Why are we waiting?

Just been thinking about the past year.  Last week a little friend was in a car accident, earlier this month one of my closest roommates from college lost her husband suddenly, her sister’s husband died just the month before, a young friend’s husband had a stroke, as did my mom’s husband, I discovered a dear friend feels lonely and lost, fires came close to several friends’ homes, a grandma friend broke her wrist and had to stay in supervised care facility for an extended period of time, and our grandpa friend had a very serious accident with a chain saw.  On and on.

I was ecstatic to hear from my roommates, with whom I exchange Christmas cards and pictures with every year, but I was so sad to realize the terms that brought about this recent connection.  It was heavenly to talk to one on the phone, she sounded just like she did when we lived in the dorms and then our apartment; it was as if no time had passed at all, and I wondered why I hadn’t just picked up the phone and called her a hundred times over the past 25 years.  And why are the five us just now finding each other and talking.  Does it really take a death to remind us of our friendship?

I thought of our friends, the parents of our friend in the accident.  My heart immediately wanted to connect with them, all we could think about was wanting to go to them personally.  I texted with the wife, Todd called the husband and they talked.  But I wondered why it took a car wreck to propel us to call them.  Why haven’t we had them over for dinner in the past six months? Why haven’t we just called to check in and catch up?  Where have we been?

I hadn’t talked to my friend from school (whom I know through PTO and the library) for a couple of years! Why did it take a fire for me to reach out to her?  And our neighbors—Todd and I talk about having them over all the time, why haven’t we?  We’ve gone the whole summer without a single bbq with them.  The last time we hung out was during the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics.

Why hadn’t I taken time to visit my grandma friend more often? Why did it take her moving away from her home and into a facility to wake me up? And my father figure (grandpa to my kids) friend, why only after a serious accident did I think to bring him muffins and make a visit?  Why did I wait so long to see these people I love so much?

I think of a friend who was in a dire emotional state a year ago.  Why is it that I didn’t make the effort to connect with her before she summoned us for support?  Why did I wait? Was I playing some sort of twisted game in my head about whose turn it was to reach out? Or did I talk myself into thinking our friendship had changed and had essentially ended just because I hadn’t heard from her in awhile?  I had no idea she was in crisis.  But I should’ve.

I wonder if we give up on our friendships because of distance.  Maybe miles, states, and years stand between us.  Maybe we’re in the same town and distance of time creeps in and creates some sort of wedge, starting out with just a few weeks going by before we realize it’s been nearly 9 months since we’ve talked or had them over; now it’s awkward. Maybe even within our families our hurts or misunderstandings create emotional distance, and the longer we spend not talking about what we’re feeling, the deeper our wounds seem to get and the further apart we feel.  Maybe we sense we’ve just all grown apart.  Maybe we just do what’s easy.

I just spent a week in Utah, where two of my favorite aunts live.  Why didn’t I take time to go visit either of them? I have my excuses, I got in late Sunday night and classes started up on Monday, we left the house every day at 7:30 and didn’t get home till about 6 or so every night.  We left early Saturday morning as soon as we were done to come home.  Not a lot of down time.  But would I have made time if there was a funeral? Or if one had been in the hospital or had a major health issue? Of course. I made a point of going to visit my roommate.  But it took a tragedy; I don’t go to see her every time I’m there.  And yet I love her.  I love my aunts.  What’s wrong with me?

I think I’m normal.  We just always think there’ll be a next time, another time, more time.

But what if we switched things up and didn’t assume?  What if we just told ourselves it’s time? What if we made the effort?  What if we just got on the phone today and asked a girlfriend to go on a walk tomorrow? What if we invited our friends for dinner Friday and worried about what to make later?  What if we actually asked that family to go on a hike with us? What if Todd followed through and invited some of the guys to go fishing; they’re always talking about it, why don’t they just make plans for next week? What if we wrote a card or letter to a relative we were once close to but have lost contact with over the years?  What if we went to visit our 80 year old friend and didn’t wait for her to fall again? What if we did it today?

The power of connecting, even when it’s as simple as a text or a note, is magical.  But in person can be potentially life-changing. And yet we’re missing opportunities.  We make up stories, they’ve moved on, we’re not as close as we used to be, they’re too busy, we’re not on the same page anymore, we’re too busy, they have other friends, we don’t have as much in common any more.  I use these excuses all the time.

And yet, I know how good it feels to make the first move, to get out of my comfort zone and just send the text, to invite a friend for a smoothie or to lunch, to ask a family over again even when it’s been forever.  And I know how great it feels when someone does the same for us, sending a message on FB or texting to go for a walk or to come for dinner, I love it!  I’m so grateful for the time I’ve spent with friends and family building and maintaining relationships; they mean everything to me.  Yet even with that as a backdrop, I fail to make the effort so much more often. I’m like most of us, waiting for that elusive better time, more time, a good time, the next time.

I just wonder if we could make something happen today.  Instead of waiting for sad news, why not connect when life is just normal? It shouldn’t take a crisis to remind us of how much we love (or loved) each other, but often it does.  I venture to say we won’t ever regret stretching, taking a chance, reaching out to connect with people we care about.  Regardless of the distance, whose turn it is, or how long it’s been, there’s no better time.  There’ll never be more time.  But there might not be a next time.  Maybe now's the time.  

Painting

We were sitting on the back deck finishing up dinner just last night and my daughter noticed the paint still on my hands from the previous night and offered her advice, You can use a nail brush and scrub that off. I told her I already had, You should’ve seen them before.

That about sums up our life in a fixer upper.  I’m sure people who come to our house cringe. And wonder what we were thinking to move from a new-construction house to one from 1984 needing an overhaul.  What a mess.  Why don’t they get rid of some of this junk? Why don’t they fix their floor, their door, their porch, their screens, their driveway, their road, their stairs, their bathrooms? Why does it stink? When are they going to do something about the big metal shop?

