In defense of the frumpy stay-at-home mom

"So, where else do you work?"

I get this question almost daily since I've gone back to work.  I work once per week at a long-term care facility and it feels good to be back in the nursing field.

"I work at home.  I'm a stay-at-home mom."

Ironically it's the women who usually wrinkle their noses, and the men who congratulate me.  Living in an area that is known to be conservative and family-oriented, the reactions of the women in particular always surprise me.

One female co-worker, at hearing my response said, "Why would you go through all the time and money to get a degree in a profession that you barely even use?"  I'm ashamed to say that a snarky and equally judgmental reply came to mind, which I fortunately had the good sense to keep to myself.

It's also painful when judgmental remarks are made about our decision to have another child.  We've only made the announcement of our upcoming arrival to a few people, and part of my hesitation comes from the response we've gotten from some of the people we've already told.

"Seriously, girl?!?  Aren't your hands full enough already?"

Or the remark one co-worker made to another (I assume joking) when I was completing my drug screen for work.  "Make sure you check her extra well.   You've got to be high on something to have gotten pregnant with your fifth child."

Or with bulging eyes, "So will this one finally be your last one?"

I remember a little sadly when I first announced I was pregnant with my first and second children and the joy with which people received the announcements.  With the third, fourth, and now fifth pregnancies, the reactions have become less joyful and more of shock and ominous warning about the wrecking ball that is about to destroy our life.

I'm not sure when being a stay-at-home mom, let alone one with a houseful of children, got such a bad rap.  I'm guessing it happened in the last few decades when more women have entered the work force and the stay-at-home mom has been portrayed by the media as a frumpy, uneducated underachiever, who is left with no other option than to stay home to bear offspring and do the grunt work that a housekeeper should be doing.

But then I think as individuals we've done plenty to propagate the stigma as well.  Take most people's opinion of the mini-van (which includes mine as well).  A mini-van just isn't cool, no matter which way you spin it.  It doesn't matter the year, make, or model, or whether you call it a Mormon Mobile or a Swagger Wagon... it's a friggin' mini-van.  Sizing up to a Suburban, or in our case Excursion, isn't much better.  You're still packing around a boat load of crazy.  You're mommy ride just became bigger, squarer, and harder to park.

Then come the strollers that are wide and long enough to carry the Pope, the diaper bags that are forever spilling out it's contents of Cheerios and stale sippy cups, the sour burp cloths, and don't even get me started on nursing bras.

Then you come home to breaking up fights fit for a bar, cleaning the contents of blown-out diaper, the spills, the sticky fingerprints, the broken blinds.  You're once magazine-esque house is now baby-proofed to the nines in plastic plug-in covers and rounded table edges, with your Christmas tree sporting a bare bottom half.  

And then then there are the embarrassing mommy tantrums and the apologies you give to your husband for acting like a sleep-deprived lunatic.

Yes, it's all there in it's awkward glory of  motherhood.

And yet, I love it.  There's nothing I'd rather be doing with my life.  It is unglamorous, monotonous, cumbersome, back-breaking, and soul-breaking, but raising children is sacred work. I believe that the hardest things that we do in life will be the ones that we look back on with the greatest fondness.  And raising my four little monkeys and growing a fifth, has been without a doubt the most difficult thing I've ever done, and likely ever will do in my life- but this is my life's work.  They are my life's work.

Yesterday afternoon as I sat next to my first grader and helped him through his reading, I felt a surge of gratitude for the grace of God in allowing me to be home at that moment, to listen to him conquer his first four-syllable word.  I felt it last week as I helped my boys scour their room to find odds and ends for their "Wacky Wednesday" costumes for school.  I felt it when I french braided my four-year old's hair and she told me I had made her look as beautiful as a princess.

I've noticed from working at the nursing home that life and the things we hold dearest to our hearts have an interesting way of unraveling themselves in the twilight of a person's life.  I'm amazed at how often the dear, sweet people I care for- many of whom have little to no awareness of their circumstances or surroundings, or even the name of their spouse- often fall asleep calling out for "mother."  The role and influence of a mother is never diminished, even when the faculties of the mind and body are gone.

