Cautious

One of my biggest fears growing up was quicksand.  I lived in San Diego so I’m not sure how that got stuck in my head, but for some reason it made the short list.  Not so much anymore.  Currently it’s bears.  Mice.  Getting kidnapped and shoved in trunk (actually more of a life-long fear).  Being asked to serve as a general women’s leader in the church and having people know I have no idea about the scriptures stories.  Losing my husband or kids.  Going to jail.

I don’t know how likely any of those scenarios are, but I can tell you that I base my actions around my fears to some extent. Well, when possible.  I live on a (tiny) farm.  Obviously mice abound.  I also live in Montana and tent-camp all the time, even in Glacier a couple of times where bears have been seen only days before; we hike in the mountains (with bear spray).  I’m trying to learn my stories and keep all the bible characters straight (possibly a lost cause).  Just in case.  I avoid sketchy scenes and rely on my intuition and confidence to avert possible kidnappings.  I also don’t travel to the middle East much.  But the jail one is tough.  Because I’m afraid of doing something on accident that will kill someone.  Not with a gun.  With my van.  Vehicular homicide.  Manslaughter.  Those words pierce my soul.  And cause me great anxiety.

With that fear in mind, I swear I’ve had the thought a million times to not text while I’m driving.  Which I’ve dismissed so often.  The roads we travel are fast and somewhat empty.  And so I’ll admit I’ve called my mom and Todd and others when no one’s around.  But over the years, I’ve become more hesitant about doing that and definitely more vigilant.  Because that thought persists.  I don’t know if it’s God or the ad campaigns. 

But I think it’s God warning me.  I think it’s Him telling me no message or conversation is worth a possible disaster.  My biggest fear is causing an accident and killing someone—not me, but an innocent victim.  We hear this happening all the time.  Maybe mostly among teenagers?  But I’ve seen countless grown ups over the years coming toward me, drifting into my side of the road, which is scary as we’re facing each other just feet apart on these two lane roads going 60-70 miles an hour.  As I look back to see what the problem was, they’re nearly always on their phones.  I’ll be honest, I’ve got my phone right beside me.  My van is my office and I have all sorts of equipment within arm’s reach: tape, scissors, notepad, cards, pens.  My phone is just an extension of all that.  You know how uptight I am about wasting resources of any kind, but time feels like my most valuable of all and I maximize every minute I can, especially when I’m driving.  That’s when I can make appointments, arrange activities with friends, do my church calls, talk with family, check in with the kids.  But I’ve felt strongly to be on-guard, to really be mindful about what I’m doing.  And so I look forward to red lights, my go-ahead to text and call. I know it just takes seconds; I know I could just punch in the numbers when I’m moving, send my reply, just be quick, no one would know.  And yet, all it takes is bad timing.  A second without looking.  Averted focus.  Loss of concentration.  It could all change in a moment.

I’ve thought about this a lot.  I’m pretty lackadaisical about most things.  I don’t mind messes at all.  We’re not a scheduled family by any stretch.  We’re not hard-core.  Except when comes to driving and texting.  Or our marriage.  As I’ve driven—with nothing to type and only my mind to keep me occupied—I’ve had plenty of time to consider what other parts of my life I’m that careful about.  Probably not our animals (they’ve certainly been left out all night, gone without food and water, overheated, been left in the cold) or our doors (can’t tell you how many times they’ve been left unlocked and even wide open to the snow and elements overnight).  Not my health (you know about my cookie issues—yesterday it was six) or what I read (I’m super inconsistent).  I definitely thought about my spirituality and considered it to be at the top of this two-item list.  But I realized that my convictions don’t change because I don’t read my scriptures one day.  That sort of takes some time. That has to do with habits.  But then I thought about parenting and our kids.  They are absolutely up there on my list.  But I actually decided there are very few mistakes we make with our kids that will completely change everything.  They’re flexible. Forgiving. Obviously, when they’re young, one mistake can kill them.  Flying off a counter, pouring oil on a flame, stuff like that.  So yeah, I guess that counts.  I was thinking more of interactions, the relationship.  And maybe we could consider marriage in the same light.  I believe it takes years for a marriage to fall apart, just like our convictions or other relationships.  And yet, just like a moment’s indiscretion with texting, our marriages can crumble in an instant. I don’t drink, but I’ve lived long enough, read enough and listened to enough country songs to know a night out can change everything.  Which is why I say a marriage is different than any other relationship.  Because it’s the only one with that kind of intimacy, the one relationship where you take your hands off the wheel for just a moment, and you’ve crashed.

As I’ve thought about the ramifications of being distracted, I’ve determined to be more cognizant of what I’m doing.  Am I finishing up a text as the light turns green?  Am I coming across as flirty with my guy friends?  Or to their wives? Am I calling my mom even though the road is mostly empty and I know nothing’s coming?  Is it a good idea to ride or be alone with a guy I’m not married to?  To become a little too casual in a relationship? I’m not a risk-taker by any stretch.  But I’m a little lazy with parts of my life, a little nonchalant, a little carefree, I’ll give you that.  But as I’m driving, as I think about my husband, I’m wide awake.  It’s one thing to hit a deer you never saw, it’s one thing to lose your spouse to a heart attack.  But to cause a catastrophe that could’ve been avoided, to paralyze a teen for the rest of her life because I just had to send my RSVP to a baby shower? To tell my kids life with their parents under one roof, all their stability and security is gone because I thought it’d be fun to feel young again and attractive to some guy?  Totally not worth it.

And maybe it’s a stretch.  And you might disagree.  Maybe it’s not a big deal to catch up on some business while you have the time in the car and the road’s fairly clear.  Maybe it’s just bantering and laughing with a good friend, nothing more.  And you’d be right.  Most of the time.  But I’m not a risk-taker.  I’m not into taking chances.  Not with something as important as a life.  And definitely not with my marriage.  I’m not saying we can’t come back from a slip.  An auto accident may not cause lasting damage, maybe no one gets paralyzed, maybe no one dies.  This time.  And there’s almost always a way back even from an affair.  But maybe not this time.  What I am saying is let’s be cautious, let’s be disciplined, let’s not take something as serious as marriage or life for granted.

All or nothing?

I’d been trying to schedule a good two-hour block for weeks.  I’m gone most days till right before school gets out, so a good chunk of time that size had been eluding me and I couldn’t figure out how to make it work.  All I needed was to get the ironing finished up.  I love it when everything’s done at once, twenty or thirty coat hangers propping up crisp collars and holding out sleeves.  No obstacles when it comes to getting dressed, everything’s ready for the taking.  I’m usually pretty on top of the ironing because it’s one of the housekeeping chores I actually love.  But I just haven’t been able to gather as many minutes as I need in one place.  So a brilliant (obvious) idea came to mind.  Instead of 20 shirts, I just did three.  Took less than ten minutes.  Nothing.  I can totally keep up on a schedule like that.  Just funny that it took me so long to realize that it was never a matter of all or nothing.  It could be part.

