two weeks ago, back when the world was new, the act of fetching the bird from school came with the added boost of accolades from his teachers about his “near perfect behavior.” in fact, i owe the bird a lot of credit for my easy transition into campus ministry in january. he surprised me with his instant comfort with school rituals, peers, and even group nap time.

that was before he grabbed a handful of the face of another child who was “using his outside voice inside.” there were no accolades that day, of course. just instructions to cut the bird’s fingernails and to insist upon good behavior at home.

we’ve de-clawed our child, who now spends 87.5 percent of his life in time out for clocking his brother on the head with various objects. with every school pick-up, i hope for a report of improved behavior. but the bird is consistent in his resolve to fully embrace the “terrible twos.” it seems that in parenting, there are no immediate results.

there are no immediate results in campus ministry either, as it turns out. i am wrapping up my first semester at the university of memphis, and my offerings of engaging programs and free food are not exactly wooing the masses. i was reporting this phenomenon to a member of my campus ministry board last week, and he encouraged me to think of my work as the act of planting seeds.

i burst into immediate laughter as i recalled what a friend had said to me just the day before. she was surveying my front yard, a space that was completely under construction two years ago due to a drainage issue. i, a novice gardener, researched what plants would be happiest in our wet soil and in full sun. i made dozens of trips to nurseries and googled the names of the foliage on the shelves. and then, much to the entertainment of friends, family, and neighbors, i made what several of them described as the beginning gardener’s classic mistake. i planted one of everything. (i really planted about three of everything but this fact didn’t seem to matter.)

as my friend was surveying my yard, which is now full of all sorts of interesting leaves and textures and colors, she said, “your yard looks great! it’s almost as if you knew what you were doing!”

i guess the same goes for all types of seed planting – parenting, campus ministry, et cetera. there are no immediate results. in the present, we just have to persist with near-knowledge and experimental expertise. then, if the sun shines just right, something beautiful will emerge.

 

elizabeth agonized over her decision to return to full-time work in 2010 as a certified financial planner. she feared that her children would not transition well to aftercare, and she was right. seven-year-old A confessed that she “has never felt so lonely in her entire life.” W, age-five, regressed and started wetting his pants at school every day. “we were all grief-stricken,” elizabeth laments.

in her book perfect madness, judith warner describes the silences that fell in her interview groups with mothers because,

“there are things that are sayable and unsayable about motherhood today. it is permissible, for example, to talk a lot about guilt, but not a lot about ambition.” there is an underlying assumption that we “cannot really challenge the american culture of rugged individualism… we lack the most basic notions now of what a different kind of culture might look or feel like” (31-32).

elizabeth broke the silence and confided both her guilt and her ambition to her dear friend angela, a teacher by trade, who was working part-time in addition to the full-time responsibilities of raising her two nine-year-old boys. together, the two hatched a plan that does challenge the american culture of rugged individualism. elizabeth withdrew A and W from aftercare, and angela quit her part-time job to integrate A and W into her family’s weekday life.  

 elizabeth admits that she did not put much stock in the initial chatter about such an arrangement. “how would this mother of two be able to go to three different schools every afternoon, much less herd this group of four children?” she questioned. “i knew i could never do it myself.”

but in december, angela made it clear that she was serious about the idea of caring for A and W. she approached elizabeth with a proposal, and the two talked candidly about fair compensation, day-to-day details, and looming fears. 

