Am I a Good Mom?

When I became a mother eight years ago, I was kind of obsessed with this one question: Am I a good mom?  It's something people would say when they saw me playing with my sons at the park or comforting them when they fell.  "You're such a good mom."  But I doubted them.  They didn't see me sitting at home, holding my new baby and wondering if this was all there was.  They didn't see me lose my temper at 3am when my toddler woke me up wanting to watch cartoons.  They didn't see me in the midst of crying children wishing I was anywhere but there.  Those moments made me feel like I wasn't doing it right, like I was a defective Mommy.

There are so many aspects of raising children to cover.  We want them to develop physically and spiritually and emotionally.  We want them to have good manners and make good grades and find good friends.  We worry about their health and what they eat and whether today's sunburn will turn into skin cancer in 20 years.  And I'm willing to bet (based on my own personal experience) that at any given moment, moms feel like they are getting it all wrong and ruining their children's lives.  No matter what other people tell us, our friends, husbands, even strangers, we don't feel like good moms because we know we are dropping the ball somewhere.

Here's the thing ladies...none of us can do it all.  We are all choosing to prioritize a few things over the rest.  I choose to focus on what my kids are learning and their emotional development, while my friend does great at feeding her kids healthy food and strengthening the family bond.  I know another mom who creates beautiful experiences for her children, who is dedicated to creating memories and protecting the purity of childhood.  There are other moms whose children have chronic health issues, and they choose to combat germs and research surgeries and hold vigils in hospital rooms while their children receive treatment.  And every one of us is doing a great job.

Instead of asking myself if I'm a good mom, and comparing myself to all these amazing women I know, seeing all the ways that I fall short of their mothering abilities, I've found a new question.  At the end of the day, as I am falling peacefully to sleep (...or passing out in the middle of a Gilmore Girls episode), I ask myself if I did what was best for me and my people.  Did I give my children what they needed--food, hugs, attention, correction?  Did I give myself what I needed--food, quiet, hugs, contentment?  Is my house still standing?  Is everyone still breathing?  Then I can hang my hat on a day well spent.  If I was able to control my temper or finish the day with a glass of wine, that's a bonus.  If I managed to transform dirty clothes into clean ones, I give myself a pat on the back.  If I carved out time to have a conversation with my husband, and maybe some kisses or whatever, then I am killing it.

I was never meant to do everything perfectly all the time.  That's just not reality.  I am meant for this life, for the people in my home and the ones who cross my path.  I am not supposed to imitate the awesome mom down the street or mold myself into some societal image of womanhood.  And neither are you.  So stand tall and with a loud voice proclaim: Today I took a shower! I rule!  I went to the store and didn't lose a single kid! I'm awesome!  I played Candy Land for the 8th time and didn't check my Instagram feed! I am a good mom!  I went to work and provided for my family! I'm freaking amazing!

And when you see the other moms in your life sweating as they push that double stroller to the park or fumbling in her purse for the thing her kid is screaming for or sitting at McDonald's Playland feeding her baby while the older kids run around, tell her she's doing a good job.  Even though she won't believe you.

Adapting

A few years ago, we were sitting in a doctor's office hearing our son pronounced "autistic" for the very first time.  The diagnosis didn't change anything about our child, but it changed everything about how we parented him.  It was the dreaded label that made us stop trying to push our square peg child into a round hole, to look around for the square hole where he fit.  We tried the team sport thing, signing him up for soccer.  He loved to kick the ball around our yard and could score goals, but once he got on the field with 15 other preschoolers, he wanted no part of it.  Now he goes bowling and is taking adapted swim lessons.  We tried to get him to say the words we so desperately wanted to hear. Then we posted pictures and visual schedules all over the house and relied on the form of communication he was comfortable with.  (And now he uses words more than ever; nothing delights me more than hearing him argue with his brother about who put their seatbelt on first or when he tells me he loves me.)  We adapted, because that's what people do.

It happens in a million small ways every day.  You make little changes because of your husband's allergy.  You change your schedule to fit another person's availability.  You stop doing certain things to support the health of someone else.  We were shocked when we met a couple whose kids had severe peanut allergies.  We wondered what they ate, since I am currently making 5 or 6 PB&Js a day now that the kids are home.  They just shrugged and said, "Not peanut butter?"  We adapt for the ones we love, and we don't even give it a second thought.

I certainly hadn't sat down and catalogued all the ways we have changed to suit our family, to make sure our son is successful.  Not until we heard Dan Habib speak about inclusion earlier this spring.  Because, well, our son doesn't attend the school closest to our house; he attends the school with the best program and teacher to meet his needs.  We don't go to the library closest to our house, where we'd signed up for cards and attended story time when he was a baby.  Not after being discouraged from bringing our child with special needs there and "disrupting" the employees and other patrons.  (Don't worry, a letter was written.)  Now we go to the library one town over whose employees smile when they see us and don't bat an eye at a little excess noise from the child flapping in the middle of the room.  And on and on, the places we don't go and the people we don't see and the things we do now that we didn't used to do, all for the sake of making life easier for our son and putting his needs first.  All of which I would gladly do over and none of which is meant to sound like a complaint.  (Except the librarians.  They were jerks.)

