Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. — “You’ve Got Mail”
There is something about this line that rings so true it makes me smile and reach for the pencil sharpener every time it comes to mind. Especially in the fall. Read the rest here.
...just not in the way previously thought. You knew it was coming didn't you, after yesterday? I was bound to write my annual "please stop whining about your kids" essay. I actually wrote it a couple of weeks ago. It just seems more improtant in light of yesterday. Read on, please...
It's 7:45 on Saturday morning. I've already worked out. I sat on the front steps with a mug of Red Zinger infused with raw honey and cayenne pepper. My bags are at the ready as soon as the Famer's Market opens.
Weekend.
Mike was gone all last week. Did you notice without me even saying so;-)? He arrived home yesterday late afternoon and began to put my world in order again. (Not literally--he's not much of cleaner-upper.) It amazes me how much effect one person can have on the heart of a household. For me, it's the presence or absence of my husband that is most notable. But I notice the comings and goings of children, too.
This weekend brings us very much into graduation season. This is the year of Patrick's graduation. Well, not really. Patrick graduated early, but it is the year he would have graduated. So, it's the year his friends graduate. Patrick collects friends like a dog on the trail in the autumn gathers burrs. He has lots and lots of them. And Patrick keeps friends. They've all grown up together. So, we are drawn into his flurry of activity this week as all those little boys he played soccer with since he was four celebrate this rite of passage.
We also have some matching cousins. Mike's sister and I were pregnant at the same time four different times. Our babies were within weeks of each other. For Christian, there was Catie Lea. For Patrick, there was Erin. For Stephen, there was John. And for Katie, there was Brian. I look with amazement at my lovely niece, Erin, who has grown into a woman of incredible grace and courage and I am so grateful that these days dawn bright for her. With her big sister, and with Christian, they will be a community of cousins in the same place next fall. That makes my heart happy.
Hilary, too, crosses this bridge. For nearly two years, it's been Hilary-and-Paddy, Paddy-and-Hilary. We're all kind of holding our collective breath to see how this transition is navigated for them. But Hilary's leaving will be felt somewhere else as well. One of Hilary's costumes rests on my counter. It's awaiting a temporary adjustment so that it will fit Mary Beth. It's a costume of a ringleader. It's still Hilary's. She will wear it again when the girls all dance together in their spring recital and then compete one last time together in July. But Senior Beach Week calls Hilary away from a performance next week. Mary Beth will be the ringleader. Still, no one will fill Hilary's dancing shoes.
I can't keep my mind from reminding me that all her life Mary Beth has followed Patrick and Erin. She's been right behind them. This year, she's here to slip into that costume. She is firmly rooted at the studio day after day, eagerly soaking up even hand-me-down roles. Still, whatever they've done, she's done soon after. Don't go there! Don't think for one moment today, Mama, about the day when your three little girls say goodbye to their personal ringleader. Stay in the moment. You must in order to survive. It's here in earnest: the season of a mother's goodbyes.
Patrick, of course, came home for the weekend, bringing Zach along for the ride. He wouldn't miss this for the world. It's a weekend of carefully planned parties, each timed so that one doesn't encroach upon another. Instead, my social butterfly can just flit from one to the next, reveling in merriment. Patrick definitely brings his own energy to the household. This weekend, he'll be sharing energy all over Northern Virginia.
And I'll be doing what I do. Filtering the energy. Storing it. Letting it soak in. These bright days are fleeting. I'm trying to capture them like fireflies in a Mason jar on a perfect June evening.
.
.
I've resolved to finish both the book studies begun here. I noticed that both of them petered out in the fall, one last year and one the year before. I figure if I start now, I can finish them both before whatever happens in the fall that makes me not able to finish things.
We were on Habit # 7 of The 10 Habits of Healthy Mothers.
Meg Meeker writes:
"We start to dream about her future because we want more. Maybe we want more than we had, whatever that was or wasn't. We want her to be polite because we weren't. We want her to come home during her summers in college because we never wanted to. She'll have a perfect mom. Our daughter will be the lucky one. We'll give her everything we missed.
"Can't you see? Early in our son's life, we lay out our hopes and dreams, not based on who he is, but on who we are. While we say that we will let him be who he wants to be and that we will love him unconditionally, the reality is, none of us mothers can actually do that. When we go to give him our love, our own needs become kneaded into that love and pretty soon, love can feel messy. But it doesn't have to be."
Ah. That collision of hopes and dreams with the reality that pains mothers so much, particularly as their children move through their teens and early twenties. We have talked about that before and you had plenty to say. It's interesting to me that I think I read this chapter differently than I did two years ago, when I first began this study and first read this book. I think that's because I'm more practiced in collision care. Happens all the time: they don't act according to my perfectly scripted daydreams. It doesn't always go as I'd hoped. Actually, it frequently doesn't go as I'd hoped.