I thought about this again as I slid a letter into Bronwyn’s scrapbook, one from her missionary brother.  And another picture in beside it.  I’ve had her scrapbooks out for days, the idea of getting to them rattling around in my brain since last summer; here we are a year later.  But as I put that one piece of paper into the binder instead of the little drawer beside it, I felt a teeny bit accomplished.  I do this with our missionary son’s letters every week.  I’ll print out the ones he emails us, and I’ll three-hole punch the ones we get in the mail.  I download pictures and have printed quite a few.  Nothing fancy, I haven’t embellished a thing.  But instead of waiting till I have a huge chunk of time when I can do a beautiful professional book (that, let’s be honest, would never happen), I’m content with adding a page here and another next week in a regular white binder.  It’s been nearly two years and his 2-inch binder is heavy and thick with pages and memorabilia.  And so are the other kids’ books.  It doesn’t have to be either the fancy, beautiful kind or nothing at all.  It can be in between.

Like all the women in my family, I’m the worst when it comes to homemade treats just hanging around the house.  Never had a candy stash. Or stopped at the gas station for a drink.  Or been tempted by open bags of chips in the pantry.  But chocolate chip cookies are my drug  of choice and I’m a binge eater when it comes to a) fresh ones right out of the oven, b) crispy ones with milk when I’m chatting with the boys, or c) anyone else’s any time they’re around.  It’s bad.  But I also want to be healthy.  And so I’m constantly teetering: carrots and peppers just to be good and then cookies and milk.  I’ll indulge.  Once in awhile I’ll go overboard.  But I pull myself up and dry off.  Just because I lose my balance and cave now and then doesn’t mean I give up on myself and my mostly healthy habits.  

And I have super strong opinions about dieting.  I don’t believe in them.  I don’t think it’s good for our bodies to make dramatic—but temporary—changes, only to go back to “real life” after the weight’s gone.  Too many desperate people have tried diets and have been disappointed when they inevitably go off their diets.  I don't think it's good to have large meals followed by hours with no food, all and then nothing.  I believe our bodies need consistency when it comes to fuel, three meals with a couple of small healthy snacks.  I believe in a hearty breakfast.  I don’t believe in banishing certain ones like fruits and grains; rather I believe in eating a colorful array of all sorts of foods God’s given us.  I know that’s maybe not a popular opinion, but I’m convinced that diets aren’t sustainable.  Small life-changes that we can live with forever, yes, totally on board.  But on and off again, no sugar, no bread… I’m just not convinced that all or nothing is the way.

I think about this idea a lot when I have a decision about exercising in the mornings.  I’m pretty much on auto-pilot as far as exercising goes, just a habit I adopted many, many years ago.  But sometimes I’ll get a late start and don’t have an hour.  So I bought a bunch of 20 minute workouts.  I know it’s not optimal, but I always feel like I accomplished something.  It always feels better to have done a little kick-boxing, a few ab exercises, some weights, or just a couple of cardio routines than to have skipped it altogether.  Even if I have zero time, it never hurts to do a few stretches, a few sit ups, some jump rope, just five or ten minutes of moving around to help wake up.  It doesn’t have to be a choice between a major workout or nothing.

That’s why I don’t get into these extreme exercise programs.  Is it something I can see myself doing at 70?  Why would I spend all these hours creating huge muscles that—when I stop—will just turn to flab? I believe in mixing it up, in cross training, in using weights, in pushing ourselves, of course!  But to train for a marathon for six months and then take six months or a year off of from exercising?  No, I don’t believe in that.  I think it’s way better to walk a few miles every day and never run a marathon in your life.  I think we’d come out ahead in the long run.

I like my little sister’s philosophy.  She has three school-aged boys living with her and her husband in a 1400 square foot house.  She’s feminine and and loves to create an atmosphere that showcases her love of beauty, but that’s hard given those parameters.  Since she can’t have everything she’d love (because there’s no room and because fragile decorations could get broken), she focuses on small reminders.  She loves delicate, beautiful jewelry, a little bird that might sit by her sink on a shelf, a tiny picture frame with a scene from a piece of the country she loves.  I admire her for her eye for beauty and her determination to embrace it as she can.  My mom was like that too.  We grew up in an apartment, and we all wanted a house more than anything else.  But instead of giving up because her dream wasn’t being fulfilled, she made our apartment as nice as she could by painting it every year, bleaching the grout in the kitchen tiles regularly, cleaning the insides and outsides of our second-story windows, and keeping it tidy and nicely decorated.  I love that she taught us this principle, make the best of what we have, it doesn’t have to be either your dream house or squalor.

I’ve thought about this idea so often over the years, all or nothing.  Because I think we’re tempted by it.  I’ve known people who subscribe to this philosophy, and I sort of feel sorry for them.  Because it’s as if there are only two choices: perfection or failure.  And none of us is no where near either.

I’ve wondered if it even applies to the most important parts of our lives, like maybe parenting.  But not at all.  If we gave up after every parenting mistake we’d made, we wouldn’t have made it through week one with our newborns.  We’re constantly readjusting, learning, trying, apologizing, and getting back up.  It’s not as if we’re either “that” kind of mom or we’re not, we’re just us.  Our kids want security, consistently, stability, to know they’re loved.  They want parents who are level-headed, who they can rely on, who will be there.  They don’t need a Pinterest or Facebook-worthy life, and we don’t need to feel like failures because we aren’t providing that.  I think the one area we might want to consider being perfect in is our love.  But just because we aren’t there yet doesn’t mean we give up.  We can steadily make progress, we can improve, we can keep trying. We can practice being unconditional with our love; we have ample opportunities to try again and again.

