Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Messy Diapers
Dear Readers,
I'm revising some old posts to correct just some of the many errors and typos. This is one of them.
Our oldest daughter lived for a time in the Pacific Northwest, far from her family in the desert.
She had graduated from college and was starting to build a career with a large company near Seattle.
Then she met her eternal companion at a singles ward volleyball game and they married, somewhat late in life by Mormon standards. Both were anxious to have children and build a home for them that would last forever.
Our family was especially grateful when they found each other. We hoped it would stop the nightly phone calls.
You see, before they met, Larry and I vividly remember frequent long distance wailings from this daughter about ticking biological clocks and how age 29 was the end of all possibility for marriage and a posterity. Whenever the phone rang at our house in the evening Larry would say “Is it whining in Seattle?”
Well, our child got her heart’s desire, and then some, concerning that marriage and posterity thing.
Twins came close on the heels of a son and a daughter.
She then assumed that all her troubles were over now that she'd been blessed with what she'd wanted for such a long time.
But it turned out that life was still quite a challenge in those early days of motherhood.
To say the least.
It seems that being pregnant with twins while caring for a husband and two young children is hard. Who knew?
While she was carrying the twins we did what we could to help at truly desperate times. We were 1,800 miles away, after all, but we flew in an eighteen year old sister for a few weeks in the summer, for example, when "Whining" was too baby-big even to bend over to clean the bathtub.
According to this visiting sibling, people actually pointed and stared at pregnant sister when she went out in public.
“Look at that lady’s stomach!” someone once cried out before they could remember their manners.
One day, a kind woman came up to say knowingly, “Twins, Dear? Hang in there.”
Well, they were blessed with healthy girls.
We all went to give aid and comfort right after the twins were born, but soon had to leave them on their own to care for themselves and four children under the age of five.
Yes, heartfelt prayers had been answered, and the dream came true. But life still turned out to be a challenge.
Isn't that always just the way?
One day our daughter was feeling particularly overwhelmed.
Her existence seemed to be an endless round of dirty diapers and preschooler tantrums.
She began to question the choices she’d made.
Whatever happened to the career she had been educated for?
What happened to her body in such a short time?
What about her hair? Why did it look like this?
Where were her real clothes like high heels and designer suits?
Who were all these little people and why didn’t they speak English?
You get the picture.
It so happened that right in the midst of all this angst she began to think of the Relief Society lesson she had heard on the previous Sunday. At least what she could remember hearing of it while juggling babies on both knees.
The lesson was about the second coming of Christ.
The questions asked were about personal readiness for that great future event.
The teacher wanted the sisters to think about their lives and how they spent their time. “If the Savior came back today, what would He find you doing?” she asked. “If He walked in on you today, unannounced, would you be okay with that?”
As she was thinking about this she gazed around her messy house.
There were kids’ toys everywhere, graham cracker crumbs scattered from the front door to the back, and two babies sitting in their rockers suddenly beginning to smell suspicious.
She went to them to check the situation and found that both had apparently had too much apple juice, resulting in a diaper mess of such gigantic proportions that it spilled out onto the rockers, up their backs and into their hair!
She decided to think later.
These babies needed an entire bath right now, even though she’d just bathed them that morning. Diaper wipes would not be anywhere near adequate for this situation.
So she carted the rockers into the bathroom, knelt down by the tub and began to bathe the babies. Her three year old followed hot on her heels to watch the show.
Tears of frustration began to well up in her eyes as she knelt there.
The three year old began hopping back and forth over her legs while singing.
She began thinking again……“My house is a mess! My kids are a mess! I’m a mess!
I was supposed to be doing great things with my life by now! If the Savior came back today He’d find me and my college degree in a messy house on my knees next to a bathtub washing two poopy babies with a three year old hopping back and forth over my legs singing “Mommy’s gross…Mommy’s gross!”
As she soaped the squirming twins the truth came to her, of course, and she began to cry in earnest.
