Digging for Gold

It is true that being a Mother is anything but easy. Whether you have one child or ten, it seems there is no end to the challenges. But in saying that, I do not wish to imply that there are no rewards. Motherhood is like lifting weights; You work really hard for a long time, your muscles ache, visible progress is slow and sometimes it seem like you aren't getting anywhere. Then one day, as if by magic, suddenly, you not only feel stronger, but you look stronger. I also like to think of a mother as being like a gold miner. You dig and pan and dig and pan and dig some more, just to get a few good nuggets. I am the first to admit that those nuggets are worth every bit of sweat it took to find them, but in talking with women I have met many who don't even know what they are looking for. All they have seen is the dirt, or the aching muscles, or the war.
Soldiers in battle can be very easily become disillusioned with war, wondering why he ever signed up in the first place, or what he hoped to accomplish as one measly soldier in a small fox hole in some far-away place he never heard of. Battle fatigue, insanity and untimely death are part of the outcomes of war that a nineteen-year-old boy may never have considered. Just so with Motherhood. Take a girl of eighteen who just got out of high school and got married and has a brand new baby. She will be getting a crash course in sleepless nights, strollers, bottles, diapers and twenty-four-hour care, and instead of passing with flying colors, she may, like the soldier find herself thrown into the parallel universe of depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue and any number of other difficulties attendant to Motherhood.
The good news is that it doesn't have to be that way. I noticed that somewhere around the time I was born, a good number of mothers stopped teaching their girls how to be mothers. I met a woman who had a grown girl, almost ready to graduate from high school and she hadn't even allowed that girl to set foot in the kitchen to boil water. If the government allowed men to go to battle without a gun or the knowledge of how to use it I would think they were crazy or cruel or both! But that is what this mother did to her daughter. Fifty percent of the births in this country are coming to young unmarried girls and I 'll wager they have not been trained to be mothers.
So, what kind of training does one need to be a Mother? Well, we could talk about diapers and cooking, and all the nitty gritty stuff that should be passed from mother to daughter, but that sort of training can be learned as you go. What they really need to know is that there is some gold out there. They need to know where it is and how to dig for it
Gold, where motherhood is concerned, comes in many forms. The first one I found was companionship. Children make the best companions. They are funny, lively, always ready for a surprise and, if you ask them, they have a lot of good ideas. The digging required here is that you have to talk to them, teach them and take them into your confidence. Reading to them, trusting them, giving them important things to do and being with them are the tools for digging. Then, when you reach the gold, you have a companion who is exactly suited to your personality. Greater comfort cannot be had. Just ask anyone in a rest home.
Another gold nugget is laughter. Laughter, the scientists tell us, is a great help to healing of all kinds. Pollyanna taught us that looking for the good was a choice we could make. Children, on the whole, look on the bright side. Their fresh perspectives and funny outlook can be just the medicine you need. We are supposed to laugh every day. Children provide the reason. Once, we asked our small children what they wanted to be when they grew up. We were expecting the standard answers and were completely surprised when our son very proudly said, “ I want to be a Duck.” I smiled for a week over that one. Digging for this nugget is like smelling the roses; you have to slow down, look around and see things from the viewpoint of a child.
There are many more golden nuggets in raising children, but in my opinion, one of the most precious is the gem of forgiveness that children bring with them. Who else could put up with so much from their parents and still smile and say, “I love you.”? This priceless treasure is lying just below the surface of your home and can be easily uncovered by something as simple as a hug or a smile or a kind word.
Life is short, Mom, so gather the wealth that is all around you and find the joy that is Motherhood.

I Am the Mom

While waiting at the check-out line at a local store, my children and I were approached by a small child who began asking us who we were. After satisfying herself concerning our names, she turned to me and with her head cocked to one side said, “Where's your Mom?” I tried not to laugh when I answered and said “I am the Mom, and these are my children.” She seemed OK with that and wandered off. But the longer I thought about it the more it bothered me. It was almost as though the weight of the world had landed on me when I said those words: I am the Mom.