“i will always remember sitting in [angela’s] kitchen making this agreement, and the enormous feeling of relief that washed over me,” says elizabeth. “i started to cry; i was so grateful. when angela responded that ‘we are helping each other,’ that really resonated with me. we’ve been helping each other ever since.”

angela describes the process as an easy decision, informed, in part, by her own experience of returning to full-time work when her boys were five years old. “it was tough on them. they would cry and pitch fits whenever they had to go to aftercare. elizabeth’s situation struck a familiar chord,” she explains. “her family was in need, and i was in a position that allowed me to help her. i am very comfortable looking after children!”

on a typical day, angela fetches A from school at 2:45, drives eight to twelve minutes to pick up her boys, S and L from school, and finally makes her way to a third school to pick up W. once her honda accord is packed to the gills, the entourage returns to elizabeth’s house, and the older kids finish their homework. angela uses this time to practice numbers, letters, sounds with W. she even unloads the dishes if they’re clean! all of the children have after-school activities that vary throughout the year. A currently plays soccer soccer on wednesdays and S has basketball on mondays and wednesdays. for a change of scenery, the group gathers at angela’s house on friday afternoons, snow days, holidays, and other vacation days during the school year.

“the kids get along pretty well,” angela muses. “they are like typical brothers and sister. not every day is perfect, but it’s always an adventure! A and L play very well together. W really looks up to S, and S takes being a big-brother-type seriously. he is always talking about W, and he even taught him how to shoot a basketball and jump rope.”

both angela and elizabeth credit the the success  of their arrangement to continued flexibility and open conversation. they have tweaked the details of their partnership as needed. angela recommends this kind of innovation only in cases where “both moms communicate openly and go with the flow. nothing is ever the same twice with this many kids in the mix. everyone is growing and evolving, and i think it’s important to keep this in mind.”

both moms describe the entire collaboration as a MakeShift moment. from impromptu rainy day walks that combat cabin fever, to the occasional depositing of children at elizabeth’s office, the little crew of six is making it all up as they go. 

on collaberative mothering, perhaps elizabeth says it best:

whenever i watch a show on lions or elephants or primates, i get sad.  i see how other creatures nurture their young together. other creatures have not forgotten that it takes a village, a pride, a pod or a pack, to raise young. yet in our “modern” society, we have alienated mothers from each other, and mothering has become quite an isolating experience. having this relationship with angela makes me feel like we, as mothers, are helping each other, the way god intended.  it is such a blessing to me.

list of things to do:

• potty train the bird
• wean the bird from his chew toy (pacifier)
• switch bird to a big-boy-bed
• eliminate (excuse the pun) the monkey’s night-time pull-up
• experience a miraculous and heretofore unprecedented boost in energy

my kids are ready to move forward, and i can foresee that life without diapers, chew toys, easily-scaled cribs, and pull-ups will be easier. but not without getting much more difficult first.

list of supplies needed:

• big boy pants
• wine
• elmo potty
• padded room (for all of us)
• screwdriver for crib disassembly
• marriage counseling
• big boy bed
• washer/dryer
• B12 shot
• sense of humor

wish us luck!

my post today is an essay i wrote for a fabulous blog project called “a liberated life.” vanessa and sarah solicit and post essays wherein women of every age and stage chronicle their joys and concerns along the path toward liberation.

here’s an excerpt, but you’ll have to scurry over to “a liberated life” to read the rest:

Liberation, as it turns out, is not as simple as a dream job or a grad school diploma, or a positive pregnancy test, or a happy home. In fact, I cannot even begin to envision what a liberated life might look like for today’s mothers, whose souls brim with enough passion and opportunity to fill a warehouse full of moon bounces and inflatable slides. There is an anxiety that comes with motherhood that has far outgrown the widespread dreams for balance and the tired juggling metaphors. Scientists study it, and talk show hosts allude to it, but this anxiety, for the most part, remains undefined.

how would YOU define a liberated life?

when andy and i were pining away for children (in between jumbo margaritas at el porton or after the seventh consecutive episode of 24), we looked forward to things like playing outside with them, showing them our favorite mountains, and generally introducing them to all that is enjoyable and beautiful. even then, i knew that disciplining children would be my weakness. i looked upon the prospect of setting rules and enforcing time-outs as a dreadful necessity. and now that i am four years into parenthood, i would like to congratulate my twenty-something self for her accurate foresight. setting rules and enforcing time-outs is, in fact, a dreadful necessity.

