Motherhood – Page 31 – Letters from Home

Scout Camp 2016

This morning I went through the pictures from the last month. The High Adventure trip began on June 28, and since that time, someone in our family has been away on camps or vacations almost constantly. Richard came home from 3 weeks of missed work, ready to plan more trips. I don’t understand this man sometimes.

Timothy and Richard spent a week at Bear Lake for Scout camp. As I look through these pictures, I see how Timothy has matured this year. Richard didn’t get any photos of himself, except on the last day when he went water skiing with a couple of the dads.

Can we talk for a minute about what it’s like to be married to a Scoutmaster? In one word, for me, the experience is sleepless. Often I leave my lamp on all night, not fearful, but uneasy, and unable to sleep. I honestly don’t worry about their safety. I give that worry to God in prayer, but I feel loss when my family is away. I’m thankful that they are all home again. Timothy was still healing from a terrible motorcycle burn and came down with a case of Strep while at scout camp, but this week, all is well. Scout camp teaches all of us, even those at home, that we can do hard things. (Ha! These pictures don’t look like a trial at all.)

The Vibrant Lady on the Running Board

The first memory I have of Grandma Stewart is waiting for her to arrive at her home from Girls Camp. My family had arrived in Sparks, Nevada, from Utah and we were so anxious to see her. My brothers and I explored her manicured back yard, the barrels full of flowers, a neatly painted storage shed, and patio chairs with squishy floral cushions to pass the time. We moved to the front yard, and eventually, we saw the truck drive up with Grandma. It was an enormous white truck, and when it pulled up, she jumped out onto the running board on the passenger side, and waved at us with a big smile. She was in a sweatshirt and had a bandanna tied around her hair, but she made quite an entrance into my memory.

Of course she was there long before I had memories. I see pictures of her holding me as an infant, and me rifling through her kitchen drawer full of plastic bags before I was a year old. One picture shows 4 generations of women, my Great-grandmother Spencer, Grandma Stewart, my mom, and me as a newborn. Now that my grandmothers are gone, I continue to feel the physical, spiritual, and emotional strength they carried with them. I was born into a family of strong, powerful, vibrant women. Their influence held me before I had memories, through the growing up years, and into adulthood. At first I only noticed superficial things about my grandmother, such as painted nails, lots of laughter, traditions, and best behavior, but these were just the trappings of my grandmother’s strength; and she instilled this strength in me each time we met.

Grandmother JoAnn Stewart was sparkly but modest, outgoing but private; babies often cried when she held them, but she was the first one to help out and welcome them to the world. She walked so quickly we couldn’t keep up, but was continually present in my life.

“Angie needs to learn to do the dishes without complaining,” I overheard my mom say to Grandma Stewart on the phone.

The next week when Grandma arrived, she did the dishes with me for days, both of us in yellow gloves. She showed me that I could scrub the silverware with the ridges of my glove. She made it fun.

She celebrated people. More than once she paraded me down the carpeted MGM Grand Hotel staircase, singing, “Here she is, Miss America,” reminding me to look at myself in the mirrors that surrounded us. When my little sister was born, I was sure I didn’t want a sister, but my grandma taught my siblings and me a song to sing on the front porch steps to welcome her. I hope my grandmother saw me tuck a small cross-stitched piece of fabric in my new baby sister’s room, welcoming her to our family. My grandmother helped me feel excited to have a sister.

I saw her care for her mother, my Great-grandma Spencer, during an extended illness. She gently helped her mother turn over, alleviating pressure on her painful bedsores. I was a little girl, and watching someone care for someone so ill made a huge impression on me. She came to town each time my mom had a baby and took care of us. Years later, I happened upon her after she brought my Grandpa Stewart home from dialysis, taking a quick nap on her couch. It was the only time I saw her take a rest. She must have been exhausted so many times as she cared for Grandpa and visited with the line of patients on dialysis, but she lived up to the phrase she kept framed in her kitchen: “Keep Calm and Carry On.”