Originally I thought that if parenting wasn’t, then church was for sure the one exception, that I’d found a loophole.  But it’s not.  Those who want church in their lives are on a committed-continuum.  There’s no room for all or nothing.  Because who among us is perfect and who among us has no hope?  I know what you’re thinking, you’re either hot or cold, in or out.  Yes, of course I know the scripture.  But the problem I’ve seen is when we’re over-zealous but then burn out.  Or when they focus on one teaching to the exclusion of many others.  What good does it do to have one holy day on a Sunday and do little else regarding what you learned the other six days?  Isn’t it better to read from the scriptures and pray a little every day than to do it all in one day so you can take the other days off?  I know I’ve succumbed to this mistaken philosophy over the years, feeling like if I don’t study the scriptures hard-core for the day then I’m not really acknowledging how much I love Heavenly Father and appreciate the scriptures.  And yet, I’ve softened over the years and realize and accept that sometimes I’m just going to read a chapter or a few verses and recognize that I’ve invited the spirit into my life, I’ve learned some things, I feel closer to Christ and more hopeful and committed, and I’ve thought about some teachings from a new angle, all from just from a few minutes.  Other days I have a little more time and can delve into a deeper study, spend more time, research, inquire.  But I don’t beat myself up because that’s not my reality every day.  Same with service and family scriptures and everything else “churchy” we do.  We aren’t excellent at any of it, and we don’t spend even half an hour reading as a family every day, but we do read a little most mornings and touch bases again with a little more in the evening when our teenagers are around.  Not anything to emulate, but we’ve managed to keep up for years.  You know I believe in small and simple things.  And no where is this more applicable than when it comes to our feelings about God and what we do about them.  Heavenly Father cares way more about our small and steady steps toward him than he cares about where we are on the path; the last thing he wants us to feel is discouraged and hopeless because we don’t seem to be keeping up with some arbitrary, self-imposed expectations.  He’s not an all or nothing God.  He understands that our faith will waver, that we’ll have questions, that trials have the potential to create distance, that sometimes we’ll be upset with Him, that we won’t always live up to what we profess to believe, that we’re weak, that we’re human.  He knows and accepts all of it.  He created us, He knows us.  All He asks is that we turn toward Him, not to be perfect. 

I could go on and on.  Because I believe this principle applies to so many arenas of our lives.  I’ll give you that there are exceptions:  we need our parachutes to be perfect.  We need engineers to be flawless with their calculations when building our bridges.  Obviously there’s a place for getting it absolutely right .  But when it comes to behavior and habits, maybe it’s not as important to be 100%.  “I’m getting there,” “I’m stronger than I used to be,” “Our relationship is improving,” “At least I took a walk today,” “I’ll start with one class.” These are healthy and hopeful assurances that allow us to simply be better than we were yesterday, reminding us that small but consistent habits will yield better returns than (admittedly admirable) major efforts that aren’t sustained.

Aiding the understatement

I don’t think it really sunk in when people would ask how things were going the week we were in the middle of getting new carpet.  It never seemed to conjure up any sort of response.  “Nice,” “Fun,” “That’ll look good,” they’d nod, and we’d move on.  All I could surmise is that they’d never gotten new carpet.  Because otherwise there would’ve been more to talk about.  It all sounded so businesslike, but I don’t think they had any idea what it entailed.

For the weeks leading up to the day the carpet layers were due to arrive, we’d been putting up trim, ripping out flooring, caulking, spackling, sanding, and painting.  We’d moved three beds to the living room to sleep in and every other item touching the floors (including the closets) out to the bathroom, bathtub, family room and living room.  We’d taped newspapers on our mirrored doors to spray the brass edges black.  We’d gotten up early and stayed up late for days trying to get everything done before the carpet layers came.  Obviously we fit in regular life, but it was a pretty heavy week.  But when people would ask what we’d been up to, instead of giving a complete run-down, we just mentioned we were getting new carpet.

As most of you know, we’ve been in the middle of a kitchen remodel most recently. I’ve posted pictures of what our different flooring and wallpaper layers looked like, what it took to take out the particle board layer with a crow bar and to pull out each staple (about every inch or so throughout the whole floor) by hand.  We moved out of the kitchen and into the laundry room, where we’ve set up our work station.  We haven’t had normal water for nearly five weeks, so we rotate through three little gallon jugs that Todd refills at work every day.  We take turns washing dishes in the utility sink.  We ate in the living room for weeks.  We’ve cooked meat on our skillet and have given our crock pot a run for its money.  I’m longing to make bread and cookies for my family, and I’ve felt bad that things have been in such disarray as they’ve tried to be positive and find things to make lunches and snacks.  We didn’t invite as many people over in the beginning because it was just such a mess, but then we didn’t care and did it anyway.

It’s just made me think of other times in life when a few words sum up a major life upheaval/transition/event.  “She’s doing chemo and radiation.” “They’re moving.” “I have breast cancer.” “I’m painting.” “He’s got autism.” “He’s being bullied.” “She had her baby.” “She's gone back to school.” “They had a fire.”

I think the next time I hear about someone tearing up their kitchen, I want to be there.  It was so fun to have friends to talk to while we worked. How they lightened our load!!!  I was also grateful for the friend who brought us dinner one night during these weeks without a kitchen; it was heavenly!!!!  We’ve had other families invite us over for dinner to give us a little break.  It's been so dreamy to not have to think about what to make in our little crockpot and to get out of our mess and just feel normal for a few nights.  I love that two of our friends brought us cookies and another banana bread, the one thing I’d been missing maybe the most in all this. I just want to provide something “homey” for my family, and I haven’t been able to.  But these sweet friends heeded the call and—more than treats—they just reminded me that someone was thinking of us, that we weren’t alone just muddling through our messy days.  I want to be that kind of friend the next time I hear of someone going through this, in fact, I can’t wait.  Because I’ll know just what they’ll need!

I haven’t had a baby in over 12 years, but a couple of my friends just did this past month.  They make it seem like it’s no big deal, but I remember that it was.  Especially my c-section.  I never knew I could hurt so bad. Or be so tired and overwhelmed.  I was emotionally and physically exhausted with each of our babies.  I loved it but I resented it all too.  I loved when my mom and friends helped out.  They cleaned and cooked and took care of my babies.  They assured me I was a great mom.  I loved that people would take time to come visit me, that they’d take my other kids to play.  I think I’ve been bad at helping my friends who have had babies recently.  I’m not sure they want visitors, maybe they need to rest?  I’m not sure they need anything at all, they seem so much more competent than I ever felt.  But if it’s anything like I remember, I should’ve been a little more present.

I have a friend who’s moving right now.  I immediately called to see what we could do, when we could help pack and clean.  Because I know first-hand—it’s still super fresh in my mind—what it means to move.  It’s possibly the biggest pain in the world.  Especially when it’s a big family with years of collections.  And food storage.  And camping equipment. I know what it feels like to have to make decision after decision—about the smallest things, memorabilia, old dishes, school papers, quilts you got as gifts that you never even liked.  It’s overwhelming to know where to start, what to pack and what to wait on.  I remember having to touch up the entire house in the same month I was packing.  I painted all the baseboards in the house.  Insides of closets, the pantry shelves, the closet shelves.  I dusted everything, light fixtures, blinds, doors. I remember what I loved the most.  A friend brought two huge platters of Subway sandwiches the day after we moved in.  It was to help feed all the friends who were there cleaning and helping us unpack.  It was glorious.  It was so frustrating to not have my wits about me when it came to food those couple of days.  I’m usually comfortable creating food out of nowhere.  But I was completely overwhelmed, trying to clean both houses, trying to keep life as normal as possible, extra signings on top of regular closings, new insurance policies, the snow and the cold and the treacherous roads, two Christmas concerts the day of our move, on top of feeling extremely guilty that friends were taking off work to help us, wanting to make it nice for my family since it was two weeks before Christmas, and finding sheets and making beds for all the upcoming company.  The previous owners were moving out in the snow as we were moving in.  We still needed to clean some of both houses. I was beyond exhausted, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to think about food, as strange and pathetic as that sounds.  That’s usually the one thing I can do.  But for some reason, it wasn’t happening. So she was a lifesaver, and I will always remember that gesture as well as all the helping hands who brought cookies and cleaning supplies, trucks and moving equipment, water bottles, paper plates, and their families.  I want be that angel to some other friend down the road. I’m so grateful for this recent upheaval because now it’s fresh and I’m more tuned in to the simple phrase, “We’re moving.” 