the child experts say that children thrive under the presence of two equally present conditions: high nurture and high structure. the former is something that comes easily to me, and especially to andy. we try to mirror and help the kids name their feelings. we plan ahead for shared experiences that are enjoyable and beautiful. but when it comes to the latter, there is much less planning ahead. though the kids rely on a pretty steady routine and schedule, the discipline piece is often spur of the moment (and ineffective). in the grand game of parenting, i make up the rules as i go and announce them to the younger players, who return my half-hearted efforts with half-hearted compliance.

enter the wii.

after the second week of house arrest due to sub-arctic temperatures, andy and the kids braved the icy roads and returned home with a wii. it was fun for a while. there were family bowling tournaments and ridiculous collective attempts at nailing m.c. hammer’s dance moves. and then, without warning, the monkey stumbled into a deep, black, techy hole, and nobody has heard from his former self since. as recently as last week, he could be heard uttering heartbreaking phrases such as,

 “i don’t want to play outside in the warm sunshine. i want to play wii.” 

the wiihas brought the need for discipline and limit-setting in our home to a level that is far beyond the reaches of spur-of-moment-rule-making. so in a reluctant act of planning and plotting, andy and i discussed and created this chart to regulate wii time and create incentives for the monkey to act like a civilized human being.

though this is not the hand-held chart that the tech-crazed monkey requested, (he wanted one “like a smart phone”), it is actually becoming the key to pleasant life around here. the monkey earns stickers for being sweet and cooperative, and each sticker translates into ten minutes of wii time. he can earn up to an hour per day, and a strategically-placed timer above the wii lets him know when his time is up. i am utterly shocked that the monkey loves this new system. he loves rules. he loves structure. he now gets himself dressed, takes bottles to the recycling bin, makes his own breakfast, and quits playing the wii when asked, all for precious stickers and minutes spent clutching the white plastic control.

it turns out that my twenty-something self was only half right.  setting rules and enforcing time-outs is, in fact, a dreadful necessity. but the absence of structure and discipline is fifty times more dreadful. rules simply make life easier. and we can’t have all that is enjoyable and beautiful without them.

one of the best parts of facilitating this little makeshift blog is that readers regularly send me recent and provocative articles about the state of modern motherhood. thank you, and keep ’em coming!

the last two articles i received are friction-inciting commentaries on the cultural construction of motherhood. one deliniates the high child nurturing standards held by american women. the other investigates the high career-related standards held by this same set. taken together, these articles reveal a veritable fog of ridiculous expectations obscuring nearly every aspect of women’s lives.

the first is a wall street journal article by erica jong describing the attachment parenting craze as a sort of self-inflicted prison for mothers, who, despite their best kid-wearing, cloth-diapering, baby-food-making efforts are never able to meet the socially accepted standard for mothering, which was created in large part by dr. sears. but no matter what one’s thoughts are regarding attachment parenting, it’s hard to disagree with jong’s lament: “rarely does a new mother hear these golden words: “do the best you can; there are no rules.”

the second article is jessica olien’s slate magazine exploration into the culture of motherhood in the netherlands, where part-time work, outings with friends, and self-care are celebrated ways for moms to spend time. as opposed to the guilt felt by american mothers who remove themselves from the full-time workforce, dutch women do not seem to link their self-esteems to their workforce prowess. the conclusion is that the drive that american women have assumed in order to further women’s progress has “set us up for a world in which none of us is having any fun.”

olien writes,

“…american women as a whole are not getting any happier. if anything, the studies show that we are emotionally less well-off than we were before.”

high standards have the potential to launch us into more meaningful, productive, and useful lives. but perhaps something has gotten lost in translation between our feminist fore mothers, who constructed domestic co-ops and deconstructed glass ceilings, and those modern women who have inherited big tasks that have somehow become detached from the big dreams that birthed them. what was once a grand vision of equality seems now to feel more like a universal clamoring for perfection in every arena. the guilt that ensues squelches the kind of big dreaming that women once had for the state of the world. and so, in the words of jong, we reduce our visions to the scope of our homes and families. “[we] substitute our own small world for the world as a whole.”  