But I’d love to point out how far we’ve come in the year and a half we’ve lived here.  I wish I could hang before and after pictures near every improvement we’ve made: Look at these closet doors. I know you can’t tell, but Todd replaced them with new white ones.  We painted: this room used to be bright blue, the living room used to be peachy brown.  And so were the bedrooms. I want to remind everyone who wonders that we have taken lots of trailer loads of junk to the dump, we are working on the floors, and we are trying to get new windows and doors.  I want to explain that we’re in the middle of landscaping, which is why there are piles of dirt and wood chips on our driveway.  We’re also trying to paint our house, which is why the radio and ladders and roller are all still out; we’ll just be using them again tonight. Todd needs to insulate the shop before he can set up his work bench and hang cabinets, which is why we have random cabinets sitting in the middle of the shop floor and general untidiness.  We’re waiting to get wood this summer, which is why our floors look a little odd right now.  We love our dogs and have had a few that have come to visit, which is why our year-old carpet already has stains and the rugs are chewed up.  We do have plans for the bathrooms, but we make do for now.  We realize the toilet’s crooked when you sit and that you have to reach behind you for  toilet paper; we’ll get there.  And yes, we know how outdated our laundry room is, don’t mind the mismatched cabinets; believe us, it looks better already.  We have so many good ideas, but we can’t implement them all at once.  We have limited resources and simply can’t hire it all out.  We have to pace ourselves because Todd still has a full-time job and I’m helping the kids get around.  Plus, things tend to unravel and set us back. There always seems to be a lawn mower that needs some kind of attention.  The sprinklers have caused unnecessary headaches.  Our garden is pathetic despite our best efforts with extra watering and fertilizer.  The weeds need spraying, the pastures need irrigating, and the cows had to be moved across town.  It’s not like we’re just taking time off from life to work on a house full-time.

But look! Todd’s put up fencing, made garden boxes, got the wood for the foundation of the greenhouse, laid down flooring in the sun room and made new stairs. His dad helped make a wood shed, and look at how full it is! We’ve painted three sides of the house, our raspberries (at least) are flourishing, and we finally found some furniture to fill up our living room.  Can’t you see how far we’ve come?

It’s sweet to hear compliments on our kitchen.  I forget sometimes that some of our friends haven’t seen it yet, and I’m always surprised at their comments.  But I love to show them our house book with pictures of what it started out like. It’s nothing spectacular, just a regular kitchen that fits our style.  But without that comparison, without remembering what it used to look like, it’s easy to just take it for granted, to forget to note how much improved it is.

I think we tend to forget this principle in our own lives and in others.  We so often call ourselves out for not being where we think we should be at this stage of our lives, for not being more at this age.  But it’s imperative we look back and recall all that’s transpired.  There was a time when I had no idea how to work a grill or a lawn mower or a trimmer or a gas oven.  I was an adult before I learned any of that—and it was only last month I learned about a trimmer!  I was married before I’d made anything with yeast or created any sort of pie.  I never painted a room in my life until we moved here 18 years ago and bought our first house.  I still feel ignorant about most of history, but as I look back on the lists of books I’ve read, I realize I’ve gleaned a fair amount from my varied selections over the years.  I didn’t have much Bible background as a kid, and even though I still get lost in all the begat verses, I’m more familiar with scripture characters than I used to be.

I think we’re all that way.  I love seeing how comfortable Todd is as a vet now compared to when I dropped him off for his first day of work over 18 years ago.  I can’t get over how much more intuitive parenting is now than when I was 24.  I can see already how much better Callum’s driving has become even in the two weeks that we’ve been practicing.  Think of all the skills and habits that have become almost effortless over the years, writing in cursive, making cookies, saying thank you, speaking in public. 

But why do we fail to acknowledge how far we’ve come over the years? And why are we still occasionally forgetful and hard on ourselves?  And even others?

Instead of celebrating our milestones, we’re more likely to nag, Why I can’t lose that last little bit of tummy weight, why do I still mess up dinner, why is sewing still so laborious, why didn’t I know about that part of history?  But I need to remember I’ve had five babies and at least I eat more salads than I used to.  When I first got married I had no idea how to cook.  I’m still not that great at sewing, but I’ve made a few pretty quilts that we all use for naps. And I read.  I’m trying to learn about all the things I’ve missed along the way.  I’m working on it. And so many things. As I know we all are.

As I was sitting in the temple the other day, I was so vexed with my hands. I tried to hide my fingers, folding them under each other and away from view.  I wanted to explain to the ladies around me how hard I’d tried to get them clean. I know you can’t tell, and it looks like I didn’t even try.  But you should’ve seen them before; they look so much better now.

Maybe we need t-shirts, maybe bumper stickers? Something to remind us to note how far we’ve all come. Not so we can judge more accurately, but so we can love more unconditionally.

Because while our house is still pretty much a mess and I still feel a little awkward in some social settings; while I still struggle with being a mom (especially as we continually forge new territory) and I still get lost when we’re talking about geography, I try to remind myself that I’m making headway.  I’m not as shy as I used to be.  I’m not as stressed with my kids as I used to be.  And there’s not as much paint on my hands as there used to be.  I’m getting there.

My other mother

When I first got to know Todd back when we were 18 and freshmen in college, his youngest brother was 8.  I met his family while he was still on a mission in Norway and I was in college. We got married not long after he got back, and I was integrated into his large and loving family immediately.  Since most of his siblings were still at home, I felt a kinship, a sibling familiarity, and instinctively and naturally referred to my in-laws as mom and dad, just as all my new “brothers” and “sisters” did.

And that’s how it’s been for over 24 years.  She’s simply been my other mother.  I’m indebted to her for so much of my learning since, and I’m beyond grateful for her example and mentorship.  So many of her habits have become mine over the years; I just never recognized where they’d originated until I began to take stock a few years back.  I’m surprised that her ways now feel so embedded in me, so natural.  And yet I think they’ve come from years and years of watching her up close, from being in her company, from knowing her family.