The frumpy mother is a myth- a creature of unkindly propagated legend, often created in our own minds.  In the eyes and heart of the child who a mother is nurturing, there is no such a thing.  I've started making it a point to tell people who raise their eyebrows at my "under-used degree" or "unemployment" how privileged I feel to be able to do the most honorable work available to women.  I tell them how thankful I am that I married a man who honors women who bear the grunt work of humanity and who thanks me daily for doing so.

Thanks be to God for the women who labor in the workforce who make this world a better and kinder place.  But thanks also be to God for the women who work on the home front, often who carry out their life's work behind a veil of anonymity.

No more crumbs

Dear kids,

I realize you probably won't read this for several years, probably even decades.  You'll probably be parents or possibly even grandparents before you go back and read the things I've written.  That's okay.  It wasn't until my late 20's that I started yearning to reach back into the past to glean insight from the lives of my parents and ancestors.  I just hope that at some point you will reach back.  What separates you from me is less than you may think.  Lifestyles have a way of changing and evolving, but life itself for the most part doesn't.  The problems I face, and the problems my parents and even great-grandparents faced are in many ways the same problems you face, just in a different setting and time.  I've written (vented) about this in the past, but life has a way of putting different twists on things that you think you may have conquered.

A few months ago a dear friend of mine came to my front door to drop something off.  I invited her in and we started chatting about the things that had gone on that week.  As we talked, I had to hold back the tears.  I felt so overwhelmed- church assignements, my upcoming trip to Ghana, finances, taking pictures for clients, the kids, my unrelenting insomnia, and on and on.  My biggest feeling of regret came from the realization that through it all, my children and husband were suffering the consequences of the choices I made to over-extended myself.  My friend also teared up, telling me she was feeling similarly overwhelmed and had similar feelings of guilt.  As we sat in the entry way talking, the sunshine was pouring in and it was a beautiful day outside.  But I felt none of the beauty of the day- only the weight of too much responsibility and the accompanying guilt.

Kiddos, you'll learn quickly that everyone around you will in some way be constantly vying for your
attention and time.  They'll try to make you feel indispensible- that you need to do it because you're the only one who can.  They'll slap a thick-as-peanutbutter layer of guilt and moral duty to try to convince you that you must.

God gave you and me a brain and the power to discern for a reason.  Choose where you place your loyalties and your time, and choose them carefully.  Even within the church, be selective and prayerful with what you accept to do.  I've had bizarre requests from members of the church, using my commitment to the gospel as leverage to try to convince me to act.  You will inevitably meet a few quacks (pardon the term) who will try enlighten you with their understanding of how to best be a disciple of Christ.

"If you think fasting for one day is spiritutal, you should try three."

"A visiting teacher who really cares always visits before the 15th of every monoth."

"If you don't take her dinner, watch her kids, and clean her house, who will?"

I love the gospel and I treasure my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I have no doubt that I am a better person because of it.   And because of my love for it and the blessings I've received for serving in the church, I want you to listen, really listen, to what the true doctrine teaches.  The true doctrine of Christ is not manipulative or guilt-ridden.  It is filled with love, forgiveness, and acceptance of who you are as you are.  It encourages us to reach higher and to become better, but not through pharisaical pettiness.  It is the interpretation of these few over-ambitious watchmen that drive so many people away.  And what a tragedy that is.

But then there are the other people who also vy for you attention- friends, extended family, family doctors, teachers, employers.

"We're in desperate need of volunteers at the school. Can't you get a sitter for your kids?"

"When are we going to have another girl's night out?"

"Why haven't you been coming to the gym lately?"

"The deadline for the yearly online education is coming up.  How's that going?"

"Have you been reading to your children 20 minutes a day? Are they eating a balanced diet?"

(The answer to the pediatrician for the last one is usually an embarassed "Ummm... no and no.")