standards ought to be the bi-product of dreams, the way they came into this world in the first place. so perhaps the key to generating a world that is fairer (and for heaven’s sake, MORE FUN) is to leave our faithful posts as the keepers of the rules and ideals. if we join the ranks of the dreamers, perhaps the standards we generate will make more sense in our contexts. perhaps standards will not imprison us but free us. but the only way to get there is to start where the women before us started: with a vision of a better life.

as someone who seeks middle ground motherhood between the extremes of june cleaver and superwoman, i must take a minute to reflect on the recent death of barbara billingsly, the woman who brought june to life, warm rolls to the dinner table, and visions of peaceable family existence into the american consciousness.

 june never ordered takeout. she never poured herself a glass of wine at exactly five o’clock. she never forgot to shower or brush her teeth. she gave her full attention to her children and husband, even while whipping up culinary delights and wearing recently ironed clothing. some viewers saw reflections of their own family lives in the cleaver household and derived a sense of okay-ness from such screen-lit similarity. others escaped their own family dysfunction and entered a miraculous world where all conflicts were resolved neatly at episode’s end. for all of the flack that i have given billingsly’s character for helping to create monolithic and impossible standards for wives and mothers, even i must admit one thing. the mothers who came before us, those who gave expression to their gifts and desires during a time when there were fewer options for doing so, cannot be faulted for aspiring for and achieving near-perfection in the realms over which they had charge. there is something to be said for doing a good job, even if that job is more narrowly defined.

yesterday’s “my thoughts” column by bill haltom  in memphis’ commercial appealwas about the reassurance june cleaver brought into american homes during the time of sputnik, bomb shelters, and fears of war with russia. haltom writes,

“And then there was June, the quintessential 1950s mom. While Sputnik in the skies above terrorized us, the very down-to-earth June Cleaver reassured us that everything was going to be OK. She wore pink dresses and beautiful white pearls. She stayed at home while Ward went to the office and Wally and Beav went to school with Larry and Eddie…. 

It was the American family at its best. It was America at its best — America at work, at school, at peace, at home.”

was this really “the american family at its best?” perhaps this was merely television at its best — distracting, inspiring, giving viewers a brief respite from their anxieties. this kind of simplistic nostalgia is unhelpful for those of us who are attempting to take the realities of today — the thrilling and overwhelming abundance of choices many women now possess — and construct authentic lives of meaning and contribution. 

i’d like to think that barbara billingsly was willing to re-imagine women’s roles in a way that her character, june, was not. perhaps this kind of resolve is what led her to play the cameo part of “the jive lady” in the movie airplane in 1980. i leave you with this little clip. perhaps i could even say that it is american film at it’s best…

if there is one word that has been used throughout the centuries to describe the complex and ever-evolving vocation of motherhood, it is SACRIFICE. there is the physical sacrifice of the body’s shape, the luxury of sleep, and necessary attention to hygiene and self-care. there is the mental shift from adult conversation to peek-a-boo antics and from reading the new york times to highlights magazine. there are the social cutbacks that result when gatherings are carefully planned around nap times and sitters’ schedules, and sleep becomes more enticing than a night on the town. and of course, there are the more existential sacrifices — the sad farewells to those parts of a mother’s identity she once held so dear. we are left uttering phrases such as, “before i had kids, i was on track to become a partner in the firm,” or “before i had kids, i used to love to paint.” even those of us whose lives are a far cry from “father knows best” have given up quite a bit to become mothers.

instead of examining motherhood’s association with sacrifice, our society (with the help of religion) has idealized unconditional self-sacrificial love. but there seems to be a growing number of modern mothers who are grappling with the ideals of heroism and self-diminishment and looking for something more. futhermore, it isn’t even really accurate to describe the whole of motherood as sacrifice. in an article entitled, “parenting: mutual love and sacrifice,” author christine gudorf writes about parenting her two adopted children with medical handicaps. she asserts,

