it, we’re ready. For the love.

It’s nothing fancy.  Super simple. No surprise there. We just take maybe ten minutes to list all the things that come to mind that we’re grateful for.  No order.  No prioritizing.  Just an emptying of our minds.  Callum and Bronwyn listed theirs in ABC order.  Todd had little paragraphs, fascinating.  I could only get through the past weekend before they started shifting in their couch seats.  But as I thought about the holiday upon us as I was kneading my bread this morning, I want to go back.  And add to my list.  And turn another page.  Because there’s so much more I’m thankful for.

Like our septic smell we lived with all summer.  Because now we know there’s a issue before it’s a super problem—yay! And I’m thrilled it can wait till next summer so we can save the $5,000 to replace it.

And our gravel driveway that turns to mud when it rains or snows.  Because it will propel us to make a cute little walkway (eventually).

That Todd put our Brittany Spaniel dog, Amber, down.  She was like 14 (we can’t remember) and fell down the stairs sometimes.  I had to lift her out of her crate in the mornings.  Although she was occasionally frisky and ran about in circles, most of the time she looked tired and gray and sore.  She sought us out when she needed a rub or a love, but mostly she slept in her crate.  So I’m grateful she’s feeling better, more like her old (young) self.  It makes me happy thinking of her running carefree with our other dogs we’ve loved, with her little friends, in heaven.  I’m glad she’s moved on; and I’m grateful for all the years we had with her.

For all the times Andrew calls us out of the blue.  I know he’s just bored and passing the time and trying not to look like he doesn’t have anyone to talk to as he walks across campus, I’m not an idiot.  But I love that our relationship is good enough that he’s comfortable calling to talk about nothing sometimes.  Or his program.  Or dating.  Or his knives.  After two years of having him gone and not being able to talk to him, the past year and a half has been such a gift.  I feel like I have my son back and that we gained a friend to boot.

For dog hair.  And puddles.  And piles.  And chewed up trash.  Because that means we have pets!  And it reminds me of what really matters and what’s not really all that important.  Even with the rugs we’ve have to toss, the paper towels and disinfectant we’ve gone through, the hours I’ve spent on laundry and floors and vacuuming and sweeping and dusting, it’s worth it when I see one of the dogs on a kid’s bed, everyone content and in love with the moment.  When it’s been that kind of day, there’s nothing like the unconditional love and acceptance of a dog.

For our camping memories in the Ozarks.  When the canoe tipped and the kids fell out.  When the raccoons ate our food in the night.  When Avery got an infection all down her leg from a scrape on a rock in the river.  When poor B got the wind knocked out of her, scaring her to death, as she jumped from the cliff rock.  Feeling relief wash over me as I discovered she was ok.  When Dad unplugged the hotel fridge and melted all the ice cream we’d bought.  When Avery forgot her toothbrush and had to use her finger.  When we left our road trip food and containers at our friends’ house.  As it poured buckets as we arrived at our hotel and had to unload in the cold wet, and when it rained all the way home and cancelled our picnicking plans.  But so fun to be together scrunched in a mini-van for a week! These memories are etched in our minds forever, and we grew closer as a family as we problem-solved and sweat and bickered and teased.

That somehow we keep making it despite all our money mistakes.  I have no idea how it works, it’s like magic.  We try so hard, but we are clearly no gurus.  We’re just still figuring things out.  Yep, even all these years later.

For experiences with a severed heart.  Because they’ve given me nowhere to turn but to Todd and God.  For the reminder to pray for my enemies.  For the consolation that God knows what’s going on and for the absolute trust I have in him despite what it looks like.

For the good ideas that make me tired.  But excited.  I wish I could execute them all, some of them scare me, some are too uncomfortable for me.  But I love that he sends them.  That he even thinks he can use me.

That I have learned so much.  It’s so humbling to look back and see how dumb I’ve been.  I cringe when I think of it all.  But I’m so glad we can change, that everyone makes mistakes and that the people who really know me give me the benefit of the doubt.