I believe there’s an element of truth to the adage that we tend to marry those who resemble our opposite-sex parent.  Todd is a lot like my dad in that he likes to work with his hands and build, that he’s affectionate, is an excellent navigator, splurges on eating out and sodas, loves to fish, and just likes spending time with his family.  Likewise, I feel like I’ve become a lot like his mom.   I just think she’s nailed a few things and I feel lucky to have been able to spend so much time with her over the years as she’s tutored me.  Not that my mom was a slacker, it’s completely ingrained in me to write thank you notes, to remember birthdays, to buy gifts, to spend time with girlfriends, to make holidays special, to have nice Sunday dinners, to use white serving dishes. But every woman has her own personality and ways of doing things, so it’s been a blessing to have both women as teachers.

Both taught me to re-use my plastic ziplock bags and to grocery shop early in the morning.  Both taught me how to make a tight bed and to turn down the covers so it looks inviting, to welcome company warmly and hospitably.  Both taught me the importance of dinnertime and cooking from scratch.  And how to pack a hearty picnic.

But I never knew about making bread until Todd and I were married and we started making pizza on Friday nights.  I was too unfamiliar and apprehensive about yeast in those days, so Todd did the crust. We’d always ordered Domino’s growing up; I guess I never knew you could make it at home.  Todd’s mom taught me about warm water and cinnamon rolls and how sticky the dough needs to be.  She taught me about French bread and how to turn it a quarter turn and to use the heels of our hands so it wouldn’t get wrapped up in our fingers.

I had no idea about camping.  I’d been twice before I got married: once with a friend when I was in 7th grade and again as a college student with our cousins.  But Todd’s family camped everywhere and so he introduced me to a whole new world.  We began as soon as we got married and I fell in love with sleeping in a tent and cooking outside.  There’s nothing I’d rather do in the world than go camping.  I remember Todd’s mom telling me how she and Jerry were at a dance in college and ended up going to the canyon to have a campfire instead.  She set the precedence and I’m so grateful; I’d much rather wear jeans and sit in a camp chair than stuff myself into a fancy dress and make small talk holding red punch any day.  Her love of the outdoors is contagious and inspiring, and Todd and I remind ourselves a lot of his parents as we have taken the reins and led our own family on many nature expeditions.

I’d never heard of a tin foil dinner in my life until we were in vet school.  Todd’s mom used to pack them and her family to the lake or park where they’d have dinner and a chance to explore.  We’ve followed suit and have gone on many similar outings, making tin foil dinners the same as she always did: hamburger, potatoes, carrots, onions, Lipton onion soup mix and cream of something soup.  I’ve seen others, but I prefer hers and always go back to the original.  (She also taught me bring a wet washcloth in a baggie; I’m sure most people my age just bring store-bought wipes, but I love—and prefer—her way, so old-school and natural.)

Both moms showed us they cared for their children by making home-cooked meals, but I didn’t realize that’s what it meant until his mom pointed it out.  I must’ve been complaining about cooking at some point and she told me that we serve our families by cooking for them.  I’ve never looked at making dinner in the same way since.  And so maybe that’s why it’s easy for me to want to do it.  Even though I still don’t love cooking, I do love serving people I care about—whether it’s my own family or other families.  She taught me to see the joy in everyday tasks and to recognize how meaningful such seemingly little acts are.

I love talking with other women so much, and of course I appreciate quiet times with my two moms, listening to stories about earlier times, from their growing up years, about their parents.  They help connect me and Todd to our grandparents and other family members, and I’m so glad for the glimpses into the past they’ve both shared.  Hearing their memories has inspired me to talk about my own childhood more and to encourage Todd to do the same.

We’ve never lived near Todd’s parents.  But I don’t think it would be that different if we did (except it would be fun to spend more time together of course).  They have always been the kind to respect our privacy, to show confidence in us by staying unobtrusive.  They aren’t the meddling type and have always made us feel like we were capable in handling our own lives. Todd’s of course asked for their thoughts when we’ve had decisions to make, and I know they’ve had their opinions, but they’ve been gracious and kind as they allow us to learn by our own experience.  How wise and strengthening this has been.

Likewise, she’s been very respectful of Todd’s other siblings.  I don’t hear her gossip, and she remains vague, allowing others both in and out of her family to figure things out on their own and to share their own news.  But she petitions us to pray for one another and lets us know if someone needs some extra care.  She is always excited for her family’s milestones, and nothing thrills her more than than when someone’s house has sold or when one of her kids gets a new job or a grandkid is going on a mission. I love how she balances knowing what’s going on in our lives without betraying confidences or interfering.  

I learned the importance of cleanliness and order early on in life, and so I was grateful to be able to continue learning from Todd’s mom.  She has always kept a tidy house, beds made, dishes done.  But I've never felt uptight in her homes; they've always felt lived in and tranquil.

She's a natural in the kitchen.  I've always loved her trays of spices (with the labels on the lids of the jars so you can read what they are), as well as her other tins with bigger cooking implements in them like baking soda and salt, all in little cake-pan “drawers.”  Both moms have loads of recipe books, and for some reason I’m drawn to them whenever I visit either house.  I have loved the ones they’ve shared with me over the years, and they’re my stand-bys even today.  Lemon bars, French bread… I’ve tried others and I go back.

I love how hard-working these two women are.  My mom worked in a bank full-time as I was growing up; Todd’s mom stayed home with her six kids for a good portion of their early years until she worked in a pre-school.  They’ve shown me how to juggle responsibilities, to keep up with the basics, to get up early, to make the most of the day.  I can see why my mom fell asleep waiting for her nails to dry at 9 at night, and I can see why Todd’s parents still turn in around 10.  Their days are full and productive.  And yet I love how they can rest by watching a show or playing a game at the end of the day.  By seeing her leave some things for tomorrow, I have learned that it’s more important to re-charge, to be with my husband, to relax for a bit instead of running myself ragged getting everything done.  I’ve learned there is no such thing anyway.  And that tomorrow will be another chance.