(I didn’t raise stupid kids you know.)
She realized that what she was doing with her life at that exact moment would be acceptable to the Savior.
She was trying to build an eternal home and family.
She decided that the Son of God might even possibly say something to her that was distinctly positive….like… “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”
Feeling much better about many things she said a silent thank you prayer for the Relief Society lesson.
As she finished with the last baby she turned her attention to her three year old son. “Honey, why are you singing Mommy’s gross? That’s not very nice.”
“Because you are gross, Mommy, he replied. “Look at your feet!”
She looked.
Both feet, clad in white tennis shoes were resting right in the middle of a dirty diaper.
Now she needed a bath.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Alarm Clock of Youth
Why, oh why, must children remember the very things about their childhood that you wish them to forget? And why, oh why, don't they recall the many wonderful things, (I'm sure there must have been many), that are worth remembering?
My kids are all grown. One day, I was feeling uncharacteristically wistful about those long, lost days when they were newer. I asked one who turned out well to tell me about a childhood memory. I was looking for validation that I'd been a good mother, that I'd been a light in little childish lives.
Take my advice. Don't do this. You may be sorry.
Dear daughter cheerfully replied that one of her most vivid memories as a young girl was being awakened every morning by the ringing sounds of pots and pans clanging together. This was coming from the kitchen. Then every so often, after a particularly loud crash, the shrill voice of her lovely mother would cry out in exasperation, "Damnation!"
She doesn't recall that I was all alone out there, in the dawn's early light, making breakfast and packing lunches for the rest of the still sleeping members of the family. No, of course not. All this before I had to get ready for work too. Never mind that I wasn't cussing AT anybody for Pete's sake! Plus, I didn't think anyone was listening, but that doesn't matter either. She just remembers what she calls, "The alarm clock of my youth." 5:00 AM she said. It never failed. For years she awoke to the sound of pots and pans crashing loudly and "Damnation!" ringing out from the kitchen of our "little house in the big woods." Now whenever she hears anybody shout, "Damnation!" she thinks of me. Great. Happy mother's day.
After this distressing little tale I asked her to tell about something nice. A beautiful memory. Something precious that we'd shared as mother and daughter.
She thought hard and said with a bright smile, "Nothing comes to mind off the top of my head."
If you still have kids at home think about this. Let it be a lesson to you. Children have very selective memories and good hearing. And regret has a bitter taste in old age.
Watch yourself.
My kids are all grown. One day, I was feeling uncharacteristically wistful about those long, lost days when they were newer. I asked one who turned out well to tell me about a childhood memory. I was looking for validation that I'd been a good mother, that I'd been a light in little childish lives.
Take my advice. Don't do this. You may be sorry.
Dear daughter cheerfully replied that one of her most vivid memories as a young girl was being awakened every morning by the ringing sounds of pots and pans clanging together. This was coming from the kitchen. Then every so often, after a particularly loud crash, the shrill voice of her lovely mother would cry out in exasperation, "Damnation!"
She doesn't recall that I was all alone out there, in the dawn's early light, making breakfast and packing lunches for the rest of the still sleeping members of the family. No, of course not. All this before I had to get ready for work too. Never mind that I wasn't cussing AT anybody for Pete's sake! Plus, I didn't think anyone was listening, but that doesn't matter either. She just remembers what she calls, "The alarm clock of my youth." 5:00 AM she said. It never failed. For years she awoke to the sound of pots and pans crashing loudly and "Damnation!" ringing out from the kitchen of our "little house in the big woods." Now whenever she hears anybody shout, "Damnation!" she thinks of me. Great. Happy mother's day.
After this distressing little tale I asked her to tell about something nice. A beautiful memory. Something precious that we'd shared as mother and daughter.
She thought hard and said with a bright smile, "Nothing comes to mind off the top of my head."
If you still have kids at home think about this. Let it be a lesson to you. Children have very selective memories and good hearing. And regret has a bitter taste in old age.