She kept a small Christmas tree in one of the bedrooms in the house with Marine and patriotic decorations on it. She told me that she was so proud of each child’s service and sacrifices. She said that she felt David’s service to his country, and Carol and Doug’s service in the Church were equally important. I have shared her lesson with others. “There are many ways to do good in the world,” I say, and think of her.

I saved all of her cards and letters. Her letters were short, rarely about her, and almost always mentioned Grandpa or the cousins. There are no dates, either. I don’t think that she kept a journal. As I read through her mail to me, however, I see that she did take time to write about important things.

“We’re thinking of you today. Congratulations on your baptism!” (1982)

“Just hang tight until this school bit is over and it will pay off.”

“Hope life is wonderful today–after all–we only take one day at a time and do the best we can–”

“There is nothing as good as a good marriage. Make yours good!” (1995)

“I encourage you two to find and cultivate good friends who add so much to your lives.” (1996)

“Grandpa is so good to me.”

She loved and welcomed Richard. She loved and welcomed our children. When we visited her home with our little children, she handed Paige a big flag and they paraded around her backyard with patriotic gifts on their heads and in their hands.

She was always cleaning out her house, sending things she didn’t need to us. Her rooms were uncluttered and tastefully decorated. She kept heirlooms close to her, I think because she loved beauty and they reminded her of her family. She loved deeply and privately.

The last day I saw her, I played the violin at Grandpa Stewart’s funeral. I was playing Auld Lang Syne, a song she loved, which celebrates days gone by, old times, and even “Once upon a time.”

Once upon a time, I had a grandmother who showed me how to be beautiful, and shared her traditions and laughter. When I need to be strong, my Grandma Stewart is one of the women I think of. The thought of her makes me want to square my shoulders and face things. She didn’t want all of the fuss or attention that comes with death. She would be uncomfortable hearing how her life was like a light to us; how we thrived in the family traditions of parades, waving dishtowels, tubing down the river, playing the candy game, setting out fancy napkins, and laughing. But as I write this, I feel her strength and I know she understands all the good that she has done for us, and that influence remains long after a person dies.

Her influence will be felt when I take time to care for someone who is sick, elderly, or lonely. It will be felt when I decorate for a dinner party and make celebrations for simple, joyful things. It will be felt as I face difficult days, remaining calm, and as I show respect for others. I can’t remember the things she said to me as much as I can hear her laughter in my memory. Perhaps that’s the tribute that would mean the most to her.

To share or not to share

Daniel came home from EFY summer camp to many questions. “What did you eat?” (Richard) “Who did you exchange contact information with?” (Me) “What were your favorite activities?” and, “Did you participate in the talent show?”

“No.”

“What?…Why?”

I have always wanted our kids to have the confidence to play a perfected piece, with little notice, for anyone who would ask. We have pushed through many years of piano lessons and practice sessions to make this possible. So Daniel’s news was baffling to me. He was prepared! Why didn’t he go for the payoff for all his hard work?

As I blinked and tried to guess why Daniel wouldn’t play for his peers, he said he overheard some other kids practicing for the audition. They were playing two of his pieces, a bit roughly, in simplified arrangements. He decided that he didn’t want to crush their desire to play with his more advanced versions of the pieces.

I swallowed my comments about the importance of sharing talents. These words felt petty compared to the quality of empathy he showed as he stepped away from the spotlight. Well done, Daniel. Well done.

Prom, Concert, Bear

The boys have reached some milestones and there have been a few nice windows into their lives recently. I am thankful for the things they have experienced during this school year, from academics and new responsibilities, to music, art, and friendships.

Daniel’s independence has always been high, but driving to school and up the freeway to work each day really seals it. He is a good listener and a steadying influence among his friends. It was a very different experience to send him to prom than it was to send Paige. I was glad to have the kids spend some time at our house after the dance.

Timothy is 4-5 inches taller than he was last August. He is a true friend. The way he wears his sleeves at his concerts is just. too. cool.

Mark finished his 4th grade math and grammar over a month ago, so we forge ahead in the 5th grade books, even though we’d both rather be doing other things. He earned his Bear and we bought the big Webelos handbook so we are ready for new challenges.