Mother's Day is sometimes spent in reverencing Mothers, a custom with which I am not very comfortable, because it frequently becomes a mushy sort of hallowing of Mothers in general and doesn't really get at the heart of the matter, which is that Mothers are just girls who had children, who learned from their mistakes about what worked and what didn't, and who probably never felt holy or wonderful, especially when doing the work of a Mother. Her time is spent doing so many unholy things that she wonders that she isn't struck by lightening or something.

For instance, too much of a Mother's time is spent being afraid. Afraid for your life, for one thing, like when you sit on the hospital bed having a baby and the doctor hasn't shown up yet and the nurse has just left. Afraid for your children, for another, like when you come home from a short trip to the store and your two-year-old is on the roof. Afraid that you won't be able to afford all the little things your children will need, like braces, and a college education. Afraid that your children will somehow not measure up to the standard your in-laws have set for them. Afraid they will get involved with dangerous things or people. Afraid that you might be one of those dangerous people, like when they take your car on a date and come back with the insurance agent.

Too much of a Mother's time is spent being a judge. Nothing could have prepared me for the continuous stream of legal battles I face on a daily basis as a Mother. From small claims disputes to major crimes against humanity, my little court has taught me more about human nature, crime and punishment than any library of law books could have. You have to get used to being the one who says no, the one who does things that no one else will do, the decider of every difficult question from curfew to curling irons. And this aspect of Motherhood is extremely unromantic and un-wonderful.

Too much of a Mother's time is spent doing the worst jobs on the planet. You might think that changing a diaper is relatively easy, and, taken by itself, it might be. But, try changing that diaper when you have had two hours of sleep, your husband is late coming home, dinner isn't ready, you are hungry, and the baby has a diaper rash. Then, flu season comes every year bringing the age-old job of cleaning up the unspeakable messes, even when you are sick yourself. Laundry, dishes, floors, toilets, and of course, crayon on the walls, all must be tackled by a Mother while operating on little sleep, rushed meals and the constant barrage of either crying or whining.

Motherhood is a very practical, homely, dirty-work. From wiping nose to cleaning toes, there is just about nothing glamorous or glorious about it. So, in that way, I guess, Motherhood is like war. It's hard, it hurts, and it doesn't go away. But, like war, whenever anyone is willing to risk their life in the trenches, getting dirty, losing sleep, getting hurt, maybe even dying in behalf of someone else, we call them a hero, because we instinctively know that giving of one's self for the life and good of others is the highest and best thing you can do. But from a soldier's point of view, war is hell. Like a Mother, he forgets that he was saving his family, and giving 'the last full measure of devotion' when he put his life on the line. So, maybe we should celebrate Mother's Day on Veterans Day. I think we'd feel more at home.

It's What Makes You, You

This morning during breakfast I was trying to explain to my five-year-old son that he wouldn't be able to go with his dad to pick rock. I explained to him that the truck to put rocks in was too tall, the rocks too heavy, and the work too hard. “So,” I said, “You won't be going.” He simply turned his head to one side and said, “Why?” And that is why I love him. It is precisely his lack of complete understanding that makes him so perfectly charming at times, and I think that there is a weakness or quirk about every person that makes them who they are and gives them that special something that makes them loveable.
Take my dad, for instance. He was never a religious man. He grew up without his dad, became a farm hand at age eight, worked hard all his life to support a large family and just didn't believe in anything, except maybe work. But that is what I love about him. My mother on the other hand is intensely religious, has a wonderful, supportive family and believes in many causes. It's what I love about her. Sometimes people think that they have to have some special amazing skill in order for them to be valid human beings. They think that if they could only write like Shakespeare or play the piano like Liberace, or paint like Rembrandt that they would then be worth something. But every person living has something unique to them that makes them valuable to others.
I had a band director in college who seemed like he never smiled. It wasn't that he scowled, it's just that he was very serious. Some people were afraid of him because of it, but it made me respect and love him. It was his seriousness about the music that pushed everyone to work harder and bring a greater level of commitment to the performance. However, I don't think that he would have seen his 'seriousness' as a strength or a gift. But to me it was his greatest gift. We all want to see ourselves as having some great gift; something that will change the world or at least cause people to take notice. But when I think about the people I know and care about, I realize that I love them for the very things that they would see as weaknesses.
I love my grandma for the round curve of her back that has been molded by years of hugging children and I love the straightness of the back of a young Eagle Scout. I love the children in my life for their innocence and lack of perfect knowledge of the world, and I love the grandfathers in my life who seem to know everything but have learned that they are just beginning to know something. I love big people for being big, and small people for being small. I love smart people for making mistakes, and I love simple people for being profoundly simple. I love church when I forget that I'm at church and just feel at home, and I love home the most when there is a happy chaos. I love people who can laugh at themselves, and I love people who cry at the drop of a hat. I love the cold of winter and the heat of summer, the rain of spring and the dead leaves of fall.
Everyone needs to feel appreciated. However, I never thought I could be appreciated for just being me. But I learned that my brother appreciates that I laugh at his jokes. “Hey, no problem” I said. “I don't have to work at that.” My son appreciates that I read him a story at night; No practice required, proficiency optional. That I can handle. My daughter appreciates that I listen to her. My friend thinks I'm her long lost sister. My children love it when I cook breakfast. My husband thinks it's cool when I want to go for a ride on the four-wheeler. We don't have to 'save the world' or be the next Movie Star to be loved and appreciated. Just be yourself all the time. It's what makes you, you. It's what makes you great.