Watch yourself.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
"Goodly Parents"
"Having been born of goodly parents." That's what Nephi says in the scriptures. Boy, that's a phrase loaded with meaning, isn't it? Or maybe guilt if you happen to be a parent and are worried that you might not have been as "goodly" as you should have been at times. This crossed my mind over the holidays when I had a chance to spend time with all my grown children and grandchildren in the same place several times. As I surveyed the chaos of offspring milling around me I worried about the times when I could have been a better mother. Indeed, my grown children now and again play a game called "Remember when Mom ruined your life?" They take turns telling stories of when I did some horrible thing that embarrassed and scarred them forever and then they all laugh like loons. It's tons of fun for all. I learned that one of the terrible things I did to our son was to make him wear a new pair of jeans to school before they were washed. I'll admit that back in the day new Levis were stiff as a board, but I hadn't had time to do the laundry and those were the only clean pair of pants in the house. Apparently he was ridiculed cruelly by the entire school and sustained severe chafing to boot. I'd managed to injure his psyche and his butt at the same time. How come they never play, "Remember when Dad ruined your life?" It's always the mom, isn't it?
In my defense, I do recall once when I really made an effort to be a "goodly" mother. Our two oldest were in their late teens. You must remember that Larry and I were raggedy old converts without a clue as to how to raise LDS kids, especially teenagers. Heck, we had no idea how to Be LDS teenagers! Most of the stuff we did as kids was wrong! (Especially the stuff Larry did. Plus he talked me into some things against my will.) Anyway our current parent plan was to hold a hard line on the big stuff, (drinking, smoking, fooling around) and ease up on lesser issues like curfew and such. Our house rule was "We want to know where you're going and when you'll be back." (This horrified many of our church friends, by the way.) If it's the basketball game and pizza then you say you'll be home by 11:00. If it's burgers and a movie then 12:30. Right? If they weren't home when they said they'd be their dad would be out looking for them for sure. This was working for us pretty well. We had a lot of quasi-rules like that, as I recall.
In addition I would sometimes try hard to hold family home evenings because that's what the Prophet said to do. This was always under extreme protest from the teenagers who made the whole experience as excruciating as possible. But every now and then it worked. One day I was rewarded for my efforts and I gave an inspiring lesson on the importance of honoring your parents, which was sorely needed in our house at the time.
Around this time something happened that gave me a lot to think about. Son Dane was then 17 or 18. He was 6 foot 3 or more, weighed at least 275 and resembled a small mountain. He was a tackle on the varsity football team in a big city school and was kind of a big deal because of it. (Newspaper articles, billboards and the like.) Most of his friends were football players too, many of them linemen like himself, although he did have one friend who came around a lot who was a regular sized guy, a quarterback. Once, I remember this kid coming off the field during a big game, marching straight over to Dane and punching him in the face. I heard him yell, "Why'd you let that guy get through! He just about killed me! Can't you think under pressure?!" Dane looked at him, shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and said "Sorry, I didn't see him. I was looking at a cheerleader."
Whenever the guys came into the house, which was often, you looked up at them and thought, "These kids potentially have great careers as pro wrestlers or bouncers." In addition I always thought, "Gee, I hope they're not here for dinner again." Anyway, as I was saying, it was a Saturday morning. Dane was still sleeping when he was supposed to be cleaning his room. His room had become so awful that I lived in terror that some visitor would ask for the bathroom and mistakenly open his door, which I kept shut for fear that something might crawl out. I had gone in there the day before and in the midst of the rubble found a Book of Mormon on his nightstand with a peanut butter sandwich being used to hold his place! I didn't know whether to be glad that he was reading the scriptures or mad about his bookmark.
Anyway the doorbell rang and I opened it to let in two huge linemen and the quarterback who said they were there to pick up Dane to go somewhere with them. I explained that he couldn't go until he cleaned his room first. They looked at me with worry and one politely said that they were late already. About this time Dane emerged from the disaster area pulling on his letterman's jacket and zipping his pants. I said, "Son, remember, you have to clean your room before you go anywhere today."
