This is what I've been doing this week

I serve as a Worship Associate at my church and we led worship this weekend. So, my writing time was spent working on the following reflection that I shared during the service. I thought it was fitting to post it here. Some of you might relate...


I spent some time in my basement last week, searching out items to contribute to the All Souls yard sale. I spotted an item tucked back in a corner that I thought would be good to send along to a new home. This corner contained many crates that have been stored since I cleaned out my classroom. The crates contain files and books that represent hours upon hours of work developing lessons and assessments for all of the books that I have taught in my high school English classes.

But the item that caught my eye wasn’t a crate full of files or books; it was a stool, like the kind you might see in a 1950s diner. It has a black vinyl top that swivels and chrome legs. It was a fixture in my classroom for many years, as I used it to lead the class. I couldn’t imagine teaching without it.

But I haven’t taught since my second child was born and it might be a while before I teach again, so I cleaned it off and thought I would let it go. Then I sat on it, and as I looked around my basement from my perch, I realized that I was not ready to say goodbye to my teaching stool.

This is the crossroads at which I find myself. I invested a lot of blood, sweat and tears (not to mention tuition money) to become a teacher. It was a job that was incredibly hard, but I loved it. Yet motherhood was a goal I always had for myself, too, and I set aside my profession to have children. I imagined that I would return to the classroom someday, perhaps when the children were old enough to be in school themselves and more independent. But my experience as a mom so far tells me that juggling these two roles would be extremely challenging. I imagine that the ever-present stack of papers waiting to be graded would always interfere with my ability to relax and enjoy time with my family. While I cannot accept the idea that I will never teach again, parenthood has led me to reconsider my career. I have been contemplating options that do not require me to bring home such a workload; jobs that require my focus during work time, but allow me to set aside work when I am home. Teaching is not such a profession.

So I find myself at a crossroads. My role as a mother is incredibly important to me, but how long do I set aside all else? I have pushed the “pause button” on my profession, but for how long will it be before restlessness sets in? How can I find a purpose outside of changing diapers and making meals that does not interfere with my ability to be available to my children?

What does one do when at a crossroads such as this? Ever make a list of pros and cons? Did it help you make an informed choice, or did it just confuse you even more? This is my tendency; sometimes I overanalyze a decision so much that I end up never deciding at all.

Of course, not every decision is as monumental as this one feels to me. We are faced with seemingly inconsequential choices that have very little impact on the story our lives will tell. Make coffee at home or stop at a drive through? Go to the gym or just head home to relax? Some might have more substantial consequences. Pay this bill, or put it off for a month in favor of another one?

As I was contemplating the topic of today’s service, I took to the internet to do some research. I came across a sermon delivered at a Unitarian church in Surrey, England by Reverend Linda Hart. She made reference to a short story by Kevin Brockmeier titled “The Human Soul as a Rube Goldberg Device: A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Story.” So, I made a trip to the library in order to read this story for myself. In this style of storytelling, the author uses the second person point of view, and the “you” in the story has a variety of choices as the day unfolds. Once the story is set up with the task of starting an ordinary day, you are offered the choice between putting on shoes to go out for a walk (turn to page 120) and spending “a quiet morning at home” (turn to page 154). Other choices are as mundane as choosing between grocery shopping and cleaning the bathroom mirror, or even between turning left and turning right. But not all of the choices are as simple. After witnessing a father turn down his son’s request for a skateboard by assuring him that he can buy all the skateboards he wants when he gets older, the reader is offered the following choices:

Is your adult life anything like you thought it would be? If so, turn to page 118. If not, turn to page 152.

And at the end of another scene, these choices:

Would you say that you’re not wasting your life? If so, turn to page 126. Would you say that you are? If so, turn to page 164.

Each choice leads the “you” in the story to contemplate different aspects of your life, from taste in music to the relevance of specific memories. Yet, regardless of what you ponder along the way, all choices eventually lead to page 146, where you find yourself lying flat on your back, facing an untimely end. (And, depending on which path you chose to take, this demise could happen in a variety of places, such as in front of your refrigerator, on the sidewalk, or in a coffeehouse bathroom.)

The choices we make on a daily basis will lead us all to the same end met by the character in the book. No matter which path we take, all roads lead to this destination. It’s no wonder that I find myself considering my options so carefully; if the path is all we have, it should be a good one, right?

But too many choices can paralyze a person and lull them into inertia. It is much easier to remain where we are than to choose a path and venture down it. After all, the crossroads seems pretty comfortable; no risk involved here, so just set up camp and hang out! And of course, choosing one path is a decision NOT to go down another. That’s a choice AGAINST a perfectly good set of adventures. Why would anyone want to turn that down?

