Mothering The World

Last night, I dreamt of babies--pudgy infants chewing fists, sleepy toddlers rubbing eyes. These babies were strangers, but alone and unsure of the world and looking to me for comfort.

In the dreams, I knew who the parents were, though I hadn't met them personally. In one instance, a toddler girl wanted her mom, who had just stepped away. I picked her up and explained Mom would be right back, then chatted with her about birds and cows, and sang songs I thought she'd know. It was a game, to distract her and help her feel safe.

In another dream, a quiet, months-old boy and I were in the yard of the house where I grew up. His parents hadn't yet returned from house-hunting in my neighborhood, and he was getting anxious. For a while, I pushed him in a baby swing. Then I put him into his jammies, and taught him some basic ASL signs as I'd done with my own boys when they were his age. Because babies can understand spoken language long before they can physically form words with their mouths, sign language helps them communicate before they can speak. Knowing simple words like eat, sleep, sad and hurt can minimize frustration-driven tantrums by allowing pre-verbal children to make their needs known.

Upon reflection this morning, I think my dreams were driven by a variety of factors. One was my own experience as a mother, and the desire to do everything in my power to ensure my sons were secure, healthy, and happy. The other was this week's disturbing photos and reports of children who'd been separated from their families at the borders of our country.

Making sure young children feel secure is the foundation on which their emotional growth is built. A strong foundation paves the way for healthy relationships with others and the world. Conversely, the biological response to trauma or severe stress can be incredibly destructive, causing lifelong damage. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, while some stress in life is normal—and even necessary for development—the type of stress a child experiences may become toxic "when there is strong, frequent, or prolonged activation of the body’s stress response systems in the absence of the buffering protection of a supportive, adult relationship."

The adult world is scary and dangerous. But when my children were very young, I was their world. Whenever they were scared or upset, they came to me for comfort. When describing their nightmares, they painted frightening scenarios of being in danger, and either they couldn't find me, or they couldn't get to me.

I want to soothe the children I've seen crying on the front pages of newspapers. They look frightened, alone, and powerless. They don't understand what's happening, and their parents are no longer with them. I want to mother them until their mothers return. I want to allay their fears and comfort them and tell them everything will be okay. Of course, I don't know that everything will be okay. But I never have, not even when my own children were small. I told them it would be okay anyway, because I didn't want them to worry. It was my job to do the worrying for them.

A mother's love is boundless and protective, and my desire to shower it on all children may be irrational, but it's not a choice: it's instinctual. My arms reflexively open to every frightened child and crying baby I see.

I know I can't mother all the suffering children in the world, and that frustration is what invaded my dreams last night. I've felt this way before. But this is the first time I've ever wished the desire alone could transcend the reason for their suffering, that the desire alone was enough to make them feel my love.

Setting the Bar

I have a love/hate relationship with expectations. As a service provider, I know how critically important it is to set them appropriately. When each party knows what they're getting and giving, there's little room for undue disappointment. But setting expectations in parenting is different. We're talking about potential--what a kid should or should not be able to achieve at a certain age. While I've always thought of expectations as a way to help my kids stretch their abilities, I recently learned that if I'm not careful, they can also have the opposite effect. 

I loved that The Spare's freshman year of high school was a sort of 'joint venture' with the Heir,  a senior. It helped the Spare feel safe and welcomed in the new school; he made friends with older students, and knew his brother had his back. 

But this year, The Spare headed off to high school on his own. No, he didn't have his brother's guiding presence, but he was also no longer a newbie. I had every faith he would continue to strive for honor roll-level grades, as he had the year before. 

Things started off fine. He didn't want me to buy him a planner, so I conceded and let him organize his work on his own terms. When his grades started to slip in the second marking period, I questioned him, offered to help him study, emailed with his teachers and pushed him to work harder. I also gave him a pocket-sized notepad to keep track of homework. But by December break, I could see it wasn't working well. There were no dates in it, and he often neglected to write things down. 

By the time the third marking period arrived, I told The Spare I was buying him a planner and I expected him to use it. When shopping for one, I took his preferences into consideration. He wanted something small he could carry in his pocket, but it needed to have enough room for all his classes' assignments. I searched around until I found one that seemed perfect. But then, before buying it, I paused. 

The Spare is a bit scattered, both in his thoughts and his actions. This was my attempt to help him get organized, and I was looking at a planner that I would choose for myself for that purpose. But when I considered his scattered nature, and the very real possibility that he could end up losing anything pocket-sized, I selected a similar but inexpensive pocket calendar instead. 

I had high hopes that, as a sophomore, he'd be mature enough (and understanding of my concern and expectations) to carry, use and make the most of this new tool.  For a couple of weeks, he seemed to be. But then, as I'd feared, he lost it. 

Part of me was disappointed. Why did I even buy the thing? Another part of me shook my head. I knew this was going to happen. At least I had only spent $2.99 and not $11. I had made that choice unwillingly when buying the planner, but knowing it might be necessary. I was bummed to have been right.

Here's the thing. We want our kids to succeed, to do their best, build their confidence and make their way in the world. That is the understanding all parents have--that one day, our kids will move out and no longer need us. So whenever I try to help move my kids toward that goal and they don't seem to be progressing, I feel frustrated. Disappointed. And yes, sometimes angry. Why isn't he trying harder? Why doesn't he take the help I'm offering? Why isn't he meeting my expectations?

That's the phrase that made me step back: my expectations. Why do I have these expectations in the first place? Who am I to say he's not fulfilling his potential? He is not The Heir. He is who he is. How am I so sure he even has the emotional or physiological ability to do these things yet? 