Worried looks all around.
"Mom, I'll do it when I get back. I promise."
With steely resolve I said, "No. You always say that. You're grounded until your room is clean! Do it now!"
"Ma, he said, "Be reasonable. We're late already."
(Here's where the "goodly" parenting comes in.) I said, "Son, remember that Family Home Evening lesson we just had about honoring your mother and father? Remember what we learned? Bad things can happen to people who don't honor their parents. It turns out they sometimes die young. Now I'm your mother and I'm telling you that you're grounded until you clean your room!"
Then I saw my only son gaze off across the living room, obviously thinking hard. I could see he was remembering that beautiful lesson about obeying parents.
He finished thinking. Suddenly he grabbed me by the neck and began to twist. "Mom, tell me I'm not grounded! Say it! Say it!" As I twisted to the floor writhing in pain I saw the astonished, wide eyed faces of his huge friends.
"Say it, Mom! Say I'm not grounded!"
As I began to suffocate I managed a quick, "Okay, Okay! You're not grounded."
He let me go, helped me up and planted a big kiss right in the middle of my forehead. "Love you, Mom. I'll be home by 10."
As they all walked out the door I saw the linemen slowly shaking their heads in disbelief. The quarterback turned to my son and said with shock in his voice, "Dane, you actually put your own mother in a headlock."
He replied with a huge grin, "Yea, I know. And you said I couldn't think under pressure."
Now I realize that some of you may disapprove. At first I felt bad about the situation myself. But I swiftly realized that I could think about it in two ways. On the one hand, I had actually raised a son who would put his own mother in a headlock. On the other I'd raised a kid who wouldn't disobey his parent and go out if she said he was grounded. I decided to go with the latter and said to myself, "That boy has an awesome mother!"
Much time has passed since that day. I now have more fond
parenting memories. One special one is of that same son, now the father of several teenagers, standing in a doorway, exasperation on his face, frustration in his voice, bellowing over the din of a family gathering to his dear wife. "Lisa! Tell me! Why do we have children!" He meant it, there was some history in his tone. And just the other night his older sister mistakenly dialed her father at midnight waking us both. She was looking for one of her teenagers who was late coming home. We didn't have him. Ahhh. We just smiled a long time at each other. I asked Larry if we should worry. He said "No, that's her job," and we went back to sleep. I only fretted for a minute before dozing off.
So it's true what they say. Being a parent is like a lot of other things in life. What goes around comes around. That karma thing and casting bread on the waters really happens. Parents eventually do reap satisfaction. They just have to wait until their kids try to be "goodly parents" themselves.
In case you're worried about how our son eventually turned out, I'll tell you truthfully that he still needs a lot of work. There have been hopeful signs though. He did serve in his bishopric and stake high council. His oldest daughter will graduate from nursing school next month. She waited for her high school sweetheart to return from his mission. They were just married in the Mesa temple a few months ago. His second oldest daughter will be 19 this summer. She's turned in her mission papers and is waiting to see where she's called. She'll be our first missionary grandchild. The younger kids look very promising too.
How'd that happen? Well, I know that Heavenly Father blessed Dane the day he met Lisa, and I must say that our son showed good judgement when he fell in love with her. His children ended up with a "goodly mother." May he himself continue to be blessed in his own efforts as well. Actually it turns out that the boy's made us very proud in so many ways. Who knew?
I pray that Heavenly Father will also bless all of you out there who are trying to be "goodly" too. It's one of the most important and challenging callings you'll ever have. Don't give up. Take heart. I know firsthand that you can make mistakes. Father's got your back. He sure had mine. After all they're His children too. And remember, one day your kids will have as much trouble as you're having now. It's immensely satisfying I can tell you.