But we are not meant to set up camp at our crossroads. Choosing NOT to choose is merely one of many options, and the adventure ends there. Then are we just relying on fate to get us through, taking the power of choice out of our hands completely?

So as I stand at my crossroads, I must remind myself that choosing a path does not imply lifetime commitment; I can return to the crossroads and try again. Or perhaps the direction I select will offer new choices and options, ones that I never imagined having at all.

The speaker in Robert Frost’s well-known poem contemplates the options and accepts the fact that we must choose. “And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth.” The speaker chose one path and “kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.”

But the paths we choose result in the person we are. Frost’s speaker “took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” We know not what that difference is until we reach the end of our maze of paths, but when we look back we will know that these choices have made all the difference.

A cure for a hangnail...

...and you thought I was going to say "hangover!"

My rough and tumble boy, with his innate skill at the perfect takedown, freaked out over a bloody hangnail. Pain was not the issue; it was the blood. Ironic, since his superhuman strength is sure to draw a lot of blood over the next few decades.

Hubby had to handle it, as I was out running errands, but he discovered that the best tactic for getting cooperation was a chocolate cookie. The promise of such a treat was the only thing that got him through a simple nail clipping. Now, if I could only use such bribery to get him to brush his teeth. But then again, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?

Can you believe it?

Mommy had a VACATION!

This weekend I had a wonderful little getaway to New York to spend time with my dear friends from college (otherwise known as "the girls").

I am amazed at the rejuvenating power of a little time away. This is an indulgence all mothers should be lucky enough to have. (And all mothers should be lucky enough to have dear friends like mine!)

What a drastic difference between a day that is all my own and one spent caring for children. I had breakfast without hopping up from my chair several dozen times to get something for the kids ("I want juice! I want more oatmeal! I need a napkin! I want the blue cup, not the yellow one!"). We went to a broadway show and ate out at restaurants that didn't offer crayons and paper placemats. I woke up on my own schedule, not at the pre-dawn request to watch a show on TV. Perhaps the greatest luxury of all was that I spent time gabbing with my friends without interruption. I actually finished all of my sentences!

And, as all good things must come to an end, I came home today. But the best part of the weekend was the greeting I received when I walked in the door. Getaways are nice, but "welcome home" greetings are nicer. If only I could bottle those tight hugs and excited squeals and open them up on the days the kids are whining for more oatmeal.

Do I have to?

There's been something creeping into my consciousness lately. It's something incredibly difficult to accept, especially as I am now in the throes of caring for very young children who really do need me for so much.

Soon, far sooner than I am willing to admit, they won't need me so much.

Eventually, they won't really need me at all.

I sit down to type this after having gone in to soothe my crying daughter who is not yet two years old. She sleeps well normally, so this act of mothering is a somewhat rare occurrence. I welcome such disruptions now, because I know they give me a chance to sit in the dark and rock her to sleep, singing a quiet lullaby and staring at her beautiful face as she drifts off. I did this so much when she was an infant and now these opportunities are fading so fast, so I jump at the chance to comfort her. (This is where the "maybe I should have a third" thinking is generated.)

Of course, I hope my children will always rely on me in some way. I hope I will be able to give guidance when asked, a compassionate ear when needed. Eventually, though, they will not need me the way young children need their mother.

I don't think I'm going to be very good at this "letting go" thing. I'm a perfectionist. I like to be in control. "Letting go" is not a skill set listed on my resume. I know my kids are young still, but I am not anticipating this act of parenting to be in any way palatable. Perhaps I can just put it off forever...

Happy Mother's Day...and may the blogging begin!

Mother's Day seems like a perfect day to start this project...this attempt to process the adventures and challenges of motherhood.

I've been wanting to do this for a while. I know there are a bajillion "mommy blogs" out there, but I totally understand the need. At the end of the day, my brain feels like a swirling pool of daily drudgery and nuggets of joy; mommy guilt and parental wonder; perfectionistic regrets and hopes to do better tomorrow. At some point, sitting down to let it all drain out my fingertips and onto a keyboard feels like therapy. And where else am I going to get therapy at 11 p.m.?

This is not about drawing followers or scoring freebie product samples. Right now it's purely about the therapeutic value for me and only me. Sure, it might evolve over time and become something vastly different. Most things do. (And, let's be honest. I'm not going to turn down freebie product samples.) Perhaps there will be readers who find me and discover that my experiences resonate. But at the moment, I just need to do this.

So, on this day set aside to recognize and honor all that moms do, I choose to begin. Having kids is easy (well, relatively speaking, but throw in fertility issues and that complicates things). Raising kids is hard. Writing about it helps.

And away we go...