"We fear that if we admit that it's going any way other than what we'd hoped, we'll also have to admit that something is broken in our children, or that something is off in our mothering. Neither of these is a fun thing to accept and so when it comes to feeling humbled or hanging on to a slow burn, we opt for the latter. Being angry is safe. It is easier to swallow than admitting that something is cracked. And it protects us from further hurt."
So let's just get that admission out of the way right now. Let's say it aloud to one another: My kids are broken and so am I. If we can tear down the illusions of perfection and even the expectations of perfection, we can be genuine support to one another. Think about it: how approachable is the perfect woman in the PTO? How eager are you to share a cup of coffee and a heart-to-heart with the lady who has it all together? Let's struggle together. One point that several people spoke to when we listened to the Pat Gohn podcast was the pain caused by competition in friendships. I think we compete with each other and I think we compete with the ideal version of ourselves and our children. Chances are, we learned to do that from our mothers, who had their own ideal versions of themselves and of us, carefully guarded and perpetuated. Depending on how unhealthy this was, those lessons in accepting nothing less than the ideal can be very well ingrained.
It's not too late. We can learn this lesson. Our survival depends on it. If we can give and get love in a healthy manner, we will age beautifully. If we cling to the old paradigm, we will become lonely, embittered shriveled-up old women. I mean that. Nothing will age a woman faster than trying to make her children into something God never inteneded them to be. I promise you that your vision--no matter how lovely--is not God's vision. His is better. It might be really messy getting there. Nothing will make you uglier and more miserable than tightening your controlling grip when love goes awry.
Dr. Meeker suggests four ways to give and get love in a healthy manner.
#1 Take Calculated Risks
This means mom goes first. We tell them first how we feel, we apologize first, and we express our needs aloud. It's a good thing to be vulnerable and to take risks with our love. It's not a good thing to lock our hearts up in a chamber of anger in the hopes we won't be hurt again. With this vocation, comes ample strength and grace to do what we need to do. "If you lay your heart on the table and the person doesn't respond, you handle that. In reality, you can handle far more disappointment than you think you can." What you can't handle--really, truly--is to walk away with your lips pursed and your fist clenched inside your pockets. What you can't handle is anger. It will kill you.
#2 Don't Take Loved Ones So Personally
I think this one is my biggest change since I first started this study. Every time one of my children rejected a component of my Perfect Picture, I took it personally. What was wrong with my ideal? Why deviate from that plan? As they grow, there is great joy in seeing who they are unfold, in seeing the Creator's fingerprints on them. It is somewhat startling, I think, when we begin to recognize that the road to becoming who they truly are is strewn not with rose petals but with all matter of debris. The idyllic path is actually not often trod. Most kids take one of the messier routes and frequently they don't want us along for the ride (or at least they think they don't). They tell us so rather bluntly. Sometimes, "they have temper tantrums directed towards us and try to pull us into their private tornadic whirl." This can be quite startling, to say the least. Tornados suck mothers in. We believe the anger in the vortex.
"We can't afford to do this. When we are hurt by loved ones, we must stand back and assess their words as if we were mothers of toddlers. No, they aren't toddlers, but this helps us be more objective about the problem. When a loved one hurts us...review the words as thogh they were driected at a friend, not us. By removing ourselves from the moment [even if the moment is a season long], we can objectify the words [or actions] and try to see if they are reasonable of not."
#3 Learn to Read Loved Ones and Let Them Read You
The best resources on reading a loved on and letting them read you are Gary Chapman's books. I cannot recommend them highly enough:
The 5 Love Languages of Children
The 5 Love Languages of Teenagers
"Many mothers show love to their kids by cooking their favorite meals, driving them everywhere, or buying them gifts. While our intentions are good, these gestures don't ensure kids feel loved. Certainly kids learn to appreciate the work we do for them as they mature, but in the meantime, it is important to find the small things we can do to let them know that they really are loved by us. While they are growing up in our homes, much of our interaction with our kids is negative because we are correcting them or disciplining them. So find out what makes each child feel loved. When you do this and express it, it will come back to you tenfold.
#4 Express Love Even When You don't Feel Like It
Just be a big girl, already. Quit whining and complaining. Don't stay stuck as an adolescent. Do the hard things. Do them well. And do them gratefully.