Mothers Day thoughts

Motherhood is important to me and I’ve written a lot about it. Here are some posts from the past that tell some of the story. Don’t read them all. That would be ridiculous. Happy Mothers Day!

Veiled Memories: Our children will forget the specifics, but we will not.

They Looked to their Mothers: The best honors go to mothers.

In the Afternoon Sun: What I think about while I am doing housework.

Our First Teen Party: for laughs

The Stroller: for a little cry

Loneliness: You’re going to be lonely, but it can be a catalyst for growth.

A Memory of a Summer Afternoon: One of my favorite phrases from my boys is, “Look, Mom!”

My Changing Role: nurturing and letting go

An Empty Frame: Our biggest work can’t be captured in a photograph.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Minivan: I love and always will love my minivan. No shame. It’s a great second home.

Little Men: Why I love raising boys.

A New World to Me: I’m a stage mom now?

Tomorrow I’ll Listen Better: Sometimes I am so busy that I neglect those for whom I am doing all of this.

Happy Mothers Day from the Kids: I am so glad that Richard recorded these little boys singing to me.

This song

https://youtu.be/GBvSCrRNA34

I lay awake the other night thinking about the kids. Thoughts ranging from worry to frustration and tenderness to sympathy had a carnival in my head. Dramatic catastrophic scenarios, too, came to my mind, a signal that late night thinking just kindles the crazy in me. I can’t physically pick up my children and carry them out of trouble and home to hugs like I used to. Instead, sometimes I lapse into worry. This phase of mothering is lonely and spiritually demanding. When my words of encouragement aren’t welcome, I tap into a reservoir of faith. I have a Heavenly Father who sees me as a daughter who is sometimes unaware of His acts of kindness. He is patient with me, so I can be patient with my children, too.

Better than worry is what I do each day, trying to be helpful. I shuffle down the hall early each morning and sit with the boys, to be met with unenthusiastic response. The secret to mothering teens is knowing that what I am doing is important, even if I am met with bristles and barbs. When they come home, I am where they left me that morning, but hundreds of objects in the house have been handled or cleaned since they walked out the door. Dinner is at 6. We eat together, but sometimes they are in such a hurry to get up from the table, I wonder if they tasted any of the food that went down. My kids always thank me for dinner, whether they taste it or not. They are good about that.

I think in the adolescent fog, I come across not really as a person, but a voice that reminds them to do their jobs. But I know I am more than that. I know that it takes real strength to build independent children. It takes quite an effort to keep a supply of poster board for last-minute school projects and know how to make alterations in clothing; to sit through years of baseball games and ballet rehearsals and years of schooling. It takes love to keep a light on late at night and wait for the garage door to rumble, signaling our child is home and safe. It takes two great commodities, time and self, to wait in parking lots while a child makes steps to get a new job, perform piano pieces behind closed doors, and clean up the trappings of a concert. I no longer walk them in and out of buildings, holding their hands. When they are old enough to drive themselves, I miss our talks in the car.

I know that mothering is important, and it’s a gift. However, the carrying and snuggling from the earlier years seems easier now that I have to be subtle in showing the same things: I am here, I am yours, I love you.

Magnifying time

This is sand, magnified something like 300 times. Days and minutes can seem pretty uniform if we aren’t trying to magnify them. These past few years I have been working on how I use the minutes in my days. I don’t have the luxury of hours to spend on projects, but I have minutes and half hour segments here and there all day long. The big events of the day, such as teaching school, cooking, cleaning, and errands can make me feel too busy to try other things. But I think successful people are those who maximize the minutes between the big events. And by this I don’t mean that I try to pile on more activities. Sometimes the best use of my time is to take a quick nap. Sometimes I sit down and look out the window or make a phone call that I know will be short. I can sew a few seams for a quilt or read a few pages of my book about the New Testament. The goal is to never waste my time. I am enjoying how many different things I can do in a day. The minutes add up over time, and I find that I am making quilts, increasing my knowledge, keeping a family history, making music, reaching out to friends, and enjoying walks outside. Probably the best magnification of time is in my relationships. I can talk to the kids as I drive them. I can choose to put down a book and be available to talk. If I could choose whether I am successful in my relationships or in my hobbies, I would say relationships. Now, do my choices reflect that?