In my defense, I do recall once when I really made an effort to be a "goodly" mother. Our two oldest were in their late teens. You must remember that Larry and I were raggedy old converts without a clue as to how to raise LDS kids, especially teenagers. Heck, we had no idea how to Be LDS teenagers! Most of the stuff we did as kids was wrong! (Especially the stuff Larry did. Plus he talked me into some things against my will.) Anyway our current parent plan was to hold a hard line on the big stuff, (drinking, smoking, fooling around) and ease up on lesser issues like curfew and such. Our house rule was "We want to know where you're going and when you'll be back." (This horrified many of our church friends, by the way.) If it's the basketball game and pizza then you say you'll be home by 11:00. If it's burgers and a movie then 12:30. Right? If they weren't home when they said they'd be their dad would be out looking for them for sure. This was working for us pretty well. We had a lot of quasi-rules like that, as I recall.
In addition I would sometimes try hard to hold family home evenings because that's what the Prophet said to do. This was always under extreme protest from the teenagers who made the whole experience as excruciating as possible. But every now and then it worked. One day I was rewarded for my efforts and I gave an inspiring lesson on the importance of honoring your parents, which was sorely needed in our house at the time.
Around this time something happened that gave me a lot to think about. Son Dane was then 17 or 18. He was 6 foot 3 or more, weighed at least 275 and resembled a small mountain. He was a tackle on the varsity football team in a big city school and was kind of a big deal because of it. (Newspaper articles, billboards and the like.) Most of his friends were football players too, many of them linemen like himself, although he did have one friend who came around a lot who was a regular sized guy, a quarterback. Once, I remember this kid coming off the field during a big game, marching straight over to Dane and punching him in the face. I heard him yell, "Why'd you let that guy get through! He just about killed me! Can't you think under pressure?!" Dane looked at him, shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and said "Sorry, I didn't see him. I was looking at a cheerleader."
Whenever the guys came into the house, which was often, you looked up at them and thought, "These kids potentially have great careers as pro wrestlers or bouncers." In addition I always thought, "Gee, I hope they're not here for dinner again." Anyway, as I was saying, it was a Saturday morning. Dane was still sleeping when he was supposed to be cleaning his room. His room had become so awful that I lived in terror that some visitor would ask for the bathroom and mistakenly open his door, which I kept shut for fear that something might crawl out. I had gone in there the day before and in the midst of the rubble found a Book of Mormon on his nightstand with a peanut butter sandwich being used to hold his place! I didn't know whether to be glad that he was reading the scriptures or mad about his bookmark.
Anyway the doorbell rang and I opened it to let in two huge linemen and the quarterback who said they were there to pick up Dane to go somewhere with them. I explained that he couldn't go until he cleaned his room first. They looked at me with worry and one politely said that they were late already. About this time Dane emerged from the disaster area pulling on his letterman's jacket and zipping his pants. I said, "Son, remember, you have to clean your room before you go anywhere today."
Worried looks all around.
"Mom, I'll do it when I get back. I promise."
With steely resolve I said, "No. You always say that. You're grounded until your room is clean! Do it now!"
"Ma, he said, "Be reasonable. We're late already."
(Here's where the "goodly" parenting comes in.) I said, "Son, remember that Family Home Evening lesson we just had about honoring your mother and father? Remember what we learned? Bad things can happen to people who don't honor their parents. It turns out they sometimes die young. Now I'm your mother and I'm telling you that you're grounded until you clean your room!"
Then I saw my only son gaze off across the living room, obviously thinking hard. I could see he was remembering that beautiful lesson about obeying parents.
He finished thinking. Suddenly he grabbed me by the neck and began to twist. "Mom, tell me I'm not grounded! Say it! Say it!" As I twisted to the floor writhing in pain I saw the astonished, wide eyed faces of his huge friends.
"Say it, Mom! Say I'm not grounded!"
As I began to suffocate I managed a quick, "Okay, Okay! You're not grounded."
He let me go, helped me up and planted a big kiss right in the middle of my forehead. "Love you, Mom. I'll be home by 10."
