Parenting has this way of exposing a part of who you are in ways both beautiful and terrifying.
As in, Wow! Who knew I had this gift for creative teaching? Or, Who knew I could handle this amount of laundry and still emerge with enough panties to fight the day?
But also, as author Elizabeth Stone has written, Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
Those of you who are married: Remember that moment where you piled all those fluffy white layers into the car with tin cans clanking on the back? Or maybe you loosened your tie and pressed on the gas with those rented shoes, rose petals or rice or birdseed flying off the back.
There was something about finally closing the door, muting the noise, and looking at each other: Finally. After all of that craziness, we are married.
It was a little weird. Like, is that it? Stood up at the church, shook a bunch of hands at the reception, and now…my identity is different?
Perhaps you’ve noticed the blog’s been a little quieter than usual. I’ve been enjoying a series of delightful days, on vacation at last. Everything in me feels like I’ve finally set down an overstuffed backpack.
But I’m not what you would consider great at vacation. Africa has stained itself on the inner walls of my cranium. Ominous lines from parables ricochet in my head about a rich man “in [his] lifetime receiving good things” (Luke 16:25), then spending his eternity in anguish. Guilt and I have always had a tight-knit relationship, while I have a complicated, historically unhealthy relationship with desire and pleasure. In college, I was literally wasting away by my ability to suppress my desire for food.
So there’s that.
It’s been more than one mom who I’ve talked to about it. I recognize the furtive look in their eyes, the zealous advocacy–of a different kind than mine, I think. He doesn’t need the stigma, they’ve told me. Do you know what teachers think of kids with ADHD?
Actually, I do.
I recall vividly the very night someone suggested my son might have ADHD. I remember the day, too, when his teachers suggested there might be something wrong. And while a diagnosis was scary? From the place where I stand–the opposite is scarier.
A couple of weeks ago, I was stuffing paper bags with sandwiches, flipping pancakes, signing permission slips, smelling breath to confirm teeth brushing, etc.–all your average morning chaos. That’s when my middle child told me he was quitting football.
Imagine the activity in my kitchen suddenly lurching to a halt. “What? Why?”
He had some good reasons. And a few not-great, 12-year-old ones. It was one of those weird parenting situations where you wish there was a highly detailed playbook. What to do when your kid wants to quit football and he’s been in it for a month and isn’t getting to play and… I told him to go to practice, and we’d talk about it on the weekend.
Author’s note: If you missed these previous posts, you might grab them first for other overarching ideas on choosing vulnerability even when it’s hard–and being a safe place for others when they don’t have their act together.
My husband and I were headed out on a date night (can you hear the angel choirs singing? I needed it. As in, bad). It was admittedly last minute, to the point that my curly-turned-cotton-candy hair had been lassoed by a headband and fun-bun. But my kids would have food and it looked positive no one would burn anything down, so the big stuff was covered. Thus I sat in the passenger seat with my makeup bag, aka magic wand. I was just about through patting on concealer when my husband looked over at me.
Author’s note: This is another one of those posts (like most of mine?) that I write from the thick of it. As in, not from mastery. As in, I was dealing with this last night. Turns out I not only get the “shoulds” with myself; I get them with other people. As in my kids.
My husband has probably said it more than ten times: “When you’re tired, you get the shoulds.”
I should call her. I need to write that note. I think we need to make a plan for disciplining [insert child]. I should be more diligent about…
I remember watching the pageant on my stomach on the carpet: One of my favorite television events of the year. There was the talent portion, the interview, the evening gown. Your ideal, they sang. And sure enough–girls around the nation wondered just like I did: Could I ever do that?
Four kids later, I no longer aspire to Miss America. Sometimes I just aspire to satisfy my clients, get my kids showered and all wearing underwear at the same time, keep the house from burning down.
But for other little girls? Things just got easier.
It’s an interesting dynamic for an Americans traveling to Asia or Africa when we first encounter the shame/honor thing in cultures. To my naked eye, it’s sometimes looked like them not telling the truth.
I’m probably going to botch this story–but I think of my sister and her husband in Asia looking for a pair of shoes. The shopkeeper says, Of course we have your size! but comes out repeatedly with pairs too small…and then actually hides. (Yes. Literally.)
But is there an element of truth to graciously covering someone’s weakness? What if they…don’t have what we want?
Okay, it’s weird to admit this. But there’s an element of living in Africa, being a missionary and all that (or “working in development,” depending on your angle), which if dropped casually in the right circles, instantly hands one to a crumb of celebrity status. And it was really a cool job, y’know? And it made me really…happy. But I did a lot of exceedingly normal things over there. I shopped for a lot of groceries. Disciplined/schooled a lot of kids (well. Mine, anyway). I slept for about one-third of the time.
But can I be honest for a minute?
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