Sister Carole Stephens said, “Your choices reflect your priorities.” How true. And I have more work to do on that.

The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

2006-2012

The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

In 2005 the realtor who listed our home in Austin recommended that we try the Arizona Sonoran Desert Museum once we moved to Tucson. This was great advice. Going to the Desert Museum became a pattern in our lives while we lived in Arizona. It was the place we tried to take all of our guests; it was fun for kids and parents. It was one of my go-to home school field trip destinations. We went there several times a year.

A trip to the Desert Museum was a sensory feast. After driving 20 minutes on the freeway and other busy roads, we turned onto a narrow, winding road. Rock shops appeared along the road as other signs of civilization dwindled. We drove another 15 minutes among cliffs and ancient saguaros, tall and haunting. Not only was the road winding and narrow, it had great dips and inclines, making it feel like a roller coaster if we took the curves and dips with some acceleration. The van would fill with squeals of laughter as stomachs dropped with the dips and turns. The smell of sunblock floated in the air as the kids prepared for the day in the sun. I could look back and see children’s eyes wide with excitement. Sometimes they would raise their hands high above their heads for the declines and quick ascents. I’d turn up the music.

We always started the day early, arriving at the Desert Museum as it opened. I loaded our green stroller with water bottles, snacks, hats, the camera bag, sunblock, and notebooks. It was quite a production, setting out for a day in this mostly outdoor museum. It grew hot quickly, so we followed a path where we knew we could find shade at the hottest parts of the day. The “museum” felt mostly like a walk in the desert with occasional docents along the way holding birds, skulls, or other desert animals. There were enclosures for animals, but only a few structures that provided shade.

Our favorite attractions were in the summer, when the butterfly gardens were teeming with caterpillars and butterflies and the monsoon rains had awakened the flowers. We avoided school field trip days by going in the summer, too. Sometimes we would stop to sketch the hummingbirds or linger and watch the desert tortoises in the early part of the day. By 10:00, we were usually very warm and we would make our way to the pavilions with air conditioning and then the ice cream parlor built out on the trail. The ice cream cones always seemed like manna, and I didn’t care that it was only 10 am because it made the grumpiness disappear.

There were mammals, reptiles, insects, spiders, monkeys, and birds to see. Our favorite animal was probably the mountain lion that had a cave where it would sleep, its face sometimes pressed up against the window for the kids to admire closely.

The mountain lion was always at the end of our ability to cope with the heat, so we would head up the hill toward the cave for the rest of the day. The cave was man-made, and you entered on a paved path. Inside there were exhibits about space and volcanoes, rocks, and minerals. Best of all, there were tunnels going off the main path for the kids to explore. These cave-like tunnels were narrow, smooth with wear, and a little smelly with mildew and stale people smells. Those who braved these narrow passageways were rewarded with a view of cave formations, great stalactites and stalagmites illuminated in golden light. I would sit at the base of these tunnels on a rock and let the kids wander and play for about an hour, hearing their happy voices echo through the corridors.

The final leg of our journey took us out of the cave past a “mine tailings” exhibit where kids could search the gravel for shiny, colored rocks. Each guest was allowed to keep one or two rocks. Serious thought went into these choices. Pockets were emptied on flat surfaces and the rocks were admired, but in the end, only a few would become ours. We stored our treasure rocks in the small compartment in our stroller. One last stop before the big hill to the parking area was the excavation area where kids would put on goggles and chip off plaster from around “fossils” of ancient animals.

The snake and insect houses were either first or last, as they were located at the entrance. I don’t know if the kids remember these exhibits as much, but there were Gila monsters, scorpions that glowed under a black light, and rattlesnakes.