It’s funny though.  The further removed from a trial we get, the less intense it feels, the easier it is to keep moving forward, assuaging any guilt about not helping others with a similar situation.  We figure they’ve got it handled, they’re fine.  It all becomes less vivid in our minds, the details get lost, the pain softens, the whole event sort of wraps itself up into a ball we tuck away on a high shelf with our Christmas platters.

But what if we brought those memories out and kept them with our everyday ware?  What if we tried to really remember what those days felt like and sought out those around us who are currently wading through something similar themselves?

I have friends and family that I talk to in person and across the miles who are struggling with way more than a move or a remodel.  Heartbreaking realities. I don’t know exactly how to help.  I’ve never had a child with allergies or autism, I’ve never lived through a fire or a major insurance issue.  I don’t know what it feels like to have poison pumped into me or to have to go for radiation or dialysis every day.  Or to be bald or lose a husband.  I don’t know what it’s like to not be able to walk and yet still need to provide for my family. It all sounds so neat and tidy when we talk about it, “She had twins.” “We’ve been dealing with litigation for about a year now.” “They’re separated.”  But I think this past year has humbled me. Again.  I’ll admit I haven’t been the first or best responder, I haven’t even been a responder most of the time.  But with each new experience that we encounter and wade through, I think I’ll know better what it means when a friend shares some news with me.  Even though I may not have gone through the exact thing, I’m hopefully becoming better equipped at processing what she needs and knowing how to act—simply because I’m trying to put myself in her shoes and really hear what she’s saying. I believe listening is the most important and valuable part of a conversation, and our job as friends is to to listen to what words simply can’t convey.

When someone mentions in a phone call that they’ve all been sick, we can do more than glibly mumble, “Oh, I hope everyone gets better soon.”  We can reach into our well of experience and remember what it’s like to change all those sheets and how frustrating it is to clean up throw up in the middle of the night. Maybe we could make (or buy) some soup or offer to pick up the kids or clean a couple of bathrooms. When someone mentions her baby has colic and they haven’t been sleeping very well, we can recall (or imagine) what that might feel like and offer take care of the baby while she rests for a couple of hours.  When a friend mentions her washing machine’s been broken for the past week, we can put on our shoes and head over.  All it takes is a simple prayer each morning asking God to open our eyes to what the people around us are going through and then paying attention to what He shows us as we listen with love to the understatement.

Another healing Sunday fight

I don’t know what it is about Sundays but three of our biggest fights of our marriage have occurred on this holy day.  I think because we’re not distracted by the daily grind, and real issues have time to raise their heads.  This isn’t what we started fighting about (it was about chicken juice and dishes if you must know), but as we were hugging and crying, I admitted I felt sort of defeated.  I feel like I’ve been rejected by loved ones over the past few years, which is fine; I totally get that kids and friends move on.  I don’t pretend to understand or even really accept it, yet I know it’s inevitable.  But when I’ve invested my heart into my friendships and especially my family, I feel sad when it doesn’t seem to matter, hurt that they can just choose to reject me and move on with no explanation.  I don’t get it, and it doesn’t seem fair.  I know, so cliche, so jr. high.  But like I care what it sounds like, I was just telling him how it feels.

I’ve been sad that my son just left for college and has never really looked back, until we come knocking at the rear window every Sunday, curious about his life and how he’s doing.  I explained to my husband through my tears that I feel disposable, that my life’s work doesn’t seem to have meant much.  As I said that out loud, I realized I’d been holding it in for a long, long time.  

As we talked, I basked in his wisdom and soothing advice.  Even though it’s terribly difficult to admit he’s right.  I feel hurt and justified, whereas he’s trying to encourage me to be a little softer.  He’s told me before, you just need to love him, don’t try to fix him.  Love the people who have hurt you.  Obviously solid advice.  But if you know me, you’d know that’s inefficient and not being entirely honest from where I stand.  Why can’t I just say what I really think, why can’t we be real and talk instead?  But I know he’s right.  I think love is a softer way.  Listening is a better way.  Trying to understand rather than be understood is a higher way.  Loving like Christ is a far superior way.

So instead of quizzing our son about his upcoming summer plans as we talked late last night, we skirted around the elephant in the room and kept the conversation light and airy.  Instead of coming across as anxious and concerned and impatient, we asked about rockets, ceramics and girls.  We talked about religion, but only from an academic vantage point as he explained the interesting insights he’s been learning in his most recent class.  We talked about future classes he’ll be taking.  As to a timeline regarding when that might be, we never asked.

Instead of ignoring the ones I feel hurt by, I’m trying to tentatively reach out again.  Because I know, as Todd opened the curtains to show me, sometimes the people who seem to have pulled away are going through difficult times themselves.  Maybe it’s not so much a personal rejection, more of a need to refocus their energies on themselves for awhile.  Maybe they need a soft friend.  Not one who withholds because the friendship isn’t on level ground at the moment.  I feel left out because they haven’t shared their pains with me. Why, I don’t know.  This puzzles me and so my heart yearns to be protected, to let others go before they leave me. I remember being completely honest with a friend about this, asking her if it even mattered that I kept trying to be a friend and she told me straight up, Don’t give up on me.  So many times I’ve wanted to even since.  She doesn’t seem to need me as a friend.  And yet, I hear that sentiment echoing in my mind and I hang on to it as a reminder that maybe others are feeling the same way but just aren’t able to vocalize it.  My mantra has always been, Once a friend, always a friend.  And so it’s confused me and created a tender heart as I sense not everyone feels the same.

I also couldn't help but ask myself when have I let someone go who has tried to be my friend?  How good am I at staying in touch with people I love, and how can I be better? We all have good intentions, I think most of us long for strong and meaningful connections and we love our friends, but I know it's not easy to keep it up with them all.  I know my son and I have a deep love, I know our relationship is solid; when we talk and when we're together, it is loving and warm and we're right back to where we've always been.  I think what's painful is that I miss him.  I miss how it used to be.  And I miss my friends who have other commitments right now, who have moved away, who need to focus on something else for awhile.  Like my son.

