Post Vacation Reality Check

(Throw-Back Thursday: This post originally published 4/18/13.)

I had just survived a 22-hour car ride home with three teenagers in the backseat.  My bottom surely expanded another two inches from the countless hours of idleness.  Despite these truths and the annoying grunting by my family as they finally exited the minivan, I was mentally renewed, well-rested and highly motivated to commence a more adventurous, interesting life.  It’s not like I was inspired from touring cathedrals in Europe.  We were simply on the beach in Florida, but for a busy Mom, the absence of daily routine and chores was ample incentive to get moving on a few dreams that I had buried under the weekly tasks of raising a family.

Facing loads of laundry, necessary grocery shopping, and a mountain of snail mail and emails, I remained steadfast in my resolve.  Tomorrow, I would break the hum drum sound of my life by reducing the number of “urgent” tasks that consume my days, and pursue “important” goals and interests that I’d been ignoring for years.

Best-selling author and management guru Dr. Steven Covey, promotes a time management theory known as the Urgent vs. Important.  He states that urgent matters “press on us; they insist on action…  But so often they are unimportant!” He continues his explanation of what’s essential in his national bestseller, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.  “Importance…has to do with results.  If something is important, it contributes to your (personal) mission, your values, your high priority goals.” (Emphasis mine.) I teach this theory to business students at a four-year college.

Three days into my post-vacation resolution, I had made progress by refusing to fold clothes other than my own, and I would no longer load the dishwasher.  Ever.  Three teenagers can certainly handle kitchen duty and their clothes are always crumpled by the time they reach the drawers anyway.  The bunny food spilled.  I delegated the clean up.  The kitchen floor was muddy.  I asked my son to wipe it down.  Still, I wasn’t yet spending time on my mission or my goals.

I felt anxious to achieve something of significance, yet remained immersed in what would be considered trivial to the world-at-large.  I wondered, particularly while in the trenches of motherhood, should the urgent be ignored to pursue the important?  Is the urgent often equal with the important?

That third night post-vacation, after grading a heap of student essays, I scanned 124 emails and checked on the cherub-looking teens in their beds. It was 1:10am and the alarm was set for 5:45am.  I stayed up until the wee hours of the morn determined to finish the “urgent” matters of kids’ school correspondence, washing hockey jerseys, baking brownies for my daughter’s class and sewing missing buttons on a lacrosse kilt.  Completing those tasks through the night would free me tomorrow to finally address a few of my long-lost plans.  I would query book agents (for the completed novel in my hard drive), send out a few cover letters for a full time university job (I’m part time faculty), research missions trip financing for my youngest (she’s asked to visit children in Zambia since she was seven), and quite possibly, even work on the family scrapbook collecting cobwebs in my basement!

Excited to be caught up with the menial jobs, my subconscious joy awoke me at 5:00am.  I bounced out of bed, turned off the alarm that didn’t have to ring, and headed for my office computer.  I envisioned the interview I would certainly have by week’s end at the “big” university in town.  We would finally be able to upgrade the minivan and do some landscaping!  En route to my new professorship, I found my daughter on the sofa, doubled over crying with a stomach virus. She bolted from the couch to the bathroom, with me on her heels, holding her hair away from her face while she vomited.  By the time I tucked her back into bed, the others were up, lunches and breakfast were underway and “important” just became a trip to the Pediatrician.

I shuffled two of three kids and one husband out the door by 7:15am, did my hair and makeup in 12 minutes, drove to work to pick up new textbooks, stopped to retrieve packages that were on hold at UPS, then to the bank, arrived home, and left again for the doctor with sick child.  My husband met us at the house afterward to care for our daughter and I went to the pharmacy.  Catching my breath in line, I encountered a lovely gentleman I haven’t seen in several years.  He updated me on his children and grandchildren before asking,  “ahh… you were working part time as a teacher when your kids were little, right?” “Yes.” “So, what do you do now?”  I sincerely felt like apologizing that I had nothing new or “important” to share.  No trips overseas (his son was in Belize), or major promotion (his other son was relocating to Chicago for an exciting new job).  I was still running a household, being the Mom who brought forgotten gym clothes into school by 3rd period, and hosting all kid gatherings at our house since I was the one at “home” most of the time.

Who wants to hear about the pancakes you made this morning or the clean house?

The lackluster responsibilities that make life good for my family appear very small when having those once-every-ten-years conversations with people.

Paying for my daughter’s prescription, I remained surprisingly delusional.  Though discouraged by the errand-running, I resolved to at least print the final manuscript of my novel that afternoon. Then, I remembered the vacation photos still to be downloaded for the grandparents, and the recipes my daughter needed typed and copied for her girls group that night.  Walking out the door of Rite Aid, I marveled at how the years had passed. While my college girlfriends were growing their portfolios, I was feeling invisible much of the time and insignificant in the scheme of the modern bigness of our gender.

The remainder of my afternoon was spent hearing about family activities, cooking dinner, caring for my sick teenager, and zooming out yet again to watch my other daughter’s lacrosse game.  The last thing I had time for that night was laying next to my pale-faced vomiter when she asked me to rub her back.  Yet, when her weary eyes connected with mine, there was nothing more “important”.  The next morning, I called a sick friend.

Immediately following the call, my husband texted, asking me to book a hotel room for my son’s next hockey tournament.  I researched the best price (very time consuming) and turned my office chair again toward my goals.  As I opened MSWord to print out a cover letter for a full time teaching job, I see the kids’ summer camp forms in my peripheral vision. The deadline for signing up is fast-approaching…

Husband texts, “did you get that room yet for the hockey tournament?”

Son texts, “Mom, I didn’t finish the application for the art contest…would you please?”