The end of a trip to the Desert Museum always felt like a triumph, having conquered the elements with every device we had. The drive home often included a trip to the McDonald’s drive up window on the fringe of civilization. It was hard work being desert explorers, but we loved it. If I could go back to Tucson for a few days, I would take the kids back to this magical place. Their longer, lankier bodies may not fit so easily in the cave, and some of that wonder of childhood would be gone, but I know that they would have fun. It was ALWAYS a good day at the Desert Museum. How many things in life are like that?

They Looked to their Mothers

Our children perform piano pieces in front of judges once or twice a year. I think it makes the piano teachers happy to have some validation for their efforts. I also think that these events push the kids to work harder and achieve a higher level of mastery. I’ve seen my children blossom under pressure and falter under pressure. I experience it with them, whatever the result.

One year at a judging event, I sat in a different place in the audience than I ever had before. Normally the audience faces a profile of the student and if you’re lucky, you can be on the side of the audience where you can watch their fingers fly over the keys. At this school where the judging was taking place, the audience surrounded the piano in a half circle in a choir room. I watched the pianists play through a window created by the raised grand piano lid. Framed by a wooden support and lid, I had a full view of their faces.

I watched many children perform through this new window and I noticed something I hadn’t seen from a profile view. Almost without exception, when a child ended his piece, he looked immediately to his mother.

They looked to their mothers, not the judges, not their peers. I met my two boys’ looks with silent, fervent approval and encouragement to carry them through the long pause while the judges made their notes between pieces. My inaudible support included a pantomime to remind them to breathe. I watched the other parents in their silent motions and expressions do the same.

I’ll always believe that the best honors go to mothers, and it’s not in the usual form of great accolades or certificates. It’s in the form of hastily-crayoned words on a lopsided, handmade heart; it’s being the person the child runs to when in danger, during sickness, or in times of worry; it’s being the person they want to talk to when something goes really well; it’s in their looks of vulnerable hope, framed under the piano lid, hoping to find encouragement. It’s enough for me to see my children look to me in times of trouble or excitement to know how important my job is.

Parenting in the Trenches

Last week we finally celebrated Timothy’s birthday, one month late, with his friends at an arcade. I baked some cupcakes just minutes before his friends arrived. I was thankful for the arcade. It was a redemption from Timothy’s frustration and a compensation for my lack of the fun gene in my DNA.

I had a mouth full of ulcers last week and these cankers were bad enough to put me to bed for about a day. Richard ran to the store for milk. The next day when I was feeling better, I bought milk before checking the refrigerator. When I got home from the store, I discovered that we had a combined total of 11 gallons of milk. Ha!

I received an email from the piano teacher asking me to monitor my child’s piano practice better. I don’t know how I am going to do that.

I gave my gray stocking hat to one of my sons who was sledding with friends. I watched him tuck it into his pocket rather than put it on his head as he walked away from me. Now the hat is missing.

I tried to register Daniel for EFY summer camp only to discover that we had lost and forgotten his passwords to get into the site. I called and waited on hold for an hour, and was scolded by the operator for my attempts to get around my lost password problem. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now it will take more time to fix it.” And later, “Oh, I’ll just register you myself,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you!” I said, genuinely grateful. Exhaustion had set in and I was docile as a lamb.

There was a prescription which took two days to acquire for one of the boys, including a trip to the doctor and 3 trips to the pharmacy. The clerk at the pharmacy was so helpful. I felt like she really understood, and I was so thankful.

We arrived at church separately, as usual, because of meetings, and we couldn’t find one another. Richard saved a place for me and I saved a place for him. We sat apart for a good portion of church before Richard found us.

I was late in renewing the library books again. It’s a good thing I am taking another violin student next month to help fund my forgetfulness. And the books aren’t even that good. They are fact books about Utah.

I took Mark to a book store during a lunch break and the clerk asked me why he wasn’t in school. It seemed odd to me that she was worried about his education. I was buying a stack of books for him! I just smiled and reassured her. In my mind I chanted, “I’m a good parent, I am a good parent, I am a good parent.”

And my definition of a good parent is someone who keeps trying, day after day, through all the challenges…and fun…and adventure.