As they all walked out the door I saw the linemen slowly shaking their heads in disbelief. The quarterback turned to my son and said with shock in his voice, "Dane, you actually put your own mother in a headlock."
He replied with a huge grin, "Yea, I know. And you said I couldn't think under pressure."
Now I realize that some of you may disapprove. At first I felt bad about the situation myself. But I swiftly realized that I could think about it in two ways. On the one hand, I had actually raised a son who would put his own mother in a headlock. On the other I'd raised a kid who wouldn't disobey his parent and go out if she said he was grounded. I decided to go with the latter and said to myself, "That boy has an awesome mother!"
Much time has passed since that day. I now have more fond
parenting memories. One special one is of that same son, now the father of several teenagers, standing in a doorway, exasperation on his face, frustration in his voice, bellowing over the din of a family gathering to his dear wife. "Lisa! Tell me! Why do we have children!" He meant it, there was some history in his tone. And just the other night his older sister mistakenly dialed her father at midnight waking us both. She was looking for one of her teenagers who was late coming home. We didn't have him. Ahhh. We just smiled a long time at each other. I asked Larry if we should worry. He said "No, that's her job," and we went back to sleep. I only fretted for a minute before dozing off.
So it's true what they say. Being a parent is like a lot of other things in life. What goes around comes around. That karma thing and casting bread on the waters really happens. Parents eventually do reap satisfaction. They just have to wait until their kids try to be "goodly parents" themselves.
In case you're worried about how our son eventually turned out, I'll tell you truthfully that he still needs a lot of work. There have been hopeful signs though. He did serve in his bishopric and stake high council. His oldest daughter will graduate from nursing school next month. She waited for her high school sweetheart to return from his mission. They were just married in the Mesa temple a few months ago. His second oldest daughter will be 19 this summer. She's turned in her mission papers and is waiting to see where she's called. She'll be our first missionary grandchild. The younger kids look very promising too.
How'd that happen? Well, I know that Heavenly Father blessed Dane the day he met Lisa, and I must say that our son showed good judgement when he fell in love with her. His children ended up with a "goodly mother." May he himself continue to be blessed in his own efforts as well. Actually it turns out that the boy's made us very proud in so many ways. Who knew?
I pray that Heavenly Father will also bless all of you out there who are trying to be "goodly" too. It's one of the most important and challenging callings you'll ever have. Don't give up. Take heart. I know firsthand that you can make mistakes. Father's got your back. He sure had mine. After all they're His children too. And remember, one day your kids will have as much trouble as you're having now. It's immensely satisfying I can tell you.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
You Get to Be the Mom
Note
Someone mentioned to me that they had read a story similar to “You Get to be the Mom” in one of the “Chicken Soup” books. I was surprised to say the least. Though I often use outside sources in my teaching, I always acknowledge them. I have many favorite authors which I like to share. Most of my stories, though, are things that actually happened in my life, but I also make stuff up, change names, invent characters, emphasize creatively, etc. My husband says he remembers being much stronger, braver and more handsome than he’s often made out to be in my scribblings for example. The only iron clad criteria I have is that what I write or teach must be the truth. I even explain to youth groups that I always tell the truth in church. Even if something never actually happened it’s the truth. Once after saying this and then telling a story with a talking fish in it a kid came up to me afterward and said “Did that really happen?” Well, the story was about drugs and alcohol and how kids sometimes lose their lives or worse when making poor choices about these things. I’d told him that I never lied in church so I looked him in the eye and said “Yea, kid……. sadly it happens every day.” (Read the introduction to this blog for more details on this subject.)