Youngest daughter asks later that night, “would you help me with this project?”

Five days post vacation, it was evident:  I choose the urgent.

Standing in front of my college freshman students a few days later, I felt like a hypocrite.  Was I not practicing what I was preaching about stepping away from the urgent to address the important?  No, I decided.  There are seasons in life.  My students are earning a degree, I’m raising a family.  My personal achievements are centered around family and friends – for now. Though previously undefined, I realized through my post-vacation reality check that for many Moms, or women caring for aging parents, or spouses with chronically ill partners, the important is the urgent.  For a season.

My Florida-pink fingernails are chipped and my spray tan has faded.  The manuscript remains in my hard drive and the full-time professorship has yet to be landed.  There is zero chance that I’m catching up on scrapbooking this weekend.

The hotel room?  My husband was thrilled to learn that I booked a suite $60 less than the other hockey Dads scored.  The art contest?  My son’s drawing is published in a national magazine.  My sick daughter?  She says the best thing about her virus was my reading a book to her that I haven’t read aloud since she was 10.

When this Mom-urgent season in my life concludes, I will move into a new time, resurrect some former dreams, and no doubt, make a few come true.

Quotes taken from: The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. 1989. Stephen R. Covey.

Perfection Is Not The Goal

I dropped off my twins to their freshman year of college in late August. Separated for the first time in 18 years, they are at different schools, in the same state, but two states away from the nest. Like many parents, the lump still forms in my throat as I type the words.

For me, the last year and half were a thousand times more challenging than having three children under the age of two. The baby and toddler years? Easy-peasy compared to raising teenagers, going on college visits, and the actual moving-away-to-college process. Can I tell you? I. Was. Emotionally and Mentally Exhausted. by the time they left.

The last few weeks leading up to their departure, our dining room and great room were overtaken by the massive amount of stuff needed to dorm. My Mama’s heart comforted itself thinking of how neat the house would be when the “stuff” was out. On many summer days, I briskly wiped away tears, reminding myself of all that I would have the time to do after 18 years of parenting busy-ness. With now only one athlete at home instead of three, games and practices would be minimal, and the baby got her license the week after her siblings left for college. My goodness… the time I would have!

I would join another Bible study; preferably Beth Moore, so there would be plenty of homework to keep me busy.
Organize more, exercise more, volunteer more, restart my blogging…
Adopt at least one new hobby that I’d pushed aside over the years as I bought groceries washed and chopped vegetables cooked the meals cleaned the bathrooms cleaned the floors did the laundry …

If you’re a parent, you get it. You also know that all the same chores are required post-college-drop-off, just perhaps a bit less frequently and the cooking, a bit less plentiful.

Then I decided to go from part time to full time (temporarily) for the first time in 20 years, and I continued doing all that I had previously. My goal? Do all things perfectly (or close to it). This would surely bring satisfaction.

Within two weeks I felt worse than ever, exasperating the sadness that was just settling in over my half empty nest.

My baby came home from the 11th grade and said she was very excited about her guest speaker in entrepreneur class that day. “Mama I wish you could’ve been there. I thought of you the whole time.”

Did she think I was soon to be an entrepreneur?

“The lady was a life coach and she said that taking care of yourself is important. It’s not a bad thing and that everybody should do it. And, I don’t mean exercise mom! I just mean doing something fun just for yourself.”

While my mind and heart raced, thinking that I was a terrible example for her, I was at least grateful that she recognized that I exercise regularly. I was also terribly sad that in her eyes, I don’t have much “fun”. And, it’s true. I don’t.

Unless my kids are around.

We sing.  I dance to just about anything, making all three of them very uncomfortable. My youngest and I have full-blown Taylor Swift concerts on car rides. We just goof off. My fun is largely dependent upon them and as any mid-life Mama knows, those bursts of laughter in the kitchen and silly games and endless flows of teenagers in the house   s l o w s   d o w n …

Adding more to-do and adding more pressure to make everything great – (since remember:  now I would have the “time” to make all things even better), just left me miserable.

Since that late week in September, I pulled out bunches of scribbled-on papers. The words that a writer keeps writing, even though she doesn’t think it’s “perfect enough” to post to her neglected blog site.

I upped my yoga to four-five times a week. In my living room, on my yoga mat, with the same 4-pack DVD. The poses aren’t “perfect”, but my herniated neck disks feel much better.

I returned to the gun range and even though my target practice is far from “perfect”, I love the focus of the sport.

When I’m tempted to skip the yoga because the carpet needs vacuuming, I remind myself that 20 years of vacuuming has not gotten me anywhere. I’m a firm believer that a house should be in order, but as my kids get older, my example as a woman is just as important as it is to be their Mama. (See, like that sentence is not perfect, but I’m not going to revise it. And, this post is longer than it should be but I won’t proof to shorten it.)

I cannot wait to exercise until all the dishes are done and the floors are picked up like I’ve always done. For me, I can’t just do the dishes and be satisfied. I must clean the sink, wipe the edges, it’s ridiculous. There are always chores. It never ends. Then there are holidays and birthdays to plan, to prep, to make p e r f e c t.

When I run down to the basement simply to put away the pumpkin lights and I’m tempted to re-organize all the Christmas boxes for three hours, I don’t. The only one who cares about that “perfect” organization is me and it’s again, ridiculous.

I won’t be proofreading and revising my blog posts 17 times before publishing them. This bothers me greatly, but I’m doing it anyway :). The themes of my posts will also be all over the place, and I’m going to post them anyway. Thanks to all the followers who stuck around this year and kept peeking to see if I was back on line. I was humbled and grateful when I logged back on.

I wrote this down years ago