For all the books and movies and puzzles and projects I never got to.  Must’ve been doing something with real people instead.

For such a fun house to clean! Some are so tidy and already so clean, but ours is the best! There’s always something to clean. It makes such a difference when I finally put things away or get to a bathroom, the kids even notice and ask if I had a luncheon!  Still reeling from one of my favorite days this whole year: a day at home puttering, cleaning out the sewing room while listening to my favorite podcast.  In MY GLORY!  So yeah, totally happy with our house that always needs attention.

For all the food I’ve burnt, for the dinners that flopped.  Especially the ones I needed to take to someone else. Oh MY!  I guess the good in this is that I’m still learning.  Keeps me from thinking I’m all that, that I can handle things, that I’m some kind of kitchen pro.  I get it.

That I’m not a quality time gal.  How taxing would that be with a husband like Todd!  He’s gone every day 8-6:30, most Saturdays, nearly every night with either a project or church and from September to January hunting. Don’t get me wrong, I love our standing Thursday lunch dates; of course I love it when we get some time together like when we watch a show or go for long walks or read our country magazines in bed, but I’m so grateful it’s not my top love language! We would be at odds all the time if it were!

For the few pounds I continue to hang on to.  My clothes still fit and I don’t have to spend money on skinny jeans; my old ones fit just fine. :)  And I loved the consolation a friend gave me: as we age we need some extra weight so that when we get really old and sick we will have a reserve to borrow from.  Never considered myself a prepper exactly, but I do believe in doing what we can to prepare for future catastrophes and what have you, so that totally floated my boat!  Also grateful we’ve never owned a scale and that I only have to face it when I go to the doctor like twice a year.

That it’s not all sunshine and roses.  I love a cloudy gray rainy day.  And I love crunchy leaves that cover our entire yard and take days to rake.  I’m ok with an off day, a little sadness, a bit of heaviness, an uncomfortable situation now and then.  Because these bluish times force me to problem-solve, to look for the good, to turn to God, to lean in to Todd and my family, to humble myself, to appreciate the brighter days.  I’m thankful for my everyday days.  For the ordinary in life.  That I get to cook dinner so we can be together at the end of the day, for hunting season that gives Todd something to look forward to, that Callum doesn’t have his license quite yet so we can still ride together, for college and missions that help me appreciate my far-away kids, for laundry that shrinks and missed dentist appointments, for a house torn apart, and for kids who are growing up and away before my eyes.  Things change and things fall apart, life is a mess and so are the people in it.  But I choose to find the good.  And to be thankful in all things.

But I am

A friend posted a photo of her writing in her last page of her journal that she started back in 2016.  Loved it! Her post reminded me that I used to fill up a journal every year.  Which is sort of funny.  I don’t know how I ever had time to write that much in high school or with a house full of littles.  But now that I have all the time in the world, I hardly ever write in my journal! So I was impressed that she’d filled one up in two years.  Yay! I think she was discouraged at how long it had taken, I was just amazed at what she had accomplished!

And so she caused me to think if I ever feel that way, do I tend to notice what I haven’t done instead of what I have? Yes! In so many instances, in so many parts of my days, in so many different ways… I see where I’m falling short.  And the words that leap to my mind are I’m not.  When that happens I—and we—have a choice: to give in and collect validation for that theme or remind myself—ourselves—of all that we are doing.  

I get down on myself when I’m with a group of women who are on fire about their eating and exercising, they are committed, die-hard, and inspiring.  I find that I’m telling myself, I’m not that way.  I’m not as disciplined.  I couldn’t commit to that kind of lifestyle.  I couldn’t do a workout that hard. Or run that far. But instead I’ve decided to remind myself… but I am exercising.  And I do try to be careful about what I eat.  And this is just where I am right now.

I was talking to some friends lately about questions that I have about the temple.  They seem to have all the answers.  I initially felt dumb and lazy for even asking and started to tell myself, I guess I’m not there yet.  Instead I told myself, but I am going.  I am committed to learning. I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but I’m there every week.  And I’m sure someday I’ll figure things out.  For now, I am where I am.