In all fairness, most of the requests are well-intended and innocent enough.  Those are often the hardest to filter.  But whether their intentions are innocent or rotten, it still draws on your mental, emotional, and often physical capacities and must also be carefully and prayerfully selected.

That afternoon as I sat talking to my friend, I told her I felt like I was giving the best of myself- my patience, creativity, compassion, and organization- to others and leaving only crumbs for my family and myself.  By day's end I was usually ill-tempered, physically exhausted, and emotionally depleted. The guilt I felt because of that fact was worse than anything else.  Why was I giving the least to the people in my life who give me the most?

We agreed that day that there would be "no more crumbs."  But this business of prioritizing is never-ending and will be a demon we battle for the rest of our lives.

Good luck, kiddos.  It's tough and crappy to try to sort through it all.  Especially when we're dealing with people we love and respect.  Let me know if you figure it out.  I'd love to know your secret. I sure as heck don't have it, but if I could say anything, I would say invest your time and energy the way you invest your money... invest in whatever gives you the biggest return.  And I promise you, that your children and your spouse are in the end the ones who provide the greatest return- more joy and love than you think your heart is capable of holding.  I know this because I've been blessed to be your mother and I've felt that return, even when I've least deserved it.

I love you.

Love,

Mom

Look up

I remember once when I was in New York City taking a tour on top one of the big red tour buses and hearing the tour guide saying that a notorious characteristic of New Yorkers is that they rarely look up.   He pointed out that many of the landmarks of New York City and much of it's history are high up above ground level and encouraged us that while in New York to remember to look up or we would miss a large portion of our New York experience.  Since then I've tried to remember to look up, not just in New York, but at home as well.

I find that on the days I'm feeling the most discouraged if I remember to look up, not just spiritually but literally as well, my mind is taken off the burdens of the day.  The magnificence of the cloud formations and the stunning colors of the rising and setting sun seem to shout the existence of a greater plan, higher than I could ever comprehend with my finite mind.  And suddenly my problems seem so small. I've thought often how humans, such complex creatures, can be comforted by the clouds, perhaps one of God's simplest creations.

The amazing thing about clouds is that for all their beauty and majesty, their exact formations are so unique to the atmospheric conditions and lighting that they can never be duplicated or recreated.  They are fleeting moments of beauty that often pass by overhead noticed only by a few.  The only way to capture them as they are is in the form of a picture.  And so I've started taking pictures of clouds.

This last one was taken from the airplane on my way home from Ghana.

Change of Seasons

The kids are back in school, the weather is starting to cool off, and the earthy smell in the air warns of the upcoming change of season.  I've always resented fall and what it means- the ending of summer and the imminent arrival of it's cold and bitter counterpart.  This year I've been trying to make an effort to appreciate fall.  Not for what it will eventually turn into, but for what it is now- golden and refreshing.  I appreciate that the kids are back in school, for both my sake and theirs.  I find that I'm a better mother, more patient and present, when there is more structure to our day and when I'm not surrounded by little people at every waking (and at times sleeping) hour of the day.

Isn't that a constant struggle- to appreciate things as they are and not for what they were or what they will become?

Yesterday I called my dad for some advice on a situation that has increasingly become more difficult.  I knew I was in need of sound advice from someone who could listen without judgement.  I was grateful for the advice he gave me.  So many times in our attempts to do act Christianly, we lose our bearings and find ourselves in swirling and confusing messes that lack boundaries, and abound in good but misaimed intentions.

He told me, "Forgiveness and love for others should be unconditional.  But trust is a different matter.  It is very conditional.  We do not have to give our trust to everyone.  But decide how you trust someone, even if it's only a little bit, and base your relationship around the areas that you do trust in them."

He also counseled me to pray, not necessarily with expectation of changing the situation, but to increase my ability to handle the situation cheerfully and without resentment.

How grateful I am for the presence of a wise and loving father in my life.  We are all blessed with a loving Father in Heaven, but not everyone was given the luxury of a wonderful earthly father as well. To be blessed with both is a tremendous blessing.