Neither of our families were rich from a purely financial standpoint.  But both taught me that we could still maintain a nice home, that we could make a rented apartment, a fixer-upper, or a 1930s fishing resort look its best with some attention.  They showed me how a little paint could transform a wall, how planting flowers and hanging beautiful pictures could make any place feel a little more like home.  I love that even when Todd’s parents were on their mission in Omaha, they decorated their little apartment with personal furnishings and decorations that made it feel like home.  Her yard’s always been beautiful, full of flowers and lush plantings and hanging baskets, inviting and homey.

They showed me that vacations don’t need to be fancy either.  Both Todd and I grew up taking road trips to see family; that was about the extent of our summer vacations.  We were happy with our traditions, and we didn’t need anything more.  I learned recently how valuable family trips are even to adults as they reflect on those memories, and so I’m grateful our families invested in them, that they spent the money and made the effort to help us know our relatives.

I love that Todd’s mom, although frugal, recognizes there’s a time to spend.  Whenever we visit them she takes the girls and me into town for lunch and a shopping trip.  She might think nothing of a little Dairy Queen lunch, but it is a joy for us girls, a tradition we cherish with grandma.  They helped Todd out that first year of college by letting him live in the dorms and paying for a meal plan even though they still had five other kids at home to care for.  They generously bought a plane ticket for me to fly from San Diego to Chicago so we could see each other once he got home from his mission, a huge surprise for me. I still reflect back on that gift and can’t get over their generosity.  They also let us live with them for a month our first Christmas in vet school; I don’t think we realized how hard it was at that point for them to get the resort business up and running, but they were so generous and kind and never made us feel unwelcome.  I have no idea how she did it, but she managed to create a magical holiday for us even though she was so busy with working in town and running their new business.

I’ll always be a bit envious of her creativity and resourcefulness.  She just has a knack for knowing how to do almost everything.  I’ve watched her teach the girls crafts and to sew; I’ve admired her projects and artwork, especially her stained glass that she learned to do in her later years.  I love her confidence as she works and how she encourages her granddaughters to dig through her supplies and to create their own masterpieces.  She’s that same way in the kitchen, always up for trying a new recipe.  I love how she cans and preserves food, grows a garden, and keeps her freezers stocked.

I remember as a brand new mom asking her for advice.  She refused to detail how to mother; she simply said to love them and be consistent.  That has stuck with me over the years, and I always go back to it when I’m in a quandary as to how to proceed.  I would’ve liked more to go on, but it really has sufficed for the most part.

Same when I asked her if she thought I should go to work when we were struggling to know how to do vet school.  She wouldn’t say one way or another, just that sometimes moms had to work.  I also asked her how to know what to study in college, and she said to go with our talents, what comes naturally to us.  I’ve passed on that advice to my own kids as they’ve started to have similar questions.

I love how unpretentious she is, so down to earth and very approachable.  That very first time I met her, she swept me into a bear hug, a girl she didn’t even know and who was taking her son away from her!  She welcomed me unconditionally into her heart right from the beginning, and I know she’s done the same with all of her kids’ spouses.  I felt comfortable with her immediately. I love how she doesn’t need to wear fancy clothes and jewels, she’s comfortable in her jeans and washable shirts when she’s working around the house and in her yard.  She looks beautiful when she’s dressed up, but I sense she feels most comfortable in her play clothes.

She continues to teach all of us the importance of spending time together, always up for a game with grandkids, a boat ride with grandpa or an outing to the lake.  Even as they advance in years, they’re still camping, taking day trips, visiting new cities for overnighters, and traveling to see their kids across the country.  I love that she’ll watch movies with us when we visit, always eager to make us all popcorn (which I also learned from her how to make on the stove). Even recently, as we were camping in the Ozarks, she told our 17 year old daughter to go visit with her cousins; your book can wait, family is more important. She definitely lives by that mantra, as I’ve watched her swing on the front porch with one of her sons, take a little walk with grandpa, or read stories with the grandkids.  She’s always made time for her family, and her example has helped me slow down and remember to make people a priority, to choose relationships above all else.

Friends have always asked where our kids get their pretty blue eyes, and I simply tell them from their grandmas.  I’ve always known my own mom has beautiful eyes, but I think my other mom’s are beautiful as well.  Her blue eyes sparkle and dance, even behind glasses, with enthusiasm for life, with love for her family, and with wisdom and confidence that comes from knowing who she is and what really matters.  I have loved moments when I’ve seen them glisten, when we’re sharing a tender moment, especially when she’s talking about one of her kids or grandkids.  Just looking in her eyes I know where her heart is; and above all, she’s taught me in a million different ways that it belongs to God and her family. I am forever blessed—and changed—as an honorary part of her family and to have her as another mother. 

Not exactly stress

Just hanging out by the campfire this past week, my 17 year old daughter asked what she could do to not be stressed like I was when I was a young mom.  I think the question stemmed from some old pictures I’d found from her toddler days that I’d shown her earlier in the week.  Maybe still haunting her.  (Who are we kidding? They still haunt me.  And I’d be super embarrassed if any of our friends found them, so I tucked them back in their vintage suitcase and put the little basket back on top for safekeeping.)

As I started to answer her, I tripped over my words and couldn’t succinctly gather my thoughts.  How to sum up how not to be stressed out mom?  And yet I knew instinctively she wasn’t asking for a collage of mothering advice, just a simple how to avoid the inevitable craziness of life with young kids.