We’re not the kind of family to have grand discussions about our scripture reading. I wish we were.  I’m just pleased that we even make the effort.   We’re not fast or that engaged, it’s nothing memorable or even very touching.  But we’re doing it. (Mostly.) We are sticking with it.

I’m not a stellar housekeeper. I’ve never had a super clean house.  It’s mostly picked up.  But there is always dog hair.  And it doesn’t always smell awesome (maybe partly because of the dogs and partly because I cook with a lot of onions and garlic?).  But I try.  I do make an effort.  And, if nothing else (actually above all else), I hope it feels comfy, welcoming, and like home to all who stop by or stay with us.  I am ok with messes.  Some aren’t I guess. 

I see my friend’s quilts and amazing sewn creations and I awe.  I’m not a great seamstress. I wish so much I could be like her.  I covet her skill and creativity and talent, I’ll admit it.  But I have to remind myself.  I am a quilt maker too.  They just aren’t very difficult.  Or fancy.  They’re mostly because we needed some napping blankets.  I haven’t put in the time to develop that hobby.  But I am interested.  And dappling in it.

I’m not very developed in my writing.  Something else I would love to become good at.  But I am trying.  Simply and only because I do it.  I am putting my words out there.  I am practicing.  By being true to my voice, by taking a chance, by sharing my experiences. While I’m not a great writer, I am not hiding my thoughts, I’m exploring what it feels like to express myself.

I’m not a very fast reader.  I’m not a very intelligent reader.  I don’t read hard stuff. But I remind myself I am a reader.  Just a little slower than most. I may not understand the classics, but I love non-fiction, especially current social issues and biographies.  I may not be a good reader, but I am a consistent reader.

I’ve always been embarrassed by my more serious personality, it’s no secret that I’m not super outgoing or fun.  I never have been.  But I am a true friend. Safe.  And dependable.  So maybe that counts.

I’m not a very adventurous cook.  Or a great cook.  I’m just not that interested in it.  But I am persistent.  I make dinner for my family almost every night of the week.  I’ll cook for anyone, bring treats or food to anything, make dinner for whoever needs it.  So while it’s not the most exciting or tasty, there is almost always plenty.  I am willing.

I’d love to be the kind to adopt.  Or foster.  But I’m not.  At least not in the foreseeable future.  I’m aware of the need, I have friends who are naturals, and I’m torn between feeling inspired and guilty.  But as I welcomed another dog into our home this afternoon, for a total of four at the moment, I reminded myself that, for whatever it’s worth, I am willing to house animals, no problem. Not everyone would be ok with the chaos and smell and mess; I am.

And so it goes.  I think we tend to berate or belittle ourselves for all that we aren’t.  What we aren’t doing or what we haven’t become.  But I believe that’s just a waste of time.  We would be better off dismissing the negative chatter.  Let’s cheer ourselves on and remind ourselves of our unique gifts and personalities and perspectives.  I know you are all doing amazing work within your various spheres of influence, so instead of looking around at what we aren’t doing, let’s instead look at all we are.

Shower power

Growing up in San Diego, our Saturday beach outings are etched indelibly my mind.  After a sultry day in the sun and sand and surf, I remember using the little outdoor showers where we could rinse off before loading ourselves back in the station wagon.  Our skin and feet felt soft once more, itchy sand abolished from bathing suits, clean(ish) after all those hours of boogie boarding and sunbathing, a satisfying ending to our stay.

I know you know what I’m talking about.  The absolute exhale when you finally can take a shower after an extended camping stint, for instance.  It’s fine while you’re all together, everyone smelling like stale campfire, you just make do.  It’s best if the weather is temperate, maybe spring or fall.  Not so good when the days are warm and sweaty.  But you’ve been there, you know how rejuvenating it is to have that first shower when you get back.  In fact, as we make our re-entry to civilization, it’s almost all we can think about, first thing on the agenda as soon as we unload.