"Let's not be foolish The best love relationships require rolling up our sleeves again and again and saying a lot of things we really would rather not. Love requires that we take a deep breath and ask loved ones to forgive us for acting like jerks. It requires saying "no" to our kids and then being willing to reinforce the "no" for hours afterward. It means telling daughters that they can't wear teeny tops and skirts to school even when they wail and cry that kids won't like them. And it demands that we have the "talk" with our sons and daughters over and over about sex too soon with too many partners because hurt always follows. We do these things because we love our kids, but nothing is easy about doing any of them. "
~ ~ ~
And it's not just about the kids. One of the greatest predictors of happy mothers is happy marriages. That doesn't mean it's impossible to be a happy single mother with happy kids. It does mean that the path is smoother for women in happy marriages. And by golly, ladies, we have to work at making marriage happy.
"So when a spouse drives us crazy, we must draw on the same internal gift that we use with our kids. Instead of complaining, we need to focus on appreciating him." When we live this model of appreciating over complaining, counting blessings instead of itemizing annoyances, we create a climate of love. Children learn from watching us. Let them learn genuine love in action.
{{This post is the 11th in a series discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}}
The rest of our discussions of The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity can be found here.
Part 1(discussing Habit 1)
Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)
Part 3 (still more on Habit 1)
Part 4 (Habit 2: key friendships)
Part 5 (Habit 2: your thoughts on friendship_
Part 6 (Habit 3: Value and Practice Faith)
Part 7(Habit 4: Say No to Competition)
Part 8 (Habit 4: Say No to Competition)
Part 9 (Habit 5: Create a Healthier Relationship with Money)
Part 10 (Habit 6: Make Time for Solitude)
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It's been nearly a week since my iPhone suddenly stopped working. I made a call to my husband that went off without a hitch. Then, I tried to text Colleen. My phone popped up a message that said there was no SIM card. Since there had been a SIM card three seconds earlier for the phone call and I was sitting the same place, with the same phone, I figured it was a little cyber hiccup. Tried again. Same message. Colleen is in the jungle in Costa Rica; only God knows where half the texts I send her actually go. I tried to text Katherine. Katherine is in very civilized Dallas. She has a fully functional iPhone. It didn't work. I tried calling home. Nothing. I tried calling Mary Beth. Nothing.
Over the next couple of days, I backed up everything on my phone and then deleted and reset. Well, I tried to reset. One cannot reset without a SIM card and my phone continues to insist I don't have one. After two very disappointing trips to AT&T and Apple, I still don't know why my phone doesn't work. I do know that, at the time it suddenly quit working, I was 24 days past my warranty.
My husband is going to try to see if he commands more respect from either AT&T or Apple. Mike spent all last week in Miami. Just as he arrived home for the weekend, his studio in DC flooded. My sense is that between catching up at the DC office and mopping up at the DC office, phone relacement for me is going to slip a bit on the priority list. I'm actually fine with that for now.
It's become a bit of an experiment. I decided not to fight it too much. This was as good a time as any for an Instagram break. I set a limit on Facebook to 5 minutes a day, mostly just to check local groups with pertinent kid information. And I promised myself to embrace this opportunity to re-think my habits before getting a new phone.
I figured it would be a day or two. It's not, but God knows I'm a slow learner.
I do miss my phone. First, I miss it for the genuinely important things. There are at least three life-or-death situation text messages I have not read. Two are from friends facing tragic illness. One is much happier. When one of my friends in a tragic situation told me on Friday that she was worried I was mad at her because she'd been texting with bad news for three days and I hadn't responded, I felt terribly. I had put the word out on Facebook that my phone was out of commission, but that's not very reliable, is it? She and I made a promise to have a good, long face-to-face chat. Still, though, I'm haunted that I wasn't there to help in the moment.
When my phone first died, I felt very out of sorts. My phone, for better or worse, is an integral tool in many of my habits. I quickly learned that I check my mail far more often than necessary. Still, since I wasn't checking mail, I nearly missed the email demanding that I fax Stephen's sub order before a deadline or leave him to go hungry on a long out-of-town soccer trip. I've been checking too often, but how often is enough? I have no idea. One of the reasons I wanted a smart phone was because so many people associated with my children assume everyone has one. Checking mail whenever, wherever makes my mom job more efficient.
My prayer routine was seriously affected. Nearly everything was tied to my phone. I've since transferred prayers and such to paper, but I do miss the ease with which it was all there, ready and waiting. And I miss my chapel bells. On the other hand, I like very much that my phone isn't the last thing I put to bed at night these days. I think I will continue to keep night prayers in paper format even after I have a new phone.
I miss my iPhone camera. Ideally, its absence will force me to get to know my new camera and lens. My iPhone was instrumental in developing in me an eye for capturing moments in pictures. Before my iPhone, my brain always processed even the simplest things in words. I did--and still do--think in narrative. After getting an iPhone--now 1 year and 30 days ago--I began to think in pictures too. Or, maybe I always thought in pictures, but now I had a tool for capturing those thoughts with images. I miss that. A lot.