But there is one thing we haven't had to compromise and adapt, and that is church.  We go to the church we want to go to, the church we chose over the big one nearby with the special needs ministry and the air-conditioned sanctuary.  I'd like to say that it was the pastor's terrific sermons or the music (that is sometimes a little too loud--but that's what noise-cancelling headphones were made for) or the programs....but it's not.  It's because of the people.  It's because the first person I met there, as I nervously accompanied my son to the children's class, was a woman named Carol.  And there are some people who really try to be accepting and accommodating (which is FINE by the way, because it's infinitely better than the people who reject and ridicule) but Carol is one of those amazing people who just accept what is.  And she taught the class and she included James when she could and then the children played and she sat beside me and talked to me.  She asked me about myself and my son and she told me about the kindergartners she'd taught and I just felt so completely welcomed.  There are people who teach children and get the job done, and then there are people who are so obviously gifted at what they do, and she is one of them.

Soon we met other families and they all took one look and wrapped their arms around our family.  They asked how James could be included and what we needed, and honestly, I didn't have many answers, because I had no idea what it would look like for him to participate in a lesson or enjoy going to church.  And one time, I was telling a dad named Jay what is hard for James and what he doesn't like, and Jay said, "So what does James like?"  And I felt a surge of gratitude for the chance to focus on the positive for once, something that seems rare for families with special needs.  It took some time and it took some adjustments, but James loves church now.  He is still different, he still stands out from his neurotypical peers, but as far as I know, he is accepted by the other kids.  I try to take the chances that I'm given to explain his behaviors and his peculiarities to them, to demystify why it's okay for James to leave the room or bounce on a ball when everyone else is expected to sit and listen.

This is what the world should be like.  Especially at church, people should be embraced and accepted no matter what their differences and limitations.  We shouldn't pause for a moment to make changes and adapt, because love should govern our lives.  And when we love people, nothing seems unreasonable or audacious.

On Planting and Sowing

A garden has two kinds of growth.  The first is the kind I like: plant a seed in spring, reap a harvest in summer, and the plant dies in the fall.  This happens with herbs, with vegetables, with tomatoes.  Sometimes a plant springs up the following year (my friend calls these "volunteers") when a seed from the previous year has fallen on fertile earth and creates something new.  I like it because you put in a little work, you get a pretty quick yield.  In only a matter of weeks, you have plump tomatoes and zesty herbs ripe for the picking, and you get to cook for a few months off this fresh produce from your own yard.

The second kind is harder for me, not because it's more work, but because it requires patience.  See, the second kind, generally fruits and flowers and trees, takes years to produce.  You drop a seed in the ground (or an indoor container) and the first year you watch it sprout and grow up.  I did this with strawberries.  The next spring, you have a plant, and that summer you might be lucky to get some produce.  Maybe 3 strawberries.  After the first year, I pulled the strawberry plants out the same as I did for the tomatoes, thinking I'd had a bust year.  Then my farmer grandpa told me I needed to leave them in the garden.  To let winter come and wait.  Now the following spring, the third, or even fourth year that you have been tending this plant, you start to get some good yield.  You get pints of strawberries, you get bushels of peaches.  And with a little work, some pruning, some watering, you will continue to reap from this plant that took so much more time to grow.

I went out in the yard and picked 25 strawberries today.  That's in addition to the 20 or so I picked yesterday, the 15 I picked the day before that.  And there are still more growing on the plants.  I don't like to wait, to tend something that isn't immediately producing.  Yet I am reaping the benefits of long-term gardening this summer.  This analogy fits more areas of my life than I care to admit.  The visible, short term results are the ones I like.  The steady praise of a paycheck and a job with a definite start and end...so much more preferable than the daily work of raising children and developing a marriage, which pays nothing and only shows results after years of hard labor.  The work I can do on my own, whose gain is mine alone, I would choose over the efforts of a group, helping the ones who are straggling.  The thing I already know I can do, rather than the new thing that I will fail at before I get better.  What is safe instead of what requires risk.

There is a passage of Galatians which is very popular to teach to children about the Fruit of the Spirit.  Sunday school teachers use construction paper images of fruit and write them out: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  No matter what your religion, we can all agree that these are admirable traits.  But note that they are called "fruit", implying that these are things which do not grow overnight, but must be cultivated year after year in order to be present in our lives?

I set a goal for myself this year, to develop better habits.  Most of it boils down to this quick turnaround, the easy out, the candy bar instead an apple, the evening spent in front of the computer rather than face to face with another person.  And yet my pastor keeps repeating this verse from Isaiah-- "Behold I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."  God is all about breaking old patterns and making things new again.  So I need to be as well.  There's been lots planted in my life, gifts and privilege and accessibility.  I need to look for long term fruit, for the berries that don't come quickly and easily.  I need to tend the plants that take many seasons to produce.