Here are a few pictures from a recent family reunion with the Merricks.  Aren't kids so cute when they're filthy?

Ghana

I've been dragging my feet in writing this blog post.  I think it's because I knew it would take me several hours to get my thoughts written out, and it has.  I feel so grateful and blessed to have been able to travel to Ghana.  It was a life-changing experience. Everyone should travel to Africa at least once in their lifetime.  Few things in life will ever change a person as much. I fell deeply in love with the Ghanaian people, their charming villages and their way of life.  I would happily take my family to live there with the dirt roads and the simplistic and uncluttered approach to life.  I loved taking pictures to my heart's content, hugging those sweet children who were so eager to love, and to briefly experience a way of life that is so vastly different than anything I've ever experienced before.

I think part of my hesitation in writing this all out is the whirlwind of convoluted and confused thoughts that I've had after coming home.  Instead of a travelogue of details of our day to day coming and going, I need this space to write out some of the things that in the end matter more to me than what we ate, and where we went each day.  I teach Sunday School at our church, and at the end of our lessons I often pose the question, "So what?"  I ask, "Why did we just spend 40 minutes talking about this? Why does this all even matter?  Where do I go from here?"

In the end, I think the "So what?" is what I want (need) to remember about my trip.

Part of my confusion came from things I've heard people say after returning from places like African countries and other severely impoverished places.  They tell of the unimagineable poverty, how some people own only the tattered clothes on their backs, how they're on the brink of starvation, how they watch their loved ones painfully die from diseases that in the U.S. would be easily treatable, and other tragic realities of so many places across the world.  Your heart weeps just listening to their plight.

But then they often finish off with saying, "But they're the happiest people you'll ever meet."

Because of all this, I went to Ghana expecting to witness the dire poverty, but to also find a people who were happy, almost blissfully so, with their lots in life.

And yes, the people there were poor. Very poor.  Poorer than any other place I've ever been to. And I've traveled quite a bit. I lived the first 17 years of my life overseas, living in Latin America. I thought I understood poverty, that I had seen much of what there was to be seen, but I realized quickly that I understood very little about the level of poverty that exists throughout most of the world. We meet teenagers who were the size of 3rd graders due to malnutrition. Some children wore only one shoe because they didn't have the luxury of owning two.  It was heart-wrenching.

And then there were the people. What lovely, amazing people. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is this- I had met, talked, and associated with some of God's most precious children. So many of the people, especially the children, had the most incredible auras about them- ones of faith, and strength, and love. How I loved them! As we walked around the villages, I felt flooded with affection for the children as they greeted, smiled, and played with us.  As we drove away from Effiduase for the last time, I felt a pain in my heart and a lump in my throat at thinking of saying goodbye to these people.

Their smiles were infectious and genuine- none of the superficial courtesy smiles that as Americans we far too often give.  But behind their beautiful smiles and kind expressions lies a heart-breaking and in some ways tragic culture that simmers beneath the surface. It was becoming aware of these dark realities that cast a grim light over the experience.

It was endearing but somewhat alarming at how eager the children were to give affection to us as complete strangers. The tragedy comes with knowing that this indiscriminate affection is often a result of a lack of emotional attachment. It was startling how many children we could have simply picked up and walked away with, without protest from the child. Such a sweet and endearing habit with such a sad motive.

One day my friend and I were sitting in the living room watching television when the news reporter, with as much casualness as if she were talking about reading to your children 20 minutes per day, encouraged mothers to become educated on the risks involved with giving their children away or selling them for money. Our jaws dropped. The mission organizer, who is Ghanaian, explained that this is a common problem among the poor who struggle to care for their children. I was speechless.

We learned the sex slave trade is alive and well. Child abuse is rampant. Children with disabilities or deformities are shunned from society or left to die at birth. Greed and corruption hold a firm grip on the hearts of many in authority. There's so much tragedy, creating an underlying river with a current of misery and despair.