Or after a hearty morning workout.  I can’t think of many things taking precedence to getting in the shower.  I just want to clean up and feel fresh again, I know I’ll feel energized and eager to start the day once that’s done. I hate lingering in work out clothes and rarely ever do. I’m always anxious to leave that part of the day behind and move on.

In a different but similar way, there’s no faster way to warm up after an afternoon in the snow or a day out in the winter hiking, skiing, or hunting.  When you’re chilled-to-the-bone-cold, not much feels better than drenching your skin with almost hot water and letting it cascade all over, soaking into your muscles.  So relaxing and caressing.

I’ve heard of missionaries taking cold showers for two years.  I’ve had a few of my own when we’ve run out of hot water.  I know things could be worse, but it is a harsh start to the day.  It’s easy to feel grateful for warm water after going without, but I vowed after one Christmas Eve cold shower that I would appreciate my showers every time from then on.  I decided I never wanted to take this luxury for granted again.  It truly is one of my favorite parts of the day.  And I love that I can take one any time I want.  If it’s been a sweaty yard day, if I just want to get ready for going out at night, if I’ve been working in the dusty garage, it’s a tiny indulgence that tickles my senses and elevates my mood.

I’ve done quite a bit of thinking in the shower, as I’m sure most of you have.  It’s where I can finally be alone to face the realities in my head.  I have cried a lot of tears over the years, taking advantage of the water to muffle my sadness. Because often I’m simply not at a place to talk.  I don’t know why I’m sad, or it’s too overwhelming, we’ve been talking about it too much already and I’m embarrassed that I’m not over it.  Whatever the case, it’s provided me some privacy and a little respite while I’ve examined my thoughts on my own.  Likewise, I remember appreciating of the din of the fan and the water in my early mom years as I slipped out for a little pause from crying babies.  Maybe selfish, maybe smart.  A tiny secluded space, a little pick-me-up fragrance, the cacophony of water droplets all coalescing into the perfect reprieve and occasion to breathe and pull myself together.

I’ve thought about the obvious symbolism.  Because as much as I relish the feeling of being clean, even more than I need a shower after a long camping trip, I need the refreshment of changing, of repenting, of letting go, of moving on after a full day of mishaps.  Just like I’m not prone to skip a day of showering, I can’t imagine not being able to wash away the soils of my emotional day.

I think back to miscommunications with friends and family members.  How something I said was mistaken.  How I was flippant.  How I was short-tempered. How my pride got in the way.  How I missed an opportunity to serve or be kind or to notice. I hate the burden of such awkward interactions, the heaviness of my humanness, the memories that make me flinch.

But just as the shower can soothe me, nothing feels better than clearing the air with someone I love and care about.  After a long day or however long it’s been, I love the sense of relief and peace I feel once we’ve resolved things.  I feel light, even a little like floating. The world looks brighter, in a giddy, Pollyanna sort of way. I didn’t realize how unsettled or weighed down I’d felt, similar to not noticing how dirty I’d gotten camping or how cold I’d been walking around in the snow, until now.

Maybe it’s like those campers at some of the state parks we’ve been to where free hot showers are available all day, who wouldn’t grab their miniature bottles of shampoo and take advantage of an amenity like that?  But some don’t, maybe too much trouble, too much time away from fishing or the fire, maybe they don’t realize how disheveled they’ve become. But maybe we’re not that different, choosing to live with our dirt instead of simply apologizing to a child or spouse we’ve offended or talking to God about weaknesses that we’re still grappling with or asking for forgiveness when we’ve been overbearing or arrogant.

I guess I just know I feel more cheerful when I’ve made the effort to clean things up, to wash off the grime and work and mistakes of the day.  A shower can serve as a routine physical reminder to check my heart, to notice if anything’s amiss, if there are any messes I can attend to, if I’ve done something I’m embarrassed by or feeling off about.  It’s my time to commit to make amends, to clear what I can, to wash away past misdeeds and to begin again, facing the day fresh with no mistakes in it. Yet.