As I start a new week with all this in mind, I long to be more Christlike.  I’m recommitted to asking Heavenly Father what He knows instead of relying on only what I see.  I know I profess to be a Christian, and I acknowledge we’ve had a lot on our minds lately with our kitchen and farm and house and kids, like everyone. I’ve been more than a little distracted and self-centered, oblivious to the pains and burdens my friends are bearing. But I’m humbled by my talk with my best friend and confidant, who cried with me and who sees clearly into my heart.  He knows I want to be loving and kind.  But that I’ve been so hurt that it’s hard, that I’m just being cautious. I’m glad for a companion who helps me see what I’ve been missing, what I haven’t been able to give, the one person who can call me out on my misbehavior and show me a better way to love.  I’m thankful for repentance.  So grateful  for a chance to try again.  I’m pleading for a heart like His.  For His love to seep into the crevices of my cracked heart so I can open it again. 

Observed

It was about a year ago that it finally occurred to me why I became so grumpy and unlike my carefree Caren-self whenever our parents came to visit.  We have company all the time, and I feel like I’m running a bed and breakfast some weeks during the summer.  But it’s mostly been when the parents would come that I’d become irritable.  It wasn’t the extra people around or the work load, it had to be something else.  The longer I live, the more I want to get to the bottom of things and to figure out why I behave the way I do so I can change and do better.  Maybe you’re totally past this, I’m still working on it.  But I made huge strides this summer just from pinpointing what was going on.  What I realized is pretty obvious now but helpful as I go forward.

Basically I hate being observed.  I hate people watching my reaction—to anything.  I want to blend in, be in the background, be the helper.  I don’t want people to anticipate how I’ll react, I don’t want to be a performer of any kind.  I like real, I hate fake, and I can’t act to save my life.  And so it’s always bothered me, even as a young teenager, when people have watched my reactions. I hated those gatherings on Christmas with my extended family.  We would save all my birthday gifts and open them in front of everyone once the whole family had gathered in our tiny living room in the afternoon.  What could be worse than already feeling awkward as a teenager and then having uncles aunts and grandparents watching you like you’re on stage?  I hate bridal showers and baby showers where I’m the guest of honor.  Thankfully I’m past that stage.  But that’s why I hate the idea of surprise birthday parties or any gathering where I’m expected to act in a prescribed way.  That’s just it, I can’t act or pretend.  I’m hard-core honest and authentic, so it’s completely out of my comfort zone to act giddy or thrilled or to have to keep smiling… it taxes and exhausts me.

I’ve felt this way throughout my life.  Which is also why I hate charades and other acting games that people like to play at parties.  I don’t mind singing with a (huge) group, and for some reason I don’t mind teaching classes or giving talks, even in front of hundreds of people.  I’ve concluded that they aren’t stressful because I’m prepared and have notes.  But to just wing it, even when giving a comment in Sunday School, I get flustered.  I want to share what I’m thinking and feeling (which is why I write), but I like to get it out quickly so we don’t have to focus on me for long.  I don’t want people to make assessments about me.

So all of this sort of came to me as I was trying to figure out my grumpiness with my loved ones.  I’ve always, always been embarrassed and so remorseful when they’ve left, regretting my poor behavior.  But it’s sort of like when you’re tired and overwhelmed and maybe even hormonal, you can see what you’re doing and yet you’re helpless to change.  And that’s exactly why I decided to get to the bottom of things; it had been going on for too many years and I wanted to be a sweeter daughter and daughter-in-law to these parents I love so much.

But it’s sort of ironic that I would even feel like this because most of the time I simply don’t care what people think any more.  I’m too old and too forgetful to have to keep all that straight or to waste energy trying to remember who I’m supposed to be with who.  Good grief, who does that?  I’m pretty sure about who I am and what I’m hoping to become.  I figure no one knows my heart like God and I do, and that’s all that matters.  If I look like a mess on the outside, so be it.  But with my parents and in-laws… that has always been a bit different.  Partly because we all revert back to how we were when we were growing up when we reunite with our parents and siblings, at least somewhat.  And I think all kids want to make their parents proud of them.  I’ve come to see it’s because I respect them so much.  They’ve been such good parents themselves, that I want them to be proud of me and the family we’ve devoted ourselves to.  I want so much for Todd’s parents to feel ok about who he married, I don’t want them to wish he had chosen a different wife.  I want them all to know their grandkids are in good hands, that their parents are invested in teaching and raising them.  It probably doesn’t look like how they did it, so maybe I think it’s not as good? Do they think I’m being too lenient? Would they have handled the situation differently? Do they feel they have to correct my kids because they don’t think I’m doing it right? Do I push too hard? Require too much? Does it seem like I’m being disrespectful when I talk with my husband openly?  I have no idea!

But how often do you ever get feedback?  About anything?  Maybe if you have a job.  Or if you have kids.  (Both usually only when it’s negative.) But not normally; we may think something, but we rarely ever vocalize what we appreciate.  As a words person, it’s huge to me to receive a compliment.  I can live for weeks—years even—thinking back on a nice thing someone has said to me because it reminds me and encourages me to live up to whatever potential that person saw in me.  But in the one area of my life I care the very, very most about—my marriage and my family—I get the least.  I think that’s true for all of us. And so maybe subconsciously I’ve been afraid they didn’t like or approve of how I was raising their grandkids or treating their son; I never heard otherwise and I think my anxieties got me all worked up.  So sorting this out in my mind was revelatory!  In realizing the why, I could settle and move forward.  By that, I mean I finally admitted it and told them how sorry I was for acting the way I always had.  And told them I finally understood why.  Just that simple realization has relieved my fretfulness.

I know this doesn’t apply to many of you, but maybe someone out there can relate.  I guess I just figure if I’m feeling something, maybe someone else has felt it too.  I can’t believe that in a world with this many people, I’m that unusual.  And so that’s why I write so personally and frankly, in hopes that we can feel more connected and less isolated in what we’re going through.

But as I thought of writing this, I wondered what the point was. I guess I just learned some things that might help someone else.  One is that by taking a step back and asking a few questions, we can usually figure out why we do what we do and then make course corrections if we need to.  If I had continued to go on auto-pilot whenever our parents came, I would continue to have regrets and be embarrassed by my behavior once they left and our relationships wouldn’t be as loving and close as they could be; maybe they would stay away because it wasn’t very comfortable to visit.  But now that I’ve come to understand the situation better, I can change.  Another thing I need to remember is to go to Heavenly Father when I need to know how I’m doing, I know He will always have loving suggestions for me. It takes the pressure off me, wondering how I seem as a parent to even our parents who we look up to so much.  I’ve also learned to share my concerns with the people I love, to be more honest with my feelings.  It’s super hard for me, but almost always it works out and we end up feeling closer.  And finally, I’ve learned that the people I love to spend time with are true friends.  Hopefully they aren’t judging me and holding my weaknesses against me.  I don’t need to worry that they’re observing me with a critical eye; if anything, our parents and the people we love are observing us so they can know how to love and serve us better, isn’t that what we’re doing when we’re observing them?  It’s as simple as that.