But there was an abundance of good... such an abundance. I admired how faith is such a central part of their everyday existence. My own understanding and application of faith pales in comparison to the faith it takes a mother to live from day to day, not knowing what the future holds for her and her children. I loved their constant expressions of devotion towards God and Allah. One of the most touching moments for me was when the pastor of the Presbyterian church we attended on Sunday prayed for us in front of the congregation, asking that our families be protected and that we be blessed for the sacrifice it was to come. I had to turn my head to hide my tears as I thought of the emails Dennis had sent me telling me how my little Calista had struggled with my absence. I knew God would bless my family because of his faith. I knew it because I had already witnessed the deep level of faith of the Ghanaian people.

I adored how they incorporated music into their life.  As we watched the children dance, the rhythm pulsed through their little bodies from deep within their souls as they moved in perfect and enviable rhythm. Unlike the United States, where dancing is for young people, in Ghana people of all ages literally dancing to the rhythm of life. It was spectacular.

I loved their quick smiles and stunningly beautiful faces. When they laughed, it exploded delightfully from somewhere deep within them. I was amazed at their generosity in feeding and caring for us.  I envied their sense of community and interdependence. It was a sad reality to return to the secluded life of a subdivision. I've never felt lonelier than when I'm surrounded by people on every side but am as isolated as an isalnd. No one ever told me how lonely motherhood in the U.S. can be.

After returning, I was often asked, "Doesn't it feel amazing to know you did such a good thing and made such a difference?"

"Doesn't it feel so glad to be home in the good ol', blessed U.S. of A?"

"So, did seeing how poor they are make you feel guilty to have all that you have?"

Yes, it did feel amazing to do such a good thing, but it certainly wasn't me who made the difference in them. I was the one who felt the change. So often as Americans we think we go overseas to bestow our goodness and virtues among the impoverished nations of the earth. But how much deeper a change is made when we realize how trivial and silly so many of our everday concerns really are? So often it is the cursed luxuries that rob us of so much of ourselves.

Yes, it does feel good to be back home. I love the United States and my quiet little Idaho town.  I love the order, the security I feel, and the values people place on the things that matter so much to me.  But my heart will always ache a little for the way of life that is found overseas- the smells, the music, the simplicity of life.

At the risk of sounding callous- no, I don't feel guilty to have the things that I do, and it's because traveling to these places helps me realize that the material things I have aren't what make me happy. I am fortunate to have a hot shower and soft  bed, but in the end, it's my husband my children, and my faith that bring me real joy.  Take away my SUV, my home, and my twenty pairs of shoes, and I'll still be one of the luckiest women in the world. So often as Americans we mistaken convenience and comfort for happiness.

One of my biggest struggles has been the final portion of the question of "So what?"- Where do I go from here? I know God didn't give me this amazing experience to perch myself back in my posh little corner of the world to keep pecking along as if nothing ever happened- to pretend like my heart hadn't been changed.

To answer that question... I'm not sure where I should go from here, in all honesty. Maybe God's purpose for me going was to plant a seed within myself for a time later on in the future. Maybe it was to plant a seed in others. I just don't know. I saw the beauty of humanity at its finest, but I also saw a very dark side of that same humanity as well. But the truth, both stark and beautiful, is what changes us and motivates us to action, not whitewashed versions of what pacifies the conscience. And in the end, what I want is to act, not merely just to witness.

Back from insanity

The month of July has wrapped up and I feel like taking a huge sigh of relief!  We made it!  I'm always a little hesitant to write details of when I'll be gone in a public place like a blog, but now that it's all done and over with, here is a quick recap of what has been going on:

On June 30th, just a week after the pioneer trek, I headed to Ghana for a medical mission with my brother, Jimmy and one of my good friends.  It was amazing, heart-breaking, exhausting, and so many emotions in between.  I'll write much more on this in another blog post, hopefully soon.

When Dennis came to pick me up at the airport, we headed straight to eastern Idaho (without going home for even a shower first!) to go camping for a family reunion.  By the time I walked in my front door three days later, I thought I had walked into heaven.  It felt so good to be home!