Going back… after four years of vet school in Illinois, my husband and I moved to Montana with our 2 and 4 year old boys and immediately became pregnant with our daughter. Five kids in eight years. Dogs. A fixer-upper 1700 square foot house from the 70s. A garden and raspberry patch. A third acre lot needing constant weeding and mowing. Projects inside and out always at some stage of progress. A husband who was on-call, gone 8-6:30 and worked a lot of Saturdays, helped out in the bishopric, and who hunted and fished often.  No relatives within 600 miles.  Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular everyday family in my mind.  But it was messy.  And to be honest, nothing’s really changed all that much.  Except the kids have grown up and can help a little more.  We’re working on yet another fixer-upper, we still have more projects than daylight along with lots of animals, and life is still pretty ordinary as I see it.

So as I reminisced with Todd later on our drive down the mountain, I asked what we could’ve changed, what could’ve helped relieve some of our/my stress in our younger days.  Without much fanfare or commentary, he reminded me of my old self and offered the sage advice, Don’t compare yourself to other moms.  So wise, probably the best advice I can think of as I look back on my younger mom days. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a stay-at-home model to refer to, so I looked laterally to other moms around me. I had good intentions, I took my role seriously and I wanted to do a good job.

In my young mind I thought being that kind of mom meant things like making Easter cookies using scripture verses, the kind that turn hollow (empty) after sitting in a warm oven (tomb) overnight and making paper bunny boxes just a couple of weeks after our April baby was born and I was getting ready for a trip to see my mom with the three kids.  So dumb.  I did the elf like an idiot.  We signed up for sports and I trailed everyone everywhere.  I forced instruments.  I remember doing bean jars, rewarding good behavior with a bean every now and then.  When our daughter was super young I’d insist on choosing her clothes and doing her hair. Good grief. 

We eventually bowed out of some activities of course.  And I quit thinking Family Home Evening had to follow a certain format.  We relaxed about how to share our values with our kids and encouraged them to think for themselves. I let the kids choose any clothes they wanted and I don’t know if I’ve ever braided my girls’ hair.  I quit micromanaging their music practice, and I’ve never been on parent portals or websites to check grades. All that alleviated a lot of potential stress, and it all felt very right for us to live like that.

I don’t remember when it started to click though, maybe it was a book?  But it wasn’t long before I started to recognize that by raising our family in a way that felt natural and instinctive to us, we would feel more settled and at ease than if we were constantly fighting against our personalities and energy levels and circumstances. That truth resonated with me and I started to embrace my own style regardless of what it looked like to others.  Stress, I’ve realized, stems from conflict, from trying to be something we’re not. So often it's self-induced. Peace, on the other hand, comes when we’re true to who we are.  So I had to learn to choose between what I assumed were expectations and what I came to trust as my own instincts. So while the messes and general chaos lingered, I began to feel settled as I embraced my natural inclinations as a mom.

Todd and I talked about what the days looked like years ago.  We had a lot of people over.  Families for dinner, kids to play.  We intentionally made some of our messes, and some were just the result of letting them learn and explore.  I’d put blue food coloring in the bath water so it would look like the ocean.  I let them finger paint with pudding and shaving cream.  I let them make as much of their own food as possible. And I certainly let them feed themselves from about the minute they could. I insisted on sugar cookies for every appropriate holiday. I let them experiment in the kitchen and sit on the counter while I made bread, making them flour and water piles. I encouraged them to create with mud and raw rice and to take toys and clothes outside to play Marketplace.  I taught them how to build forts and thought it’d be fun to make a zoo using all the trains and animals we had. And water.  I purposefully bought toys with lots of pieces and fodder for imagining.

We went places together.  I was never the kind of mom to save errands for when dad got home.  The last thing I wanted to do with my alone time was shop for groceries.  So I took them with me everywhere I went.  Costco, Walmart, the library, garage sales.  In the summer we almost always packed our lunches and snacks and blankets and headed to the park by about 10.  We went to the splash park, the wading pool, the zoo, story times.  I wanted the kids to experience real life by coming shopping with me and on errands, and I wanted them to be outside and to see the world.

And yet I cried myself to sleep many nights from exhaustion.  And from feeling so bad about yelling at them, for getting frustrated, for not being the calm and sweet and tidy mom that I so badly wanted to be.  I cried because I felt all alone with no family around and with Todd gone so much.  I felt resentful that we had dogs and an ugly old house and so much work.  I specifically remember crying to my mom when we stayed with her just three weeks after my daughter was born.  I felt so ashamed for having a third child.  I was so embarrassed by how inept I was, how prideful I’d been to think I could handle another on top of two busy boys.  I have no idea if other moms cry about being a mom; maybe I’m just an idiot.  When I was still so new, I assumed everyone else had it figured out and had somehow found a way to do it all.  And be clean about it.  It sure looked like it from my vantage point.  And I was flailing and failing.

But, looking back, I don’t label it as stress.  I’d categorize it all more as just the natural by-product of wanting them to live fully. Not only was there so much laundry, there were dog accidents and endless streams of dishes and papers and accidents and creative projects.  We’ve always cooked from scratch, and so there were always pots and bowls and utensils and foods out.  Hardly a time when all the dishes fit neatly into the dishwasher without remainders. We’ve always let the kids do as much on their own as possible, which contributes immensely to the work of a mom, rarely making life easier.  The days were full for sure.  Excursions, outside play, museums, pets, historical sites, nature trails, camping, cooking, reading, play dough, sugar cookies, art projects, dress up.  As enriching and tame as that all sounds, it simply requires work.  To load up the van, to buckle everyone, to remember the food and an extra pair of underwear and shorts or two, sippy cups, to keep track of everyone, to remember sunscreen and bee sting medicine.  To unload it all, to bathe everyone, to wash blankets embedded with dry grass, to carry home the bags and bags of library books, to keep them all straight, to clean up the glitter, to pick up the shredded diapers and wipes all over the yard.  Stress? I don’t know.  Nothing was too heady or too serious, just a bit of everyday work.

