Motherhood

Embracing the weakness(es)

caroline preschool

Caroline brought this home from preschool today.
It does a really good job of outlining my weakness(es).
Unfortunately, they are plural.
She doesn’t even give away my best ones here.
(I am sure I will be visiting them all in future posts so keep coming back you moms who want to feel better about yourselves.)
Thank you pre-school teacher for the Mother’s Day gift.

caroline mothers day

1. I like to sleep too much. I’m especially awful in the wee hours of the morning. “Just give me a minute!” I am sure Caroline has heard that one too many times. One time is probably too many.

2. Instead of confessing my love enough I demand things of my children such as “clean your room.” The worst part is this is coming from Caroline who I think I do the best job of telling I love her. How must my other kids be feeling?

3. I don’t like Caroline to clean up with me. In fact I am awful about just wanting my kids to get out of my way when it comes to cleaning. I do let them help, but I need to let them always.

4. I like ALL kinds of food. Yes, I do.

(I am kind of impressed that my 3 year old really knows my favorite color)

The only bit of hope I take from this wonderful Mother’s Day gift is that Caroline still loves me. She loves me because she loves me. Thank goodness!

I take a little comfort from Ether 12:27

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient  for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humbles themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will make weak things become strong unto them.

It makes me feel better knowing that God gave me the weaknesses. They only real fault I have is not turning to him to help me overcome them. For some reason I can handle the fact that I haven’t relied on  him like I should better than the fact that I am inherently flawed. Today I give myself kuddos for admitting my weakness. That’s always the first step.

In my daily study I just found a gem. Here, you too, can read the address James E. Faust was preparing for the LDS General Conference when he passed away.

He said this:

Each one of us has been given the power to change his or her life. As part of the Lord’s great plan of happiness, we have individual agency to make decisions. We can decide to do better and to be better. In some ways all of us need to change; that is, some of us need to be more kind at home, less selfish, better listeners, and more considerate in the way we treat others. Some of us have habits that need to be changed, habits that harm us and others around us. Sometimes we may need a jolt to propel us into changing.

Let us remember that the power to change is very real, and it is a great spiritual gift from God.

I guess Caroline’s Mother’s Day gift was one of my jolts. Why do they have to happen so often?

Life doesn’t come with a manual, it comes with an imperfect mother.

Watching this video this morning solidified one of the aspects of motherhood with which I struggle. It’s a common theme to be addressed around Mother’s Day: perfectionism. I didn’t think I had it, but I do. While taking this journey to learn more about myself as a mother, it has been brought to my attention that one of the reasons I am often unhappy is because perfectionism is a myth, especially as a mother.

I ran into an old mission companion of mine at the library the other day. I tried to pour  my heart out to her explaining how stuck I am feeling. I said, “I just don’t enjoy being home.” And then I asked, “Are you happy at home?” She responded that she was for the most part and that she just needed her creative outlet and she was good. “I painted a picnic table yesterday”, she said with a smile. “I was good for the day.”

I was like, “Wha–, What?” I just don’t get it. “That’s it? You get 10 minutes of crafting a day, and then you’re good? You don’t ever feel resentful. You don’t have any further ambition that you feel is being stifled?” She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Not really.” I couldn’t tell if she was being truthful. I am sure she thought she was, but I just couldn’t believe the answer. “She had to be lying to herself'”, I thought. I tried to search within myself for the truth. She said, “You just need your own creative outlet.” I said, “I’m not really artsy. I don’t like crafting. I don’t do home decor. I love to write, but it’s all I can do (as I pointed to my 3 year old climbing the shelves) to get out a blog post, which usually takes me less than a half an hour. I don’t feel any kind of release or accomplishment when I do that.”

And then came my answer and I was so glad I had ran into a listening ear. I continued, “If I could sit and write a book all day that may give me some happiness. I also love photography, but it doesn’t necessarily make me happy. I think for those two things I feel like if I can’t sell a million copies or inspire people with my work, what’s the point?”

And the lightbulb knocked me upside the cheek. How ridiculous I sounded! I’m a perfectionist and it’s keeping me from my happy place.

Yesterday I read this beautiful letter from a mom to a child starting school and I had further recognition of my reluctance to admit my weaknesses as a mother and how I am unknowingly projecting that need for perfection onto my children. I loved this line:

We do not care if you are the smartest or fastest or coolest or funniest. There will be lots of contests at school, and we don’t care if you win a single one of them. We don’t care if you get straight As. We don’t care if the girls think you’re cute or whether you’re picked first or last for kickball at recess. We don’t care if you are your teacher’s favorite or not. We don’t care if you have the best clothes or most Pokemon cards or coolest gadgets. We just don’t care.