Just Two Things

Just Two Things

by Kathleen Smith

There are only two things in this old world: Easy and Hard. That's right, just two things. Now, I've been around the block at least once, and that's how I see it. Take a peach tree for instance. I can let someone grow it, and that's easy, I can let another someone pick it and that's real easy. I can wait for somebody with more time that me to cut it and sugar it and cook it, and that super easy. Then, I can go to the store on a Saturday night and buy that peach, all grown and picked and cut and cooked and packaged for me and that's easiest of all! Wow, I win the prize for easiest.

Then, there's hard. Oh, it's hard to go to the nursery and choose a peach tree. It's even harder to get out on a cold spring morning and plant the thing. Then, it's as hard as it can be just to water that beast every week and keep it alive through the frost and the birds and the dogs. It's harder still to keep the bugs off, and finally after years of nurturing go out and pick the fruit. Preserving, eating, storing and using that fruit is so amazingly hard that it sometimes doesn't even get done.

Do you see what I mean? There are just two things. But wait a minute. I think I may have gotten these two things mixed up! See, that first easy thing, letting someone else do all the work and going to the store to buy it, that's easy at the first, but let's keep going here. We just went to the store and bought what? A picked, pared, pre-packaged, preserved piece of peach, packed in pre-processed, protein-free pulp. Right, so I choke it down, if I can, and then the fun begins. My body, the innocent by-stander here, takes a look at this non-food item in the stomach and says, “Hmm, what could this be? It isn't a peach, really, so it must be an impostor! Hah, we won't let you get away with this. We know what to do with fake food.” The body then sends out an alarm, and the allergic responses kick in. Sneezing, swelling and other symptoms occur, and as a result, we dump in expensive, state-of-the-art allergy medicine. That's hard. But the medicine, like any good bureaucrat, stops all useful activity in resisting the non-food items and simply tells it that everything is fine. That is extremely hard, on the body. Thus, the body is demobilized, desensitized and generally anesthetized until it accepts any and all foreign substances put into the body. The result of course is not health but the opposite. We eat whatever we want and take whatever we have to take to make the body accept it. That is hardest of all.

But what about that hard thing? After getting over the initial hard part of waiting and watering, the fruits of your labor are abundant for many years to come. Year after year, the tree will bear fruit. The more care you give it, the better the fruit. You can pick the fruit without spending any of your hard-earned money, that's easy. You can eat it right from the tree and enjoy the fresh and delicious flavor so rarely found anywhere else. That's wonderfully easy. Then, thanks to the excellent, unadulterated amino-acid and vitamin content of the fruit, your body thrives and is healthy and vital for years to come. That is easy.

So, now, I'm looking for hard things to do because I know that some of those hard things are really easy, and some of those easy things are really, really hard.