As Todd and I remembered our earlier days coming down the mountain road, I told him that I probably wouldn’t change much about how we did things.  I’d know, of course, to ditch the expectations I had for myself and to put on my blinders to how other moms were doing it all. But I’d tackle the work again in a heartbeat.  It’s not that different in some ways even now, and I suppose some people would feel stress about our life if they had to live it.  We’ve continued to encourage the kids to make messes as they create.  We don’t mind metal shavings and scraps of leather and fabric and bits of thread.  Yes, cook—make anything you want. Yes, bring your friends. Yes, take blankets outside and to the drive in.  Yes, hang your hammock.  Yes, bring your dogs.  Yes, make a face mask out of stuff in the kitchen.  Yes, spread your project out on the counter.  Yes, let’s cut and glue and write and build and make popcorn and smoothies and experiment.  Come here, let me show you how the sewing machine works. Help me with dinner. Yes, it was a mess. And it still is. Yes, it was a lot of work. And maybe it still is from an outsider’s perspective. Yes, I still cry occasionally about my inadequacies as a mom.  Yes, I’m embarrassed by how unkempt our house continues to be and how many unfinished projects are constantly in progress.  But yes, it feels natural and real. And like us.  Yes, I’m sure.  I’d do it all mostly all the same all over again.

My philosophy was to let kids be young and to not squelch their curiosity and creativity.  I don’t believe in staying up late cleaning and feeling resentful; we wanted to teach them to help and accept what they could do.  I felt to enjoy the days at the park and the pool; the day will come all too soon when they won’t even want you there.  Sit on the porch with your cute husband and ignore your sink of dishes inside for an hour.  Or the night.  Read piles and piles of books with your kids.  Pay the late fees and the replacement fees. Let them dress up and use markers and knives and have pets.  And while I have absolutely no regrets over dumped-out Lego buckets and grass stains and lost books and lax bedtimes, it’s certainly not the life every mom wants, I get that.  But even though it was messy and looked stressful, looking back, I wouldn’t call it that. I guess I’m just so glad we went with it, that we embraced it, that we were true to what felt right to us.  I suppose I figure messes are rarely permanent, that we can almost always get things back to normal.  For me, nothing made me happier than to see you kids discovering, learning, exploring, building, and creating. And while it made for a some unnecessary work on my part, it felt ok, like an investment, and totally worth it.

But you’re not me, and so maybe this all sounds a bit over-the-top to you.  Your kids will need you to feel at home with yourself.  To feel settled and confident with who you are. Because it helps them feel secure. When we’re ok with who we are, the natural extension is that we allow others—including our kids—to be. And so that’s my answer, sweet Avery.  Be you.  Embrace your style, what feels real.  Teach them to sew and make fun decorations, hug and cuddle and watch old movies and teach them about all sorts of music you love, talk to them about all the causes you’re passionate about and let them help, run with them, and take your dogs, bring them thrift-store shopping and to cute eateries, scout out the vintage clothing stores, go to the drive-in.  Have fun with them in ways that feel natural. There’s no way around it, kids will inevitably do all sorts of things that can make life feel out of control and crazy and your days long and your workload heavy, but you can alleviate extra stress by simply relying on your instincts and trusting your core. And by being your own kind of mom. (But don't be afraid of a less-than perfect house, you will never regret it later on.)

Wondering about the good

Todd and I have spent some time talking about this the past little bit because I’ve felt unsettled about the way a couple of things have played out.  It’s been on my mind, but I set it aside because I decided it was just me being typically Caren and making things weird and complicated.  Until a good friend talked about her struggle with this exact issue during our discussion on Sunday. 

I’ve always heard, learned, studied, been told, and felt that if something seemed good (ie along the lines of serving), it was from God and that was all the criteria we needed for a go-ahead.  So if we feel to call someone out of the blue, to randomly send someone a card, to get in touch with a long-lost friend, or to text an acquaintance, it’s all within the parameters of good and therefore inspired.  And so I’ve tried to follow through, as I think we all do, on ideas and promptings I’ve felt.  But in doing so, I’ve sent notes even when it seems weird or unnecessary.  I’ve texted people who seem just fine.  I’ve called to check in on a friend I was thinking of just to find out all was well.  Which is exactly what my friend was telling us just the other day.  She’s had the same experiences.  And we’re not the only ones. 

With the heightened focus on ministering (serving in meaningful and personal ways those around us) juxtaposed with one of my resolutions this year, stay out of people’s business, I’m befuddled.  To the point that I feel like sitting out an inning or two.  Just to get my bearings and to figure things out.

Because sometimes all I feel is dumb.  Misled.  Like some kind of silly Pollyanna do-gooder.  A little friendship fairy who’s making a fool of herself. A desperate soul in need of something to do with her time.

Believe me, I’m not trying to make work for myself.  I’m never, ever bored.  I love puttering and doing my own thing.  I’m an introvert to the core; I’m happier with a book than crowds. But at the same time I want to extend myself.  As I assume we all do.  I’m like you, I want to love, serve, reach, strengthen, welcome, befriend, listen, and include. I want to be an instrument for sure. But to be honest, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing with the thoughts that run incessantly through my head.

I’ve tried following this admonition, taking it as a fail-proof guide.  But as I think about it even initially, I realize how I could’ve gotten things wrong.  There are certainly more positive thoughts and intentions that stream through a person’s mind in a day than could ever be accomplished in a lifetime.

I think about all the people I’d like to have over, the tiny gifts or treats I could bring to help celebrate a special day or what I could do for a friend going through a rough patch, ladies who could use a fun card in their mail. I wonder who’s lonely and could use a visit, who’s having surgery or a baby or a wedding, who’s moving in or out, and what we can do to help.  In the past I’ve just pounced on a good idea no matter how fleeting. I’ll admit I’ve been hasty, assuming that simply because a good thought came to visit, I was meant to entertain it.

