Mom: The Temp Job

That my role as a parent is not to be my child's best friend has always resonated with me. When I was newly married, I remember writing journal entries about what kind of relationship I wanted with my future children. Mutual trust and respect for sure, but I knew some days, despite my best efforts, they would strongly dislike—even hate—me. (Any parent who has survived ages three and four knows that hearing "I hate you, Mom" (or "Dad") can be a daily event; you quickly develop a Teflon parental shield and keep at it, despite your pint-sized detractor.)

Another big, pre-kids "a-ha" moment for me was rooted in my struggle to prepare to be a "good mom" (I put that in quotes because it is such a loaded phrase). I devoured all the books and articles, talked to moms I admired, observed, pondered, prayed. I came to the conclusion that for me the bottom line was this:

The best people make the best parents. 

I knew deep down if I didn't worry so much about learning how to be the best parent (how to set boundaries and discipline effectively, how to emotion coach, how to raise boys who were confident but not cocky, how to not raise picky eaters, and on and on and on and on), and worried more about being a better person, I would be a much more effective parent and possibly feel less overwhelmed by all the information out there trying to help me be a "good mom."

[Quick side note: One of my absolute favorite lines from Arrested Development is when martini-wielding matriarch Lucille says, "Well, I may not have been a perfect mother, but, you know, kids don’t come with a handbook." The Narrator comes right in with, "In fact, there are thousands of books written on child rearing. . . ."]

What I've started to learn in the past decade is that my feelings of inadequacy, the overwhelming feelings that threaten my Teflon barrier regularly, are easier to combat when I clear away all the clutter of crafty, cutesy super-mom blogs (for some it might be pintrest; I haven't been sucked in . . . yet) and focus on the basic premise that

my children are not really my children. 

So on our Mother's Day date night, when my husband asked me, "Well, how do you feel about being a mom?" I didn't know how to answer (possibly because I was daydreaming about all the yummy food that awaited us at one of our favorite downtown restaurants . . . ).

After thinking about it for a few minutes, I responded (this is paraphrased, of course), "Ya know, I guess the fact that when [10-year-old] Ethan is sitting at the kitchen island and says, 'Mom? . . .', I still sometimes think, 'Oh, yeah, he's talking to me,' kind of sums it up. Like I'm expecting him to just say, 'Hey, Jen,' to get my attention. I'll always be his Mother and I get that, but at the end of the day, he's not mine. I'm just borrowing him. And I feel like being Mom in the way that I'm Mom right now is such a temporary job. In less than ten years, he's going to be out there, on his own, doing his own thing, making all his own decisions. He's not going to need me in the way that he does now. He'll need a friend. And I'm really looking forward to that stage. It's kind of like when I left Wells Fargo last year. I was so relieved and excited to have my co-workers become former co-workers and true friends. Not just work 'friends' because it was convenient and we saw each other every day and we were so dependent on each other to get stuff done."

A widely accepted axiom for career success is "Don't burn bridges" and I think that applies even moreso to parenting " " success. Building bridges, building true, lasting relationships with my children, that's the key. If that stays at the core of everything I try to do and say (and I'm far from perfect), it makes this temp job

much, much easier and much, muchly, much, much more rewarding. 

(Yep, been reading a lot of Dr. Seuss with Milo at bedtime lately.)

So HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all the wonderful women out there 

keepin' at it despite the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days 
at this "temp job" of being Mom to young children!

unscripted

Sometimes I feel like I live in a sitcom. Between Art's witty one-liners and two deep-thinking, self-assured mini-mes, I often see myself as a minor, supporting actor in "The Boys."

Here's a typical conversation with Milo over his "BIG" Sunday morning breakfast of oatmeal, toast, cereal, fresh orange juice, milk. (I still don't know where he puts it all.) We had just finished talking about how almond milk has 50% more calcium than cow's milk (I recently removed dairy from the boys' and my diet--hallelujah!).

"Mom, does water have calcium in it?"
"Not a lot, no."
"Oh, then it's not that healthy, is it?"
"It's still very healthy. Because remember, how much of our body is water?"
"60%?"
"Yep, about that much or more. Our bodies need water and lots of vitamins and minerals. Calcium is a mineral and we also get vitamins and minerals from fruits and vegetables." Attempting a segue, I asked as I opened a cabinet, "Do you know what else has vitamins and minerals?"
"What?"
I showed him the packages I had pulled out.
"Juice Plus+!" he said. [Juice Plus+ is a daily whole foods nutrition supplement the boys and I take.]
"Did you get yours yesterday?" I asked.
"No, so give me four black ones and four red ones."
As I got the gummies out of the packages and set them in front of him, he asked, "How many is four plus four?"
Trying to be silly, I responded, "Seven?"
He looked skeptical. "I'll count them," he said. After he finished counting, he looked up at me, so proud. "Mom, you were wrong. It's eight!"
"Oh, okay."