The lesson

I had an assignment to teach a lesson in church a few weeks back.  I wondered how Heavenly Father wanted me to handle it, and so I prayed and prayed for some ideas, some direction.  I’ve learned from so many lessons and talks that have flopped that I need His help.  But what I discovered this time was interesting.

My friend and I had to cover the exact same material; we were teaching different groups, one right after the other.  She did such an exceptional job, it was just amazing.  But it made me question what I had prepared.  My notes were nothing like hers.  I had planned to go in a completely different direction.  I hesitated and wondered if I had been inspired after all.  And so I sought out a quiet unoccupied classroom during the following hour and prayed again.  I felt confirmation that the ideas I’d come up with were fine.  The lesson in all of this was that God doesn’t insist we play some version of “Guess What I’m Thinking.”  He allows and encourages and expects us to use our abilities and even—maybe even especially—our personalities to perform the tasks He gives us.  In so many instances I can think of, He simply doesn’t care about the how.

That validation comforted me.  Of course I’m not able to produce the same lesson outline as my friend who has a completely different paradigm, personality, and set of life experiences.  But that’s just it.  That’s the beauty of it all.  What mattered that Sunday is that we talked about Christ.  We talked about loving each other, what we can do to help each other.  The details and how we approached the topic wasn’t nearly as important as what we all felt during our hours together.  This experience led me to think of others like it.  

I was lucky and had an excellent chemistry teacher in high school.  I still remember a couple assignments she gave us.  One was to make a poster to convey any lab rule we wanted.  We could draw something, write something, anything we wanted using our own creativity.  I loved the freedom, the different productions, the variety of talents and angles.  Another one was to create anything we wanted based on the periodic table, the only rule was we had to somehow incorporate the elements.  The really smart kids in our class rearranged the elements into new categories; they were out of my league, completely brilliant, I had no idea what they were talking about.  I took a completely non-academic approach and made up band names and song titles loosely using words that sounded like the elements and made construction paper 45 rpm records.  I listened to music from the 50s all the time, and it was a natural expression for me.  Odd, but completely me.  Again, I loved the freedom she gave us.  I loved that we were exposed to the periodic table, we learned, but we were able to do so in ways that resonated with us personally.  Her friend, the oceanography teacher, was very similar.  I remember making an enormous (several feet long) Loch Ness Monster out of chicken wire and paper mache with my best friend.  What great teachers!!

Our 11 year-old daughter was putting away our Costco stuff and wanted to organize the pantry.  Hallelujah!  I didn’t care one bit how she did it, I was totally happy to abdicate that task to her.  She was brilliant and it turned out better than if I had orchestrated it.  I was thrilled that she wanted to, and I think it could’ve gone badly if I’d infringed on her vision and told her exactly where I wanted things.  (Who cares where the chili or the pasta goes??)

I thought about the kids’ chores. I’m not sure how things work in your house, but our chores seem to change with the seasons and as new needs arise (i.e., animals), so every so often we need to re-visit what needs to be done.  My first thought was to kind of stick with basically what everyone had been doing and tack on a couple to each kid’s (invisible) list.  But a) I couldn’t be bothered and b) I realized that this was up to them to figure out.  So I just typed up a list of everything we expected to get done during the week and let the three of them sort it out.  I love that a) I’m out of the picture and that b) they have self-regulated (they have a vested interest in making sure it is precisely equal and evenly distributed).

As I thought about those teaching and parenting experiences, it made me wonder how often we get in the way and try to control things instead of following God’s example of letting people handle things their own way.  Granted, teachers and parents and God have some parameters, a few expectations; but really, how much of the detail should we oversee or obsess about?  I know what you might be thinking.  I know God cares about the details of our lives.  But He doesn’t impose His will on us; He leaves many things up to us to decide and execute.  I love this admonition, “Verily, I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness.  For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves.  And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.  But he that doeth not anything until he is commanded, and receiveth a commandment with a doubtful heart, and keepeth it with slothfulness, the same is damned” (DC 58:27-29).  I’ve always liked knowing He trusts me enough to make a large portion of my life’s choices on my own and that He expects me to do good according to the dictates of my heart, in ways that resonate with my personality.

I believe He expects us to use our talents and strengths and desires to be the kind of parents, for instance, that we are naturally inclined to be.  I could never be one of those moms who makes fancy cupcakes with matching decorations (I’ll admit I’ve tried, I have no idea why). I’ve tried posters and stars, beans and the jar. (I’m too no-nonsense and simply not a rewards kind of mom; I threw them all out within a week.) I hate sledding and the cold and avoid it all as much as I can.  I don’t see us ever embracing sports.  That’s just not us.  But messes, bring ‘em on.  Animals, definitely.  Camping, love it!  Books, as many as you can carry; stay up as late as you want as long as you’re reading.  Bedtime? Not really, we figure you’ll get there when you’re tired.  It’s just the way we roll.  I know God cares that I’m invested as a mom, I know that.  But I love that He lets me be the kind of mom I want to be.  We still cover the basics.  They eat, we read scriptures, we spend lots of time together, we pray, we play.  It may not look like what the rest of you do, but we’re at peace, I feel like we’re close.  To each other and to God.  And I think that’s all God wants and expects from me.

As I think about all this, it’s freeing.  Because it takes all the judgment out of the picture.  I don’t have to worry about how anyone else is doing anything. And I don’t feel pressure to be like someone else. I already know we have different strengths and likes and lenses we see life through.  It’s awesome to just sit back and watch everyone do their thing, to see how beautifully it comes together when we don’t interfere and keep arbitrary lists of what’s acceptable and what “should” happen.  Thankfully, that’s just not God’s way.  I love that He gives us some guidelines and then lets us run with it.  I can’t help but think back on the variety of teaching and parenting and leadership styles I’ve seen in action.  The bold and loud, the fancy and flamboyant, the calm and quiet.  All have had a huge impact on the people they’ve been asked to lead, and I know they were successful in influencing others specifically because they employed their own personalities and styles.

Like I said, I loved Erin’s lesson so much.  So much.  She is wise and soft-spoken, humble and gentle, strong and full of conviction.  She has a way of connecting with women, she teaches easily of God’s love because she radiates it so convincingly.  But I also loved that after praying and teaching, I felt peaceful knowing that even though our lessons didn’t look the same, each of our offerings were perfectly acceptable.