But I love how God wants us to know the scriptures in their entirety, to string them together, rather than relying on a random verse here or there to be our sole admonition.  He reminds us  throughout the scriptures that we need to study things out for ourselves and to expect confirmation in our minds as well as our hearts.  That we shouldn’t run faster than we have strength.  That all things need to be done in wisdom and order.  That we all have different gifts and abilities. That we are all different parts of the body of Christ/the church, that we all have a role to play.  That there is a time and a season.  That we should pray over everything, even our flocks and fields.  That He notices when even a sparrow falls.  That He knows how to give the best gifts. That we should be anxiously engaged in good causes using our own free will.  That we are instruments in His hands.  That our top priorities reside within our families.  Reminders that provide dimension to the random ideas that are strewn about my mind.

It’s obvious that some of them are simply not meant for me to execute.  At least right now.  Foster? Adopt? Go back to school? I acknowledge those thoughts as they run through my head periodically.  And yet I feel nothing compelling me to act on them.  I can’t help but think of the different causes my friends support, the front-and-center roles they play, their powerful leadership and community involvement.  And I can’t help but wonder if maybe I should be doing something similar.  But I know myself and I’m keenly aware that I’m not ready to take on anything of the sort.  It’s easy to recognize my limits and to say no for now to things like that. 

So why can’t I sift through my other good ideas better? Make dinner for a friend who’s having a minor surgery… sure, it wouldn’t be a huge deal.  By all accounts, a good idea.  But necessary? I immediately started to text a friend to see if she wanted to help.  But then I asked Todd what he thought and cancelled the plan.  I realized just because I could see something that could be done, it wasn’t necessarily what needed to be done.  At least not in this case.  I guess I felt that confirmation because the thought never came back, it didn’t persist, I didn’t feel anything other than calm about moving on.  I wonder if I get confused when good ideas come in the form of a behind-the-scenes small act of service that seems to be tailored specifically to me, my season of life, and my abilities.  If I’m getting an idea that resonates with something I’d like to do or feel comfortable doing, then I assume God’s telling me this one’s for me.

But I have a tendency to see a need and have a desire to fix it like the matching game: issue, solution, match.  Maybe a lot of us are like that.  But just because the match seems glaringly obvious doesn’t mean it necessarily is.  There are nuances to consider.  Mostly I need to slow down and think things through.  Not all day.  Not even usually for half a day.  But for a minute or so. Move on to another activity long enough to see how the idea’s still sitting with me.

How will this impact my family and my day? What’s my relationship with this person? Will it make anyone uncomfortable? How will it come across?  Would it make better sense to just leave this situation alone and give her some space? Is there someone better suited to fill this need? So many times I start and end with the first question and use that as my sole barometer.  But I can see now that that’s why sometimes things haven’t ended well in the past.  I haven’t stopped to ascertain even those basic questions, and I haven’t sought confirmation that what I’m considering is appropriate or needful. I think that’s why we’re encouraged to just go ahead with anything good we think to do, because if we sat and analyzed anything for too long we’d never act on any of our good thoughts.  There are always obstacles and excuses and never enough time.  But maybe there’s some wisdom in simply slowing down, asking God for a nod, and paying attention to how we feel, a tiny confirmation to move forward.  Or at least letting Him know, Here’s the plan, let me know if I’ve got things wrong.  This can all happen in just a minute or two; it doesn’t have to be a huge production, just an acknowledgment with and a team-up with God.

I’ve written notes I’ve never sent.  I’ve sent notes I never should’ve written.  I’ve thought of notes I never even wrote at all. I’ve said too much, I’ve missed chances to say anything at all. I wonder if I’ve gotten in the way more than once.  And I can’t help but wonder how any of it has been received. I guess I’m just saying that maybe it’s wise to just take a moment and think about a good idea before we act to make sure it’s really what we’re being asked to do.   And yet, I still believe it’s not wrong to err on the side of being generous and loving.  Even when it doesn’t seem to make a lick of difference, when there’s no response. When we can’t see anything out of place, any reason why we’d need to get involved. 

I obviously still grapple with this, with knowing when to extend myself and when to bow out.  And yet I know that when we are doing our best to follow Christ, to serve and love as He’s taught, when we really are trying to listen to what our heart is telling us, we will more often than not manage to do some good.

What's not the matter

As a younger mom it never crossed my mind, but as I got a little older, the thought occurred to me that maybe our family nights would be a little more successful if I put more thought into them.  Years ago I decided to take it a step further and started to pray to know what topic we should discuss that night.

I can tell you that an answer that I could recognize has come to me no more than 3-5 times since.  I pray nearly every week to know what our family needs and what we should talk about.  And I get crickets. Blank, cloudless skies with a slight breeze.  Nothing.

I’ve gone through the whole range of emotions: mostly frustration that we’re obviously not communicating, God and me.  That our family is not worthy of such an answer. Families are important, so of all the things I ask Him for and about, shouldn’t this kind of thing top the list?  I feel embarrassed that I can’t get an answer for such a simple request. I feel like I’m letting my family down.  That if a mom can’t get answers for her family, then what good is she?

Over and over, week after week, this has been my dialogue and frustration.  And it’s a lot like my prayers over everything else.  I don’t get much of anything, so I get up and just do what I think is best.

But the past few months I’ve wondered if there’s another way to look at this.

What if it doesn’t matter what we teach?  What if the topic, the lesson, the message, isn’t the point at all?  What if all that matters is we came together?  And then I remembered that someone I admire and revere so much said the same thing in a talk years ago.

“Now, I am sure what I am about to describe has never occurred in your home, but it did in ours.  Sometimes Sister Bednar and I wondered if our efforts to do these spiritually essential things were worthwhile. Now and then verses of scripture were read amid outbursts such as “He’s touching me!” “Make him stop looking at me!” “Mom, he’s breathing my air!” Sincere prayers occasionally were interrupted with giggling and poking. And with active, rambunctious boys, family home evening lessons did not always produce high levels of edification. At times Sister Bednar and I were exasperated because the righteous habits we worked so hard to foster did not seem to yield immediately the spiritual results we wanted and expected.