Three days later Dennis and I went white water rafting for 3 days down Hell's Canyon with a group of 22 adults.  Awesome, awesome...

Dennis is the stud in the back guiding the raft and I'm sitting next to his cousin, Lee.

One day after getting back from Hell's Canyon, we headed to Utah to spend time with my tia Marta and tio Luchito who were visiting from Chile.  Soooo good to see them.

We had a few days of relaxation and are now gearing up to put our house on the market.  At the beginning of this year we purchased a 3 acre lot not far from where we live now.  After our home sells, we will begin building.  I had no idea how much work and preparation goes into getting a house ready to sell! Needless to say, we've been working day in and day out to get the house ready.  On a side note, I also had no idea how sad I would feel getting the house ready to sell.  I know it is just a building, but it has been so good to us.  I've brought three babies home from the hospital to this house.  It feels like an old friend and it hurts to think of saying good-bye.

It's past midnight and I'm absolutely exhausted, but I wanted to write at least a little.  I can barely think straight.  I plan to write in more detail as soon as things settle down a bit, hopefully sometime soon???  I don't know.  I've been saying that for the past year and a half and things just seem to keep getting busier and busier!

Battles lost

It's terribly late and I really should be in bed asleep right now, but I just need to write and process, and give a voice to the thoughts in my head.

Tonight was one of those times that mothers with older children warned me about back when Camden was still a baby.  About how motherhood only gets harder as they get older, and how I should enjoy the "easy" days of him being so little.  I remember feeling irritated and a little patronized when women would lecture me (I'm sure with the best of intentions) about all the things I would soon discover as my babies got older.  I felt like they were talking to me like a 5 year old before her first day of kindergarten.  I remember thinking, "Woman, I haven't gotten more than 90 minutes of solid sleep at a time in I don't know how long!  My baby is in a cast that makes him scream in pain almost constantly.  I spend all day wiping up poop and feeling like a dairy cow and you're telling me this is easy compared to having a kid who's self-sufficient and in school most of the day?  Sorry lady, but I'm not buying it!"

But it does get harder, in it's own way.  Tonight I had to hold my ground on an issue with Camden.  In the end it became a matter of principle more than the actual issue at hand, but I've learned that those can be the hardest battles to fight.  The words coming out of my my mouth were firm and undeterred, but in my head I didn't know what to do.  I knew I had to follow through, but was I being too hard on him?  Did I need to back off?  Or hold my ground?  I had no idea.  But it was a battle that in the end I felt I lost.  Sure, I got my way, but I watched him, blinking back angry tears, realizing that at that moment he was probably thinking how much he hated me.  And I felt like I had lost a little piece of him.

Starting from the moment of conception, a woman becomes a mother and a changed being- permanently and fundamentally.  From that moment on, every decision she makes affects another human being in one way or another.  But from the moment the child leaves the womb, that little human begins inching away towards independence from the woman who was once his literal lifeline.  Some days they move away imperceptibly, and other days in leaps.  But no matter how far away they move from us, we are still a mother.  They are still the one who changed us, heart and soul.   They've brought out the very worst in us at times, but they've also brought out the very best that we never knew existed.  A woman can never again become the person she was before she nurtured a life within herself.

As I watched his angry eyes, I had a flash-back of my little man, back when he was a baby and it was just the three of us.  I could do no wrong in his eyes back then.  His eyes lit up every time I came in the room and his smile made my heart melt.  Nine years have gone by and he looks so much like he did when he was a baby, just older, and at the moment, angrier.  

I think the advice from the well-intended, nostalgic women from when Camden was a baby was probably lamentation disguised as lecturing.  Perhaps what they meant to say was, "Relish these days when he is still yours, entirely and completely, because it's hard as hell when he starts to think he's outgrown you.  But don't get too discouraged.  It's worth it.  Not just in the end, but now as well."

And it is worth it.  I love you, my little man.