The fact is, I can't be sure. So I need to do something that, a decade ago, I'd have scoffed at: I'm lowering the bar. Because no kid, on seeing a look of disappointment on his mom's face or hearing the dejection in her voice, is going to be inspired to try harder. He's not going to feel good about himself. And the more it happens, the more convinced he'll be that he is nothing more than a disappointment to her. And that's not what I want my kid to think. 

There's a popular saying that floats around the internet: 

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” 

The point is, as parents we need to put aside expectations we have of our kids and just keep loving and cheering them on. Eventually, each of our little fishes will find the ocean that suits him best, and swim off into his own life. Better to make the short time we have with them uplifting and positive, even if it means sometimes lowering the bar.

The Art of Religion

A million years and three lifetimes ago, when I was an IT consultant, my job involved traveling to meet with prospective clients and pitching my company's services. Traveling for business was new to me, and I was still learning the ropes of efficiently and effectively packing professional attire that let me adhere to airline rules on baggage, yet still show up unrumpled at client meetings.

Before one particular trip, my boss pulled me aside and mentioned that our upcoming client had a dress code of sorts.

"You mean beyond corporate attire?" Admittedly, I was young and green in the ways of the world. Other than a ball gown, I couldn't imagine anything dressier than a business suit.

My boss nodded. "No pants. You have to wear a skirt and it has to fall below your knee."

I stared at him, mentally running through my wardrobe to see if I'd need to go shopping.

"Also, your shoulders and upper arms need to be covered. Oh, and wear your hair up. Not too much makeup, and low heels."

"Who is this client?"

"LDS," my boss said. When I didn't nod with recognition, he raised an eyebrow. "Mormons."

Fast forward twenty-five years, and the Heir, my singing, acting, musical-loving son, texts me from college. He'd been carrying an armload of packages across campus and, at one point, lost his grip. A guy came over and asked if he needed a hand, and the guy and his friend helped the Heir carry his boxes another five minutes to his destination. The young men then introduced themselves as Mormons, and asked the Heir if he was religious at all.

When told that he was interested in religions as a whole, the men said, "great, here's a copy of our book."

"Oh, like the musical!" my son said.

"Yeah, we get that a lot."

"You guys should start an outreach group on campus."

"Great idea," they said. "Do you want to start it with us?"

At that point, my son backpedaled a bit since he had to return to his friends to help transport more packages. "No, but thanks for the help and the book," he said.

When he told me he'd almost been recruited by Mormons, we laughed about it together. My thoughts drifted back to my trip to Salt Lake City, and how restrictive the church had felt to me, an outsider. He did say he wanted to learn about different religions, which is great. It's how I found my own spirituality. Not to taint his enthusiasm, all I said was that they have a lot of rules, and suggested he read their book. I'll be interested to talk more after he reads what is likely the first bible he's ever really seen. (Yes, I know, I'm a horrible, agnostic parent.)

Am I worried he might decide to convert to Mormonism and become a missionary? Well, considering he met the recruiters while dropping a box of beverages for his e-gaming club, not really. I was raised Catholic, but am not religious at this point in my life. All religions are interesting to me, as they are to him. I trust the Heir will find his spiritual way just as I did, though I suppose anything is possible. I do hear they have a pretty impressive choir.

Discovering The Truth

I still remember the first day the Heir went to kindergarten. As I put him on the bus and watched it pull away, the thought that ran through my mind was not, 'Oh, my big boy is growing up', or 'I hope he makes lots of friends', or even 'I hope he enjoys it'. It was, 'Well, my baby is now part of the system.'

Indeed, for the first few years of their lives, I was lucky enough to have my kids with me 24/7. Granted, I didn't always feel lucky. Sometimes I just wanted a break. But all that time together, especially with my firstborn, meant that his entire concept of what the world is came from me. What power! What responsibility! Yes, that first day alone with him, after my parents had left and my husband went back to work, was terrifying. But once I got the hang of things, I loved playing and singing and reading and walking with him. I was shaping him and his perception of the universe.

So it's not surprising that, once he became part of "the system" of public education, recognizing that I was relinquishing that power was tough. He was going to learn things from other people, people who might not see the world as I do, and might have different views from mine. What if they teach him to be fearful the world instead of curious? What if he learns to hate? What if they RUIN ALL THE WORK I'VE DONE?

The fact is, our kids are shaped by their experiences. As much as I'd have loved to encase mine in bubble wrap to protect them, it would have done more damage than good. And even when they went off to school for a few hours a day, they still lived with me and I knew everything about them and their lives.

When the Heir went off to college this past fall, our communication dwindled. That was hard for me. When he was in high school, we would text several times a day and have dinner together every evening, so I knew about his hobbies, his struggles,  his friends, and his likes and dislikes. Now it could be days before I'd hear, and even then it's a "hey, how's everyone at home? Things are good here." I know him well, I tell myself, despite the distance and the new experiences he's having at college. Even if he doesn't share them with me, of course he's still the same person.

Or so I thought.

The last time he was home, he and his girlfriend were watching a movie together one evening and I passed through the room to move some laundry around. Well. Talk about a shock.

APPARENTLY, MY SON IS ADDICTED TO GOSSIP GIRL.

He swears the writing and dialogue are great. The plots are interesting and engaging. The acting is terrific. As one who reads and watches TV to help inform my writing, it sounds reasonable. But I can't help but wonder if he's just saying that to help me get over my shock. If anyone asked me about my son, "rabid fan of Gossip Girl" would never have crossed my mind or passed my lips.

What this experience has underscored for me is that, as well as I know my kids, they are their own individual people and have their own lives. No matter how great they are at communicating with me, I will never know everything about them, their internal lives or all the pieces that make up who they are.

In reality, this is just a continuation of the journey that began all those years ago as the kindergarten bus pulled away. For me, it's been a journey of steps away from him as he becomes his own person. For him, it's a continuing journey toward himself.