And I am pretty bummed that I missed the virtual waiting room texting party while a small group of us prayed for Patti as she labored and delivered her baby boy on Mother's Day. Early in the labor (the day before Mother's Day), I got an "I'm so sorry your phone doesn't work" email and I suggested that updates be texted to Christian's phone. Poor Christian, it was more than he really wanted to know! Poor me. Christian passed along news when it was convenient, not as it was happening. I had promised Patti to pray and pray I did. I didn't need to know the details. God knew. So often, when we get a prayer request, we press for details. Those details don't make us better prayer warriors. They just satisfy our curiosity. So, I prayed without knowing the updates in real time. I will admit, however, that I broke down on Sunday and asked for Mary Beth's iPhone so I could log out of her Instagram account and on to my own, only to see pictures of Patti's baby.
I was very late to the cell phone party. Everyone I knew had a cell phone when I first got mine for Mother's Day, 12 years ago. It was a super simple phone. I didn't want a phone I could take with me, but our house was on the market and our realtor really thought it was a good idea. I rarely called anyone but Mike. And when Mike called me, he could almost never reach me. It drove him nuts. I always deliberately left the phone in the car. I figured I only needed it when away from the house, so why even bring it inside? If it was in the car, I wouldn't forget it. I existed that way until about last year.
Until 1 year and 30 days ago, I didn't have a smartphone. I didn't even have a QWERTY keyboard. And I didn't much mind. I really wanted an iPhone for the camera. Since acquiring a smartphone, I've learned to appreciate text messaging. Mostly, I love to be able to send little notes to my husband and children. With Mike, I flirt. With my kids, it's so handy to be able to text, "Dude, I just put Sarah to sleep AGAIN up here. I don't care if it's overtime, do not yell at that TV, no matter how great the goal." And yes, I write it all out, just like that, with commas and such, because by golly, if we are all going to being writing so much more than we used to, let's practicing writing well.
Frantic bedtime texts aside, I am definitely missing being able to text my kids. I didn't recognize what a great tool texting has been in staying very connected to my teens.
When my phone first went down, I posted to Facebook. I was looking for suggestions on fixing it and I wanted to let people who usually call or text know that I was out of touch. Gretchen wrote this comment:
I haven't had a cell phone since December...sadly, that coincides with the date I lost all my friends. I am completely isolated from all my real life "friends."
I replied: do you still have a home phone? Can you call that way? Can you email them?
And she said: I can call them or email them...but, most people want to text so they won't call me. I have a whole blog post going together on how the cell phone/internet ruined real conversations and friendships.
I thought she must be exceptionally unlucky in friendship. I have since discovered that there is a certain degree of truth to what she's saying. People are in the habit of texting instead of talking. It's been very quiet around here, despite my repeated attempts to persuade people to call my home phone. And of course, I'm much less available to those people because I'm only available when I'm at home. It's been really interesting to see how that dynamic works. It's also been very heartwarming to know that there are some people in my life who will always find a way to share.
It's going to be at least a couple more days until I have a cell phone again. I'm still thinking for that perfect balance of use. Surely, most people who read this will think I'm overthinking and it's ridiculous.
Regardles the outcome of this experiment, I need to cultivate a big camera habit. I have no pictures of the beautiful Mother's Day dinner Mike and Christian crafted. I have no pictures of Patrick (and Zach), bearing roses and surprising me with a visit on Mother's Day. I have no pictures of the glorious place where Nick played soccer. Well, actually, Mike took about a zillion pictures of Sarah there and they are wonderful. I asked him to send them to me, but he must have sent the small files. They're all pixelated. Maybe I can share those tomorrow. There no chance I'm calling the flood zone (from my home phone) and asking him to send the large files.
Mary Beth did grab the big camera a few times last weekend. Nick and I spent several hours on Saturday trying to tame the jungle that wants to be my rose garden again.They were mostly prickly weeds and it was slow going. Thank goodness for Christian, who bagged eight lawn bags full of the debris. I was undistracted by texting or by photographing. We made great progress, but there are still plenty of weeds to pull. Maybe once they're all gone, a phone will appear. Or maybe not.
For more about the lovely chair (including a tutorial) and for an introduction to my new favorite blog, click here. You will be so glad you did.
I'm Elizabeth. I'm a happy wife and the mother of nine children. I grab grace with both hands and write to encourage myself and others to seize and nurture the joy of every day. I blog here with my daughter, Mary Beth, a wholehearted young lady on the brink of adulthood.
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