We don’t send you to school to become the best at anything at all. We already love you as much as we possibly could. You do not have to earn our love or pride and you can’t lose it. That’s done.

We send you to school to practice being brave and kind.

What if the only criteria for motherhood was love? And what if I admit that I will love as well as I can and that it still won’t be perfect? Nobody can love perfectly. If I could change this one little glitch in my motherhood mantra, I believe I could change the world, one future mother at a time. I have four daughters, I owe it to them to learn to be happy being an imperfect mom because really, like the rest of us, that is all they can aspire to be.

What do I need?

urinetown

Wow, it’s been a really difficult 7 days. LG and I had a little bit of a tiff on our date on Friday night. We don’t really fight anymore, just disagree.

He is gone two nights a week. One for his church calling then basketball and one for a weekly meeting. As we were waiting in line to see the worst musical ever written, I laid my concern out there. “LG, I need a night off during the week. You are gone two nights and I am really overwhelmed at home. It’s just really hard to do what I do 12 hours a day. Not having work this past week has made me even more cranky. This week has been emotionally overtaxing when I haven’t any chance at all to escape motherhood.” LG responded like he does often on the defense, “Alice, it’s not like I am having fun those two nights.” And then, “I get it, I really do.”

I kind of came unglued. “No, you DON’T get it. You go to work every day and then you come home and eat dinner, whereas two nights a week, you then leave. Yes, you took care of stuff after work for the past 2 months while I was at work, and you know how hard and long those days were, but you DON’T GET IT.  You don’t do all the laundry and cook all the meals. You don’t get what it is like to be a mom home day after day, baby after baby, toddler after toddler. Your hubby pursues all his academic/professional dreams and you are home with kids. The days turn into weeks, the weeks turn into years, and one day you wake up and think ‘what have I accomplished? Anything at all?”

I guess you could say I’m having a midlife crisis. I really am. On the way home LG poured out his heart to me, “Alice, I’m sorry. I don’t get it. I do get that you are miserable to be around lately and I can’t fix it for you. Take a night of the week. Take all the time you want. Just figure out what you need.” Yeah, he’s a jewel.

Except I stayed stuck in his first defensive reply and didn’t feel supported or justified in my one night of the week.

But, really it’s not about the night of the week. It’s about me getting what I need. And I don’t know what the heck I need.

Motherhood: less work, more joy.

joy of motherhood

I had an epiphany this morning as I sat on the couch watching the girls get ready for school. One of the reasons I am not enjoying motherhood is because I associate it with work. Someone always wants something from me and I feel depleted much of the time.

I am a really hard worker. Work is an escape for me in a way, so when I am not happy, I just work harder and try not to think about stuff. I use my physical body as a barrier between my emotions and my reality. As they say, “I power through.”

This week at work has been especially exhausting. Tonight is my last night and the relief I feel to mark off this stressor in my life is a lot bigger than I had realized it would be.  This morning after our morning family time, I gave myself permission to just sit and do nothing because I am physically and mentally drained.

I watched as Abigail ran out the door. LG came and gave me a kiss and slogged out to work. (I smiled knowing that he will be tired all day because spending time with me last night was important to him) Then Sophia ran out of her room  and down the stairs to fetch a pair of pants from her laundry basket in the laundry room. She was in a newly acquired shirt (hand-downs are great) and just her undies and socks. Watching her backside try to stealth-fully trot made me smile. She was so cute with her little bum hanging out. It reminded me of when she was a baby. How those baby bums are delightful.

Then Bella came and asked me to braid her hair. It’s not a task I particularly enjoy and because I am usually in bed or running around like a chicken with my head cut off, she doesn’t ask it of me. Just being on the couch made me available for something that makes her happy. In that moment I felt joy. I felt the joy of motherhood.

My epiphany: I am missing out on the joy of motherhood because I allow myself to be too busy to feel it. I have to slow down. I have to quit working so hard. I don’t need to use all my time as a mother working, I need to use a lot more of  my time as a mother to breathe in the beautiful people in my life.

Home Run Hitter

home

For whatever reason, this photo (credit unknown) was extremely poignant to me this morning. Maybe it’s because I love playing softball or maybe because I have so many great family memories at the ball-fields? Perhaps it’s because baseball is my favorite sport to watch.