Consequences of lazy

You’d think I would know better by now, but I’ll give you just a couple examples of how my decisions have affected my family; lame in that they’re real, ridiculous in that they’re recent.  So Friday I left for an 8:30 appointment; I had three that morning.  And was headed to book group at noon.  Afterward I had two choices: go Costco and to the little market to get our produce or head home and deal with groceries later.  I’m a stay-at-home mom (theoretically) with all sorts of discretionary time, not a big deal to switch up my schedule.  But I’m constantly taking the easy way out and just wanted to get home for a bit before getting the kids at 3.  Which is what I chose.  Which meant that I had to take my 13 year-old son with me to the next town over to WalMart (cleaner than the nasty one close to us) for what I thought would be a consolidation of both the little market and Costco, it would give us a little time together, it’d be cheaper, and it wouldn’t take long.  Just for the record, I was wrong on all accounts.  He crabbed the entire way there, the whole 15 minute drive. It took us more than an hour and a half to go to one store.  And I spent a ton.  Plus, I refused to buy most of the produce I needed because it was so much more expensive than our little market sale prices and not as good.  Which meant I had to go to the market and Costco on Monday anyway and I doubled what I would’ve spent on groceries for the week with that one choice.

Over Christmas that same 13 year-old son wanted to buy a computer game, he had his own money, so I acquiesced. Within a few minutes he was distraught because it wasn’t working.  Our home-from-college other son quickly assessed the situation and reported that it wasn’t compatible with our computer.  I hadn’t even thought to check, I just assumed the boys knew what they were doing.  I’d asked our older son to check to see if it was from a reputable site, if it was an ok game.  Which he did.  But I was upset because it was a simple thing to check to see if it was going to be compatible or not, something they didn’t even pay attention to.  I was mad because of their laziness, but mostly my own laziness to step away from what I was cooking to walk over and just look through a few screens.  So we basically just ate the $15.  (But not really, because I just slide that kind of thing over to our “continuing ed” column of our make-believe budget.)  So maybe it wasn’t so much about the money, but it unnecessarily created a tense scene for my sons and me, and it made my 13 year-old feel embarrassed and like I was blaming him, something that I could’ve avoided if I’d taken 30 seconds to check things out.

Just a couple weeks ago I pulled another dumb one.  We replaced our college son’s broken (flip) phone with a used one, which we wanted to get in the mail as soon as we could.  They gave us a charging cord at the store, which I didn’t think to look at till I got home. Of course it didn’t fit in the phone I’d just bought, which was so irritating.  I hate errands.  HATE them.  So I mailed the phone anyway and figured my son most likely had one laying around he could use.  Come to find out he had to order one.  But for some reason the cord he ordered came to our home address and not his college dorm.  Not only that, but it came with an envelope for Postage Due.  So then we had to make another trip to the post office and pay again for a cord that was just delivered and mail it to my son. How hard would it have been for me to have simply gone back to the store where I bought the phone on the way to mail the package and just exchange the cord?  During the three weeks he was without his phone he missed calls and reminders from teachers, club members, and jobs.  Can you begin to see how my lazy ways actually complicate things?  It’s so annoying… to me, my husband, and the rest of my family.

You might remember your days with babies and toddlers.  Do you recall how applesauce, Raisin Bran and oatmeal became solid compounds on their high chair trays? In my early mom days I just ignored their business and figured I’d deal with it later, I always seemed to have so many other fires to put out.  As a busy young mom with littles running around, when I had to finally address the glued-on applesauce or baby cereal hours later, it took considerably longer to  scrape off the tray than it would have if I would’ve simply taken a wash cloth and cleaned it off when I was wiping down my baby.  I surrendered precious time with my baby and toddler by putting it off, time I could’ve been reading to them or just sitting out on the grass with them.  Obviously, I was annoyed and irritated when I had to focus on the clean-up hours later, I was more tired, less fresh, and I wasn’t in a relaxed state of mind, which obviously affects the entire household.

Even this morning, 28 degrees out.  It would’ve easily taken12 seconds for me to run out and start the van a few minutes before we had to leave, but I didn’t ever really feel like it.  Which is no big deal really, just made for a pretty cold ride to school for all of us, something I could’ve easily avoided.  It wasn’t just that I was chilled, it’s that my choice made it cold for the kids as well.  Not a biggie.  And yet, that’s exactly it.  It wasn’t a big deal, so why didn’t I just take the time so that we’d all be a little more comfortable?

I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, and I’m chagrined to notice how lazy I still am.  Truly lazy.  In some ways, when it’s something I like to do, I’m a go-getter.  I’ll organize a closet or drawer any day.  I’ll write a love note or work on a blog any hour of the day. But I’d put off painting for weeks, even though we needed to get all the trim done in four rooms by the time the carpet came.  I constantly put off cooking the food for get-togethers till the very last minute, sometimes up until 15 minutes before guests are due. I’ve made nuts for a friend that didn’t work but I was running out the door, so I had to go with it.  So embarrassing.  I was cooking bread the other day as guests were coming in the door, and it wasn’t working (our oven’s mostly dead, I discovered).  I’d rather set the table and clean than cook any day, so I just put it off.  Now is also the perfect example.  I have to leave in 20 minutes.  Still haven’t done the breakfast dishes, gotten ready, loaded up the recycling, made my lunch, or packed up the van with my errands for the day.  Instead I’m just writing like I have all the time in the world.  Good grief.

There’s not really an analogy, a metaphor, or even a hidden message in all this.  Just an acknowledgment that I still have a ways to go (as you’ll continue to see) and maybe a lesson for all of us as we indulge in our laziness and as we raise our families.  The thing is, it’s not just us our lazy choices affect.  That’s the part I don’t think we (I/our kids) get.  We mistakenly think it’s our business if we want to be lazy or not, it shouldn’t matter to anyone else what we do with our time or other resources.  But that’s where we’re so wrong.

“All are free to choose, of course, and we would not have it otherwise. Unfortunately, however, when some choose slackness, they are choosing not only for themselves, but for the next generation and the next. Small equivocations in parents can produce large deviations in their children! Earlier generations in a family may have reflected dedication, while some in the current generation evidence equivocation. Sadly, in the next, some may choose dissension as erosion takes its toll.” (Elder Maxwell, Oct 1992 General Conference)

Granted, he’s talking about the religiosity and faith of a family, but apply it broadly.  How many generations have been affected by the work ethic (or lack thereof) parents have exhibited and taught?  How many people do we see taking the easy way out in our society these days?

I have friends who were in school for more than a decade longer than we were, way longer than me and many years longer than my husband who became a veterinarian.  No way did they take the easy way out, I’m completely impressed and inspired by them.  They make me wish I could have a do-over. They leave me wondering what I was thinking, why I wasted so much time when I could’ve worked harder to make more of the opportunities I had in college.  This is a regret many adults have I think.  Maybe most of us were inherently lazy as kids and teenagers.  But I’m impressed by those who managed to catch the vision at a younger age. Obviously some still have no idea, and some are playing catch-up (like me).  Granted, everyone has different opportunities and backgrounds, but for those of us who just didn’t quite live up to our potential or work as well as we could’ve, it’s disappointing to realize what could’ve materialized if only we’d tried a little harder.  This principle of delayed-gratification—working hard now for greater rewards down the road—is one we’re in large measure failing to teach our younger set.

