Doing double duty

Opportunities to nurture pass quickly

One night about eight years ago, everyone was upstairs watching T.V. while I was downstairs cleaning. After about an hour, my youngest son Mark, who was five years old at the time, came trotting down to find me in the laundry room trying to remove stains. He tugged on me a little and said, “Leave it for tomorrow. We don’t want you to be alone down here.” 

As a young mother, being alone was something I actually fantasized about, longing for the day I would have enough time to really “get something done.” I was touched, though, that this little boy cared about me enough to leave the pull of television and seek me out. Mark has always been concerned for me. In fact, when he was old enough to go to school, he would pray specifically for me during morning prayers: “Please bless Mom that she won’t be lonely at home.” The truth is, when I finally did have some hours alone, I felt a sort of guilty pleasure; every day was a private party of sorts. So, both our prayers were answered: I was alone but not lonely.

Those years of caring for little ones have passed, and now I spend most days alone with that time I once coveted, having several hours a day to do what I need to. These days I can shop without having to load children and groceries in and out of the car; I can bake without having to let others take a turn stirring; I can clean without having to teach others how to stick to an unpleasant job. 

The irony, however, is that checking off tasks on my to-do list sometimes feels a little hollow. Why? Because I’m not doing double duty anymore. 

Before, I somehow managed to run the house while also nurturing little ones. Now that nurturing doesn't make up the more significant portion of my days' ingredients, at the end of the day those completed tasks somehow seem just a little less fulfilling and meaningful than they once did. Before, my demands were double but so were my rewards.

Fortunately, even as he has grown into a teenager, Mark has consistently invited me to play. Without him, I would have spent more time cleaning and less time playing Kings’ Corners and Connect Four. Without him, I would have missed many fun games of tennis and ping pong. I would not have had someone to play catch with in the rain. 

Most importantly, without Mark, I would have missed out on lots of good laughs and conversations. In short, he has reminded me that nurturing is still one of my key responsibilities; it just looks a little different than it did when I had young children. Even Grant, my busy sixteen-year-old, habitually finds me late in the evening to snuggle up for a chat and some motherly affection. Just last night he said, as I was rubbing his head in my lap, “I like these times, Mom.”

These opportunities to nurture are much less frequent than they once were, and soon I will have no tennis partner to play with or teenager to snuggle. So, in the meantime, I hope I’ll have the good sense to nurture whenever and however, I can. I hope young mothers struggling to manage a home and family also manage to recognize the double portion of love, satisfaction, and meaning that is rightfully theirs.

Dads and daughters

As a very little girl, I used to love playing in a closet just off the back stairs. If I closed the door, I felt alone in a house otherwise teeming with people but safe in a world full of potential adventure and hidden treasures: hundreds of worn paperbacks, my mother’s colored array of high-heeled shoes, and stylish hats in hatboxes from another era.

Exploring in the closet one day, I played with the door’s heavy, brass lock and accidentally locked myself in. Suddenly, I didn’t feel safe anymore. My fun and adventure quickly turned to fear and isolation--feelings mostly foreign to me as a child. Even those dearest to me couldn’t help me escape. My mother couldn’t explain how to unlatch the lock, my brothers couldn’t unlock it from the outside, and my sisters couldn’t comfort me with their kind words.

Leaving something behind

We write to change the world

Not long ago I listened to an audiobook called Sweet and Low, the story of the Brooklyn-based family that created the artificial sweetener by the same name. These family members, unfortunately, through time, allowed selfishness and greed to destroy generations of love and family ties. Author Rich Cohen, the inventor’s grandson whose own family was cut off from inheriting any money, realizes as he writes the memoir that his inheritance was not in the millions of dollars but in the story itself. Words and stories alone can be a legacy bequeathed.

Born to sing

"All God's creatures got a place in the choir"

The other day, after five years of recalcitrant piano practice, my 13-year-old son asked me (once again) why I want all my children to play the piano. “Five reasons,” I told him. Then, right off the top of my head, I listed these

1. It helps coordinate your hands and eyes.
2. It helps make connections in your brain that you might not otherwise make.
3. It gives you a creative outlet.
4. It gives you another language--another mode of communication--to express yourself.
5. It allows you to serve others.

It’s that fourth reason—another way to express yourself—that really sells me on the idea of music in general. Although I’m not a pianist, I still express myself through singing. Moreover, I believe everyone is wired to sing. In fact, one of my favorite children’s tunes affirms this idea:

Leapfrogging mistakes

Sharing mistakes helps others avoid them

One autumn day my friend Judy gave me some of the most delicious, moist pumpkin bread I had ever eaten. Turns out it was baked by Gayle, a culinary veteran. I thought, “Maybe if I get Gayle’s recipe and hear any tricks she has, then I can skip over a lot of bad recipes and make my own scrumptious pumpkin bread.”

Soon after, Judy’s husband Doug taught a class on making homemade rolls. When he was first learning, he consulted with the experts, including his mother who showed him her way and then counseled, “You’ve got to find your own recipe, Doug.” So, he made rolls every day for a month, each time making adjustments to measurements and oven temperatures, changing pan sizes and types, and so forth. By practicing over and over, he discovered his own recipe for perfect rolls. Because he was willing to share both what did and didn't work, it’s now easier for me to make great homemade rolls. 

Chester Carlson, inventor of Xerography (better known as photocopying), spent 21 years trying to get his technology into the hands of the public, eventually revolutionizing how we do business today. Before he got the technology right, however, he is said to have made hundreds--even thousands--of mistakes, many of which he considered valuable enough to patent. Those errors, he believed, were equally critical to knowing what actually worked. So, mistakes are certainly worth something, even if it's just knowing how to avoid them.

Teenagers, I’ve noticed, are not as interested in leapfrogging mistakes as we adults seem to be. In fact, they kind of like “playing around in the pond.” Maybe they are not as anxious to get things right the first time because they think time stands still for them; what they don’t learn today they can always learn tomorrow. Besides, they’re busy having fun with friends also enamored with hopping around on lily pads and chatting with the turtles. In the meantime, they prefer making their own mistakes, thank you.

I, on the other hand, allow myself little luxury time for missteps. In short, I want to maximize my time by minimizing my mistakes. So, I find myself seeking out people who move to the front so I can play “Follow the Leader.”

Young adults fall somewhere in the middle. One of my favorite moments is when my children call home after their first few weeks of college life. They see our home through new eyes. Can I believe how much food costs? they wonder. Did I know that some people don’t even know how to do dishes or clean a toilet? Interestingly, though, these same now-enlightened grown teenagers who begin asking for advice still might choose to ignore my counsel. Yes, they’re more open to guidance but are still highly driven to learn from their own experience.

Once, one of our children asked my husband, “Dad, did you make the same mistakes I’m making?” I don’t even know how the conversation continued, but I’ve often thought since then what an advantage I have as a parent. I can share all my hard-earned wisdom as if I’ve always owned it, known it. Rarely do I expose my stupidity and youthful blunders. Maybe if I did, my children would seek me out more often to play leapfrog.