I think it’s mostly because I have a clear understanding of what goes down at home-base. I have an intimate relationship with being in the bottom of 9th inning on third base with 2 outs and a batter up. Whatever happened I needed to get myself home.

Being in the same situation when I was the one up to bat was perhaps the most intensely anxiety ridden experience of my life-time. I remember vividly the day in 8th grade when I became the hero. I was the last batter (not necessarily the most skilled) who happened to be kind of an overweight nobody with not many friends.

Monica Sharpe was the opposing pitcher and nobody, I mean, NOBODY, could pitch as fast at that girl. (Not even professional baseball players) The game was tied. There were 2 outs. We had a player on 3rd and I was up. It was a full count. I was a nervous wreck. Monica (who later in high-school became a great friend of mine and a teammate) had already struck out many of our greatest batters multiple times. There was no way that insignificant outfielder Alice was going to succeed. In fact, the team’s disappointment at who was up to bat was pretty obvious.

But succeed I did. I nailed a line drive down the third base line. I got a slow start (out of shock) to first – I couldn’t believe I had even made contact with the ball. The opposing  third baseman got the ball and our runner headed home. The baseman did what she was trained to do and went for the easy out at first instead of the one at home.

And I BEAT the out by about .001 milliseconds. And our runner won the game. Actually I won the game. The team went crazy! The next 20 minutes of my life are a blur, but this is perhaps one of my most favorite memories. I had never felt so pleased with myself. I had never felt so validated, honored, or victorious.

This photo stood out to me this morning because of it’s metaphorical value to me and my desire to love being at home.

If I can imagine my home life as home-base maybe I can catch the vision of its importance. Maybe I can catch the vision of my importance. So what if I am not the runner? What if I am the scared little girl up to bat? And what if just making contact with the ball is good enough to win the game?

No what ifs. That is exactly what I am faced with every day. So today, my washing machine, dirty dishes, chauffeuring duties, and patience with one extremely trying toddler all have the name Monica Sharpe on them. And my goal is to just make contact with the ball. I can do that.

Thank you to Dieter F Uchtdorf for my other inspiration this morning that I just re-read from this inspiring address about living without regret.

Let us resolve to follow the Savior and work with diligence to become the person we were designed to become. Let us listen to and obey the promptings of the Holy Spirit. As we do so, Heavenly Father will reveal to us things we never knew about ourselves. He will illuminate the path ahead and open our eyes to see our unknown and perhaps unimagined talents.

I never would have listed home-run hitter as a talent, but, yes, once in my lifetime I was a home-run hitter. “Get back. Get back. Get back and back and back.” [I just screamed that as loud as possible for Monica to hear from my dugout called home.] Screaming those team cheers was always one of my talents, and my kids will tell you the screaming is still on my strength list  – and it’s not unimagined.

Here’s to letting go of the screaming and turning on the home-run hitting. Keep you’re eye on the ball, mom.

*added the next day – one hour after publishing this, while on my run, I realized that in all my softball days, I have never hit a homerun, not once*

But I don’t wanna

Living a life on faith is not for the weak or faint of heart.
It is not easy.
In fact, it may be the hardest thing we are required to do.
Actually, I think I can safely say it is the hardest thing we will ever do.
Not just in this life, but in our whole existence.
This life is the test.
Are we going to trust that God has a plan for us or not?
Are we going to prove that we will be strong no matter what he throws our way?

As I mentioned, I have been feeling the need to be home more with the kids. We originally thought that we would be able to move to make up the difference in our income loss if I quit my job, but it looks like God is not only asking me to quit, but also asking us to stay in our home for now. Double whammy.

I gave my two weeks notice at work yesterday. I don’t know how we are going to make it financially except to say that we have a year supply of wheat and I know how to make bread.

God is giving me an opportunity to master the finances. I am about to become even more frugal then I thought was possible.

That’s putting it nicely.

What I really feel is what I said in my prayers last night.

“No God. I don’t want to do this. I’ve already been poor. I’m sick of being poor. I trusted you last time when you told us to go to law school with three kids and then open a failed law practice, and look where that got me. I don’t want to do this. Why?”

And the answer comes: “Because you have more to learn.”

and then

“And this time it’s going to be easier and it’s going to have a better ending. Just trust me.”

Me:
But I don’t wanna.

Last night, I closed my prayer in tears, not feeling any peace. Sick to death for Boston. And worried sick for the little girl that was abducted in Provo.