I think back to my own schooling and how I slowly let my grades slide over the years I was in college, especially frustrating to note because I’d worked so hard to get in to college. I didn’t even know what my grades in college were until we were moving a few weeks back and I found an old transcript. I just remember worrying more about who I was going out with, where we’d be playing tennis that night, writing my missionary, and working (and working out).  I don’t know where my head was, but I was extremely lazy about what I was really there to do: get an education.  It just seemed like something else was always more interesting or pertinent at the moment.  To this day, my college experience is my biggest regret.  I wish I’d used that time to figure out what I wanted to become—what kind of employment I could use my natural abilities in—instead of just taking classes to finish a major I didn’t even love.  I just try to squelch the memory every time it surfaces (like when we’re getting to know a new couple and we talk about our college years).  As a stay-at-home-mom, maybe you’d think it doesn’t really affect anyone but me.  But what if I actually need to fall back on a useful major?  What if I had used that time to develop some real skills that I could use for a future job?  Even now, I’d love to have something to contribute in some kind of part-time work, I’d like to help with the increasing expenses of an older family, and yet I feel like my education is useless and that I'd have to start over anyway. I continue to feel dumb and uneducated even about what I was supposed to be learning in my major and other general issues I know we covered in school but I lazily ignored. I feel like I wasted my education and it affects how I feel about myself.  Major life regret.

I’m embarrassed to admit I’m still figuring things out—even the small things, and yet maybe you can relate.  I don’t know how many times I’ve left dinner to the last minute simply because I’m too lazy to think about it earlier in the day or even the afternoon (something to do with not really loving to cook), but I’m learning that dinner is a million times easier if I take 15 minutes before I go shopping and plan out the week. Totally easy, but it makes all the difference in the days ahead.  Are you like I’ve been when it comes to laundry?  I hate it when I’ve washed the sheets but they aren’t quite dry before we have to go out on a Friday night, which means we’re making the bed at 11 that night when all I want to do is go to sleep.  Lately I’ve made the sheets a priority and am getting them done first, a simple—and obvious—concept. But you all know what it’s like to finally make it to your room at night and then be hit by the pile of underwear all over the bed.  We’ve had nasty subfloor with a plastic covering and tons of dog hair, I certainly wasn’t putting my clean clothes on the floor, and we don’t have any other ledges or benches, so there’s only one solution.  I’m so embarrassed on nights like that.  My procrastination prevents us from getting to bed like we wanted, and instead we’re spending our time matching socks, good grief.

Likewise, I actually wonder if I parent out of laziness or am I really parenting with love and logic? Do I truly believe a lassiez-faire approach is best or am I the mom who just can’t be bothered making her kids’ lunches or doing their laundry or filling out their missionary/college applications or micro-managing their social lives because I’m too lazy? I’m not sure.  But yesterday at the dentist, my hygienist mentioned reading to her grand babies and reminded me that I read to my kids all the time (we’ve been going there for 17 years, she’s watched us raise up our babies).  I told her that was the only thing I was absolutely certain I did right as a mom.  And I’m happy that at least in that one regard I took the high road.  I remember gathering them for stories before naps and again before bed on the “reading chair” and sometimes just randomly throughout the day, under a tree, just cuddled on a couch.  I was completely hands-off with what they wore and how they did their hair (and maybe that was lazy, maybe it was just self-preservation); but I’m so grateful for the time we invested in reading, that I was not lazy at least in that one regard.  I hope that my kids will remember those times and that they will want those same memories with their own kids.  

I hope they will be truly mindful as they sort out their own parenting styles, that they will act with intention and not make choices based on the path of least resistance.  Even if we are decidedly lazy in most ways, parenting is (along with marriage and relationships in general) the one arena in which we need to pull up our boot straps and pay attention.  Lazy parenting might buy us some free time when we feel the most desperate, like consistently using electronics to keep messes at bay and to keep kids quiet and entertained.  But looking ahead, our longing for ease may have undesired consequences, perhaps kids who need to always be engaged with a machine, who don’t know how to think creatively, who don’t feel comfortable interacting with people, who don’t want to engage in the world, who think life is a game, who resent parents who try to set limits later on.  I just tend to think as laziness as spending our resources frivolously now rather than investing in the future.  Working hard is looking down the road, visualizing what we really want out of life.  It’s putting aside our selfishness and instant gratification, whereas laziness is spending our paycheck on candy or shoes and telling our families we have none for the rent.  Our decisions aren't ours alone; they affect the people we love and interact with.

Our kids need to learn this principle. Which works best when they rely on us to model it.  We can teach them to notice what the consequences of their decisions and choices will likely be—on both themselves and others.  It’s obviously preferable to teach this when they’re young, but it’s tough for really little ones to grasp. Even our teenagers are still figuring this out.  Our 13 year-old son has exactly one white shirt and one pair of church pants.  So I’ve reminded him, if he has a band concert or other dress-up occasion during the week, that he will run into problems if he doesn’t wash his shirt.  He’s had enough instances over the years that he knows what will happen.  I think our 15 year-old is getting this because she’s run into troubles when she’s sort of had a lazy weekend and then has tons of studying and notes and reading to make up in the week following.  But they're learning their decisions affect the rest of the family too. It takes her away from a family activity if she hasn’t finished her work, and his lack of foresight could definitely affect our morning or my day with a shirt to wash and take to him (he knows that will never happen; he’d just have to iron it and wear it dirty).  It seems to work best when we let natural consequences give the pep talks instead of us. But think of the application, how much more meaningful our kids’ lives could be if they could just wrap their heads around the principle of industry, of purposeful living, of looking ahead.  Instead of consistently relegating themselves to the easiest track, they could learn to put in the effort for what they really want in life.  We can help them shoot higher than the moment, to realize what they do today potentially affects their future families and their own kids. I know I was a weird kid, but that always motivated me.

I guess my point in all of this is to remind us (myself mostly) to think ahead just a bit.  And ask what the ramifications of my split-second decisions will be, and not just on me.  How will my decision affect others?  Arguably, we don’t need to create a flow chart about every choice we’re up against; but it doesn’t hurt to take just a second and note that laziness in the moment usually means we’re putting off something that requires a little effort.  And in my experience, the most valuable things in life require effort.  I’m not saying a night off with cereal for everyone will lead to poor eating habits, nor am I saying a nap isn’t sometimes the very best investment for you and everyone in your family.  I’m just pointing out that sometimes we mistakenly believe our choices only affect us, and I just don’t believe it.  We’re way more interconnected than that.