A few moments later . . .
"Mom, when I was two years old, I didn't know water was healthy. I wasn't very smart."
"We just say that is being 'ignorant.' That's when you don't know something because you haven't learned it yet. You were very smart when you were two years old but you were still learning. Everyone is still learning. I'm still learning new things every day."
"Yeah, now that I'm five years old, I know a lot of stuff that you don't know."
"Like what?"
"Like four plus four is eight!"

Ethan came downstairs and put his head on the edge of the kitchen island. Before he did this, I noticed his red eyes and purple undereyes; he didn't sleep well last night. He looked up and over at Milo's feast and then back at me, worry on his face.

"Can I just have toast for breakfast?" he asked, as if being given the same spread Milo had before him would be as torturous as the fact that we were going to make him go to church--sleep-deprived or not.

As Ethan munched around the edges of his cinnamon toast, he stared into space absently and said, "I think my laughter is over."

"What do you mean?" I signed to him.

"I think I've been through all the funny stuff."

So I have a five-year-old who thinks he is much, much smarter than his mother and a 10-year-old who is convinced he's seen and heard all the funny things there are to see and hear in the world.

Give it some time, boys . . . you'll see. The best part of life is that it's unscripted.

favorite (only)

What once was lost, now is found: the favorite (only) water bottle, the favorite (only) scarf, and the favorite (only) large cookie sheet. They've all found their way home and I don't feel crazy anymore (well, a little less crazy).

Other than a few things I collect (coffee mugs (even though I've never had a drop of coffee in my life), stamps, and thank you card sets), I seem to have a favorite (only) of most things and that doesn't make me very girly, I guess. Jewelry is a good example. Not big on jewelry. I have two pairs of earrings I'll wear on a regular basis, two bracelets for special occasions (both gifts from my wonderful husband) and one necklace I love, but most days I prefer not having anything around my neck or wrists, so I don't own a watch. Not big on rings, other than my "Round 2" wedding bands, which I adore. I've tried to work my way up to wearing those big costume jewelry rings that look so fabulous on women with long fingers and consistently manicured nails, but, no. My fingers are short and stubby and rarely manicured.

Every woman has her sad story of losing a favorite piece of jewelry. Here are two of mine.

Sad story #1: Summer 2007. Right about the time I got new wedding bands, Art also gave me a beautiful sapphire gemstone solitaire, surrounded by diamonds. It actually looked a lot like Princess Diana's engagement ring, except it was square cut. (I should mention that we went shopping for these rings on his birthday--the only present he wanted that year was to "shower me with diamonds" but I'm pretty sure he got a guitar or two as well.) I usually wore it on my ring finger in place of my wedding bands but on this particular day I was wearing it on my right hand. So after a long day at work, it was bugging me. I took it off and put it in a zippered pocket of my purse for safe keeping. Before I left the office, Art called and suggested eating out at Chile's in downtown Salt Lake for dinner (this is when we lived in South Salt Lake). I pulled into the parking lot on my cell phone, distracted, and for some reason parked far from the entrance in an area with dim lighting, even though the lot was, not surprisingly, empty on this Thursday night.

All during dinner I felt a nagging feeling like we needed to hurry, we needed to leave. I felt like I should just let Art sit and wait for the check, and I would meet him at home. But I didn't. I stayed, feeling uncomfortable, almost queasy. When I came out to my car, I noticed black shiny pieces of glass on the ground. Odd, I thought. Then I saw it. The smashed window. The empty back seat. Then I felt it. The small pit in my stomach transform into the crushing weight of my own thoughtlessness and stupidity when I realized I had left my purse and my work laptop completely exposed in the back seat during dinner. The purse and its contents, including that sapphire ring, totaled almost $2,000, to say nothing of the corporate laptop and all the hours of work lost because some of my files weren't backed up to a network drive. I still feel queasy thinking about that night. Nothing was ever recovered and I dealt with the repercussions of having my wallet stolen for over a year.

Even sadder story #2: Fall 2004. Like I did most nights, I went down to the small gym in our apartment building complex's Community Center after work. I started running on the treadmill and noticed a throbbing in my left hand. I had forgotten to take off my wedding ring before leaving the apartment. I removed the ring, placing it in the cupholder. A few hours after I got home, I realized I'd left it there, but it was too late. It was gone. I was devastated but took comfort in the fact that I still had the diamond engagement ring Art proposed to me with.


I know we are supposed to lay up treasures in heaven rather than on earth ("For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also"*), but part of me wishes these earthly treasures could be returned to us when we get to heaven. Or at least we could watch the OSV (ya know, Omniscient Surveillance Video) of what happened next. What happened after the loss.

I'm just hoping that my jewelry was used for good and not to feed an addict's habit. But the reality is, they were probably sold for drug money. And that makes me crazy. Because things like your original wedding band is forever a favorite (only).


* Luke 12:34