And then today, I made my depressed self get out of bed and pray again.

“Please God, just get me through today. Help me trust. Give me peace. Bless them all.”

I head out on my run with a heavy heart.

And 2.5 miles in, my song comes on.

And I remember where I have to look for peace.

As I warm down, I get this news:

And God says
ever so humbly
“See, I’ve got this Alice.”

Who the heck is Mae Jemison

About a month ago my 5th grader, Sophia, came home with the information on the school’s wax museum. She was to pick an American hero to impersonate. They gave her a list of great choices such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Helen Keller, and Rosa Parks. We talked the choices over and forgot about it.

A few weeks later, after a long night at work (I now work 4 nights a week to subsidize what we call the Obama tax/health care) I came home and helped LG with the delayed bedtime rituals. As we went through Sophia’s backpack, she remembered to tell me that she had chosen her wax museum hero that day because it was the deadline. (Way to be an absent mom! – And how I would pay) My excitement was immediately erased as she informed us that she had chosen….wait for it……

Mae Jemison.

“Who the heck is Mae Jemison?” my hubby and I questioned simultaneously.

“The first female African-American astronaut,” Sophia answered innocently enough. (But I know that deep down inside she was really like, “I’ll show you, mom, for being at work.”

My mom radar immediately alarmed, “Did you say African-American?” as I carefully reanalyzed my 11 year old very blued eyed, very blonde haired, very Caucasian daughter.

It’s times like these that I am 100% convinced someone has hidden a secret “gotcha” camera somewhere in the couch cushions. And times like these happen every day at our house.

LeGrand couldn’t contain his overly exuberant smile headed in my direction with the subliminal message of, “Thank heavens I have the Y chromosome. It’s all you babe.”

Today I am proud to announce that I not only immediately committed, but embraced my daughter’s dream of being the first Caucasian girl dressed as the first African American female astronaut.

After 2 hours at the thrift store, 1 hour at the sewing machine, 5 hours at the computer, 1 hour printing, taping, and pinning (and re-washing and pinning after the other daughter’s judgement error of spilling a bottle of coke on the orange outfit waiting to be worn on top of the nightstand ), 1 hour of wig trimming, 2 hours overseeing the poster making, 1 hour of help with the speech, and 3 hours of searching for the right make-up, a stroke of genius with the snow boots that look like they belong on the moon, and 30 minutes of haggling (and losing) to the girl to let me do it before she went to school, I gladly share the end result.

And yes, she tore off the wig in less than 
two seconds after I turned off the camera.
(I forgot to mention the special trip to Sally Beauty Supply
 for what I learned is called a wig cap.)
And even then the wig was still too itchy.
White girls are so whimpy
about their beauty aides.
It’s at times like these that
homeschooling doesn’t sound so crazy.

And just in case you moms are ever
called upon for the same task,
here is everything you ever need to know
about
Dr. Mae Jemison
in the first person
 I was born on October 17, 1956 (which would make me 57 now) in Decatur, Alabama. My parents were Charles and Dorothy Jemison and I was the youngest of three. I am still alive today and achieving many things.
            I was raised in Chicago and graduated high school at age 16 and went to Stanford University on a scholarship. I graduated from Stanford with two degrees! One was a Bachelor of Science degree in Chemical Engineering, the other an Associate Bachelor degree in African and Afro-American studies. I later attended Cornell medical school and achieved the requirements to become a medical doctor.  I then went to West Africa with Peace Corps to be a medical doctor from 1983-1985.
            I then came back to America and became a doctor in Los Angeles, California. I was also a dancer so at the time I was deciding which I should be. Should I be a dancer or a doctor? And I still wanted to achieve a childhood dream, a dream I had since kindergarten, I wanted to go to space. Many people told me that I couldn’t go to space because I was a woman. But I applied to NASA to become an astronaut and they accepted me.
            On September 12, 1992, I blasted off into space becoming the very first African-American women ever to go to space. I went into orbit on the Space shuttle Endeavor and I was in space 7 days 2 hours and 30 minutes. My space mission was called STS-47. On that mission I was the science mission specialist. My mission was a joint operation between the U.S.A and Japan. My experiments dealt with bone cell research. With me I brought a picture of my old dance crew. I proved many people wrong that day. I also fulfilled my dream to be an astronaut.
            Since getting back from space I quit working at NASA. For a while I was a professor of developing countries and advanced technology at Dartmouth College. I got to be the only person who has been to space to act on the TV show “StarTrek: The Next Generation”. I have created the Jemison Group which works to bring advanced technology to people worldwide and fosters a love for science in students. Now I speak at a lot of engagements, am the President of two technology companies, and love to spend time my cats in Houston, TX where I live.