“the most revealing lesson the children taught us is that love can never be disinterested…. every achievement of the child is both a source of pride and a freeing of the parent from responsibility for the child…. all love both involves sacrifice and aims at mutuality.”

in other words, sacrifice is only part of a larger progression toward mutuality.

in her book entitled also a mother, bonnie j. miller-mclemore writes,

“even  in the earliest moments of nurture the nurturer receives something in return, and hopes to continue to do so. the ideal [of unconditional self-sacrifice] harms persons, particularly women, who already are over programmed to give endlessly, leaving them ashamed of the self-interest that naturally accompanies their love…. parents, and mothers in particular, do better to admit, and even affirm, their limits and the hopes and needs they harbor, both in relationship to their children and in regard to their own work” (164).

though motherhood and sacrifice will forever be intertwined, there is more to the story. there are endless gifts, from the first “i love you” to the great privilege of seeing the world anew through the eyes of our children. on my quest to find the middle ground between june cleaver and superwoman, i’ve found many compelling truths but the chief of them is this:

we are not to give everything up, nor are we to try to have it all. and somewhere in between these extremes, amidst all the moments of depravity and richness, there is mutuality, a mutuality that has the potential to increase as we journey further down the road of motherhood.

[sources for this post are located on the bibliography page found in the sidebar to your right.]

my new friend caroline recently shared with me that many of her women role models don’t seem to balance love and work as much as they appear to be merely surviving love and work. implied in this statement is the notion that mothers are in a constant state of reaction to life’s curve balls: forgotten lunches, toddler illnesses, workplace dramas, heaps of laundry, et cetera. the holy grail (which i often mistake for a wine glass or champagne cocktail) then becomes that rare stillness that gives rise to intentionality. it’s the chance to act, and not react. it’s about making wise choices about those few moving parts in our lives that we can actually control.

for me, it’s difficult to imagine what a life of balance could look like when mere survival seems to be the most prevalent motherhood mode. but in the words of carolyn g. heilbrun, “what matters is that lives do not serve as models; only stories do that.” essentially, even as most of us are caught up in the business of reaction and survival, we have moments when our thinking shifts, when we trust our instincts, make counter-cultural choices, take charge, and replace conventions and expectations with trail-blazing honesty. even those of us who live lives of survival have a story or two to tell about a moment of balance. and in the words of my new friend caroline, “stories take us beyond abstract theory and into the world of the living and integrating.”

there are tales of a new way lurking in every person’s history; there is potential of trail-blazing honesty in every encounter. the key is to extract these stories from others and to share our own. when we do this we are collectively constructing a new narrative — one that has the power to draw us out of survival mode, even if it’s just for one moment at a time.

[source for this post is located on the bibliography page found on the sidebar to your right.]

last saturday morning i took you on a tour of my sewing room.

 

i have been sewing for almost four years, which is precisely the amount of time that some version of this mess (on the dining room table, at our old house) has been with me. people stroll through and exit with thread wrapped around their ankles. friends’children come over for play dates and lament to their mommies that they “don’t know where to walk in this room.” loose pins and other boobie traps are obscured by mountains of fabric — fabric that it so fabulous that i cannot bear to throw away even the tiniest scrap.

most people couldn’t live like this for four minutes, let alone four years. but for me, four years was just the right amount of time. and then, suddenly, last saturday, i was over it. not the sewing… THE MESS!

i’ve been hard at work. the reframe people should come shoot a commercial at my house. there were days of plotting, pricing, and sketching. there were manic trips to home depot with two children “driving” the orange plastic cart with steering wheels. there was an entire wednesday spent with children under my feet asking things like, “mommy, did you mean to put that hole in the wall?” then there were many hours of sorting, stacking, discarding, and hanging. and now there is this:

let’s look at it again, shall we?  

i am pretty sure that everything is out of kid reach, though time will tell. i can always move things around if need be.

and p.s. — isn’t that a cool rug? i hadn’t seen that long-lost bad boy in ages!