Today if you could ask our adult sons what they remember about family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening, I believe I know how they would answer. They likely would not identify a particular prayer or a specific instance of scripture study or an especially meaningful family home evening lesson as the defining moment in their spiritual development. What they would say they remember is that as a family we were consistent.

Sister Bednar and I thought helping our sons understand the content of a particular lesson or a specific scripture was the ultimate outcome. But such a result does not occur each time we study or pray or learn together. The consistency of our intent and work was perhaps the greatest lesson—a lesson we did not fully appreciate at the time.

In my office is a beautiful painting of a wheat field. The painting is a vast collection of individual brushstrokes—none of which in isolation is very interesting or impressive. In fact, if you stand close to the canvas, all you can see is a mass of seemingly unrelated and unattractive streaks of yellow and gold and brown paint. However, as you gradually move away from the canvas, all of the individual brushstrokes combine together and produce a magnificent landscape of a wheat field. Many ordinary, individual brushstrokes work together to create a captivating and beautiful painting.

Each family prayer, each episode of family scripture study, and each family home evening is a brushstroke on the canvas of our souls. No one event may appear to be very impressive or memorable. But just as the yellow and gold and brown strokes of paint complement each other and produce an impressive masterpiece, so our consistency in doing seemingly small things can lead to significant spiritual results. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33). Consistency is a key principle as we lay the foundation of a great work in our individual lives and as we become more diligent and concerned in our own homes” (Elder Bednar).

And as I thought about this at church today, I wondered if this principle of simply gathering, of doing things as a family, is what really matters and what or how we do it simply isn’t.

What about Christmas? Does it matter what traditions we have, what foods we make each year, what gifts we give, how it all looks? As much as we’re taught to believe they do, I’m beginning to see that none of it really matters at all. Our kids just want me to watch movies with them and to play games with them.  They don’t care that we just have brownies and ice cream for dessert.  Or Lucky Charms for breakfast.  They just want us to be together.

What about dinner? I don’t think kids care one bit if we make pancakes and tacos every week.  Or that we have pizza from a store.  Even though they’d never say it, what they really crave is the security and stability having dinner together provides.  At least looking back that’s how I felt.  Even though both parents worked and evenings were rushed, we still had dinner together (think basic 80s fare: spaghetti, tostadas, macaroni and cheese and boiled hot dogs).  And even though we almost always had the tv on during dinner, just this simple ritual provided structure and a sense of peace.

Service? I’ve always wanted to be the kind of family that sings to the old people on Sundays.  Believe me, that will never, ever be the case.  We’re more the kind to pick up trash on our walks.  I’d love to be so much more involved in the community, to donate blood together, to make a real difference.  We’re more quiet, no one’s lining up to donate blood, and we’re simply more the kind to have a new family over every so often.  As families it doesn’t matter how we get to know people or how we try to make a difference; what matters is we’re all just trying to teach our kids to be more selfless, to think outside of themselves, to look around.  That’s all that matters.

What about hobbies and vacations? Every family has its own culture, but it seems to matter less what the actual activities are and more that family members spend time together; the hobbies are just the vehicle to facilitate this. Some families are into motorbiking, skiing, surfing, camping, fishing, or hunting; others like music, hiking, shopping, swimming, games, movies, sight-seeing, or crafts. From what I’ve noticed, good families simply do things together, that’s it.  Skiing is no better or worse than four-wheeling, and camping can unite families as well as cruises.

I don’t think it matters if we go to Disneyland, Hawaii, or on a road trip to see grandma.  I don’t think kids care if they go to the Bahamas or the backyard.  Growing up, we took one family trip each year, a 12 hour car ride through Death Valley to visit cousins.  We spent a week swimming, shopping, and eating pizza; nothing fancy, but we looked forward to that trip all year.  Todd had a similar childhood, and most of his vacations were also road trips to see cousins and grandparents, mostly camping with brought-from-home-food.

I remember hearing something similar from another talk, “A friend took his young family on a series of summer vacation trips, including visits to memorable historic sites. At the end of the summer he asked his teenage son which of these good summer activities he enjoyed most. The father learned from the reply, and so did those he told of it. ‘The thing I liked best this summer,’ the boy replied, ‘was the night you and I laid on the lawn and looked at the stars and talked.’ Super family activities may be good for children, but they are not always better than one-on-one time with a loving parent” (Elder Oaks).

I know this isn’t really new news to anyone, but I just wonder if it could help allay some of the stress we feel as parents if we re-think things a bit.  Birthdays, holidays, meals, entertainment,  lessons… what if instead of getting so hung up on the particulars, we focus our energy on simply making things happen? Rather than not have dinner because the new enchilada recipe was a bomb, order pizza or have dad make BLTs. Gather. Simply do what it takes to make dinner a priority. What if we can’t compete with the way birthdays are celebrated at school? Make your own family tradition of a home-cooked meal and special dessert and stick with that over the years.  Instead of spending so much energy on a magazine-worthy Christmas, ask the kids what they really want, and just go with that. Instead of not having family home evening because you never got an answer about what to teach, just open the scriptures and pick a verse to talk about, ask them how it applies to jr. high and life today.  Go for a walk and enjoy nature.  Go get ice cream and remind the kids how everyone’s got different tastes or how great it is to be able to choose for themselves.  They’ll most likely never remember any of the particulars about any of it.  What they’ll remember is that we did things together as a family.  That we prayed and tried to read the scriptures, that we mostly had dinner every night and that we had lots of desserts, that we took family vacations and we played games after our walk every Sunday. That we were consistent. What they’ll hopefully remember and recognize over time is what really mattered to us as a family.  And what simply didn’t.