Next year, I am hoping Bella will be wise enough to pick Bill Gates, like this smart neighbor.
Of course, we would have to chop off all her hair and dye it blonde.

My job

This weekend the message came to me for the thousandth time.
It was a clear as a bell, like it always is when I stop to listen.
It was an answer to my two pages of questions to God.

It came from Bruce D. Porter and was entitled Beautiful Mornings.

I do this every 6 months. I write down all the life struggles that I am having in form of questions to God and then I spend a whole weekend listening to living prophets, and I listen for the answers. They always come through the gift of the Holy Ghost. God whispers them directly to my soul. This time there were 18 specific answers all small parts to my journey back to Him, and all connected to one another.

My questions varied from how can I afford to go back to college to should we move to a cheaper place to save money. How can I strengthen my marriage? What is my life mission and how do I accomplish it? How can I be happy in my calling? (I meant my job at church but had no idea until I listened intently that I also needed this answer for my calling in life)

All the answers pointed to my most important title: mom

Pleasing God needs to be my first priority. When I make pleasing God the top priority in my heart, my husband and children rightfully earn their places at the top of my to-do lists. If pleasing God means that I have to quit my job and live on rice and beans, so be it. If it means that I don’t get to go back to school for another year or two, it’s o.k. I need to live my life on God’s timetable and with his rules because He is where I will find the greatest happiness. If I never get the dream house or the coveted vacation because I limped through hubby’s law school and supported him through the aftermath (and beyond – for the next 40 years of student loan payments) and encourage my children’s extra-curriculars it will be to my glory: eventually.

For me the answer is always that MY JOB is to nurture my children and support my husband. My job is to let go of my need for approval in the eyes of others. I have to let go of the Western culture of acquiring wealth. I even have to let go of my need to achieve certain things because if I am doing it for me and not for Him, it’s wrong. It’ll never be right no matter how wonderful.

It’s so ironic that after recommitting myself and finding inner peace,
my beautiful morning looks like this:

“Mom, do you know what this is?
It’s my job to do.”
“Mom, move out of my way!
…..
I’m looking for something important.
Can you help me find it?”

Who knew inner peace would be so loud?

or rainy?

and disguised 
as one mess after another
for me to clean?
Once again I am brought to my knees.
Please God, help me to understand.
Help me be humble.
Help me love my job.
Help it to make me happy.
And I just found this on facebook and must include it
for my Mormon friends.
I guess things could always be worse.

Book Review: Parenting with Spiritual Power

Parenting with Spiritual PowerParenting with Spiritual Power by Julie K. Nelson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

You know the old philosophy that parenting doesn’t come with a manual?
Well, it’s crap.
If you have The Holy Bible, you have one of the greatest parenting manuals in existence.

If you add to the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the teachings of the living prophets, and you are still struggling as a parent, Julie K. Nelson has written this book just for you. I have been so touched as I have read this book: God has given us great stories to help us with the most important work we are called to do as parents. If you, like me, need help in applying those resources, then you need to get your hands on a copy of this book ASAP. It is truly an inspired parenting manual.

I have long studied principles of parenting and found many of the most important theories I’ve learned over the years in the pages of this book. Truth just oozes from the pages of “Parenting with Spiritual Power.” Oozes. As I read I found myself amazed at how many modern-day applications there are in the ancient scriptures. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true. I have learned a lot of these truths already in my own study, but to find them gathered together in such an easily applicable format is almost too good to be true: but it’s not. This book is full of truth in one easy-to-read resource.

If you want to learn more about depositing into your children’s banks of self-worth, setting reasonable boundaries, how to positively correct your children, live sacrificial lives, stomp out anger and develop greater charity as a family, and how to show faith in your children this book is for you. Like me, I believe you will be totally shocked at all you’ve been missing when studying the scriptures. I’ve had the handbook in my hands all along, I just didn’t realize that I needed Julie Nelson to translate it for me.

Thank you Julie. I recommend this book for all parents, even those that aren’t Mormon. What a wonderful and much needed resource for all of us.

You can buy the book for just $11.04 at Amazon or $13.99 at Deseret Book. After reading this book I can honestly say I would spend double that. Really, can we even put a price on better parenting?

View all my reviews