However in this case I am perplexed. Even though I’m a geezer now, with a memory like a sieve, this incident actually happened to me over 48 years ago when I was a young teen. Many years later after joining the Church and filling calls involving teaching I expect that I’ve probably told this story to hundreds of people over more than 25 years. I was helped by this lady’s comment and hope that others have been also. I don’t know how the “Chicken Soup” thing happened but I hope people are helped by it too. Maybe someone heard my story, remembered it and passed along the inspiration that was given to me. That would be wonderful. My goal is to help and it’s the only reason I write. I don’t make any money from my writings and don’t expect I ever will. May blessings fall on you and yours.
Looking back over decades to one’s youth isn’t always a happy experience for everyone...depending on a lot of variables. But sometimes great blessings come at dark times. I remember an incident that was a pivotal point for me as a young teenager. A few words, spoken to me in passing by the mother of an acquaintance, changed my perspective and focus forever. You need some background to understand why this was so important for me.
I grew up in a loving home with 3 younger siblings and wonderful parents. There was great love between my mother and father and they were devoted to our family. My parents believed in God but didn’t raise us in any organized religion. I had never heard of Mormons and knew little except the snippets of the Catholic faith my grandmother brought with her when she visited.
Then one terrible day in early spring when I was 11, my 39 year old father was killed in a car accident on his way home from work. I remember my mother being completely devastated……put on sedatives by our doctor….and then after the haze of those first terrible days…sedated almost always by alcohol. I don’t remember seeing my mother as she had been before ever again. It seemed truly as if both of our parents had died in that awful crash.
Then, day by day, alcohol slowly killed my mother. I learned a frightening lesson watching her during my teenage years…drinking can end your life years before it actually kills you. And your life is not all that’s at stake.
Dad had thankfully provided well for us financially but things were not good in our home during my teenage years. I was the oldest of 4 kids….my youngest sister just a toddler when our father was killed…2 brothers who needed a dad…an alcoholic mom…you get the picture. It’s important to remember too that this was the early 60’s…a different time as far as accepted moral standards go. This was back in the day of the sit-com mom who supposedly cleaned house in heels and a string of pearls and was the picture of propriety and proper conduct.
Well, one Saturday I remember being picked up by the girls on my high school softball team to head to 6 AM practice. I came out the door at the first honk to a station wagon full of my teammates….someone’s mom driving the lot of us to the school field. Some of these girls were the most popular at school and I longed to feel a part of their circle. Nice girls, they were, from nice families, like ours used to be, with moms who did wear pearls while cleaning house, I just knew. As I opened the door one of them asked loudly…”Isn’t that your mom’s boyfriend’s car? What is it doing here so early in the morning? Did he spend the night?”
There was suddenly a deafening silence in the car while everyone began to think of the answer to that question and my face began to burn in shame. The mom who was driving quickly changed the subject and headed to the school. As we all were piling out of the car lugging bats and gloves, girls chattering all at once, the mother, a lady I barely knew, called me over to her car window. When the others had gone she said, “I just wanted you to know something very important. I wanted you to know that you can have a wonderful, loving family again. One with a mother and father. Parents who are happy and whole together…who love and take care of their children. It’s important that you know that.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at her. I barely knew this lady. How did she know about me? You don’t know us, I said. You don’t know how things are. How? How can that possibly be?
“You get to be the mom,” she said gently.
She was right. Of course she was right. We each build our own lives. There was little I could do about my present situation but the future is what we each make of it. I never forgot what she said. It’s given me hope, comfort, and a kick in the pants many times since. I’ll always be grateful that she took the time to speak them.
Someone mentioned to me that they had read a story similar to “You Get to be the Mom” in one of the “Chicken Soup” books. I was surprised to say the least. Though I often use outside sources in my teaching, I always acknowledge them. I have many favorite authors which I like to share. Most of my stories, though, are things that actually happened in my life, but I also make stuff up, change names, invent characters, emphasize creatively, etc. My husband says he remembers being much stronger, braver and more handsome than he’s often made out to be in my scribblings for example. The only iron clad criteria I have is that what I write or teach must be the truth. I even explain to youth groups that I always tell the truth in church. Even if something never actually happened it’s the truth. Once after saying this and then telling a story with a talking fish in it a kid came up to me afterward and said “Did that really happen?” Well, the story was about drugs and alcohol and how kids sometimes lose their lives or worse when making poor choices about these things. I’d told him that I never lied in church so I looked him in the eye and said “Yea, kid……. sadly it happens every day.” (Read the introduction to this blog for more details on this subject.)
However in this case I am perplexed. Even though I’m a geezer now, with a memory like a sieve, this incident actually happened to me over 48 years ago when I was a young teen. Many years later after joining the Church and filling calls involving teaching I expect that I’ve probably told this story to hundreds of people over more than 25 years. I was helped by this lady’s comment and hope that others have been also. I don’t know how the “Chicken Soup” thing happened but I hope people are helped by it too. Maybe someone heard my story, remembered it and passed along the inspiration that was given to me. That would be wonderful. My goal is to help and it’s the only reason I write. I don’t make any money from my writings and don’t expect I ever will. May blessings fall on you and yours.
Looking back over decades to one’s youth isn’t always a happy experience for everyone...depending on a lot of variables. But sometimes great blessings come at dark times. I remember an incident that was a pivotal point for me as a young teenager. A few words, spoken to me in passing by the mother of an acquaintance, changed my perspective and focus forever. You need some background to understand why this was so important for me.
I grew up in a loving home with 3 younger siblings and wonderful parents. There was great love between my mother and father and they were devoted to our family. My parents believed in God but didn’t raise us in any organized religion. I had never heard of Mormons and knew little except the snippets of the Catholic faith my grandmother brought with her when she visited.
Then one terrible day in early spring when I was 11, my 39 year old father was killed in a car accident on his way home from work. I remember my mother being completely devastated……put on sedatives by our doctor….and then after the haze of those first terrible days…sedated almost always by alcohol. I don’t remember seeing my mother as she had been before ever again. It seemed truly as if both of our parents had died in that awful crash.
Then, day by day, alcohol slowly killed my mother. I learned a frightening lesson watching her during my teenage years…drinking can end your life years before it actually kills you. And your life is not all that’s at stake.
Dad had thankfully provided well for us financially but things were not good in our home during my teenage years. I was the oldest of 4 kids….my youngest sister just a toddler when our father was killed…2 brothers who needed a dad…an alcoholic mom…you get the picture. It’s important to remember too that this was the early 60’s…a different time as far as accepted moral standards go. This was back in the day of the sit-com mom who supposedly cleaned house in heels and a string of pearls and was the picture of propriety and proper conduct.
Well, one Saturday I remember being picked up by the girls on my high school softball team to head to 6 AM practice. I came out the door at the first honk to a station wagon full of my teammates….someone’s mom driving the lot of us to the school field. Some of these girls were the most popular at school and I longed to feel a part of their circle. Nice girls, they were, from nice families, like ours used to be, with moms who did wear pearls while cleaning house, I just knew. As I opened the door one of them asked loudly…”Isn’t that your mom’s boyfriend’s car? What is it doing here so early in the morning? Did he spend the night?”
There was suddenly a deafening silence in the car while everyone began to think of the answer to that question and my face began to burn in shame. The mom who was driving quickly changed the subject and headed to the school. As we all were piling out of the car lugging bats and gloves, girls chattering all at once, the mother, a lady I barely knew, called me over to her car window. When the others had gone she said, “I just wanted you to know something very important. I wanted you to know that you can have a wonderful, loving family again. One with a mother and father. Parents who are happy and whole together…who love and take care of their children. It’s important that you know that.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at her. I barely knew this lady. How did she know about me? You don’t know us, I said. You don’t know how things are. How? How can that possibly be?
“You get to be the mom,” she said gently.
She was right. Of course she was right. We each build our own lives. There was little I could do about my present situation but the future is what we each make of it. I never forgot what she said. It’s given me hope, comfort, and a kick in the pants many times since. I’ll always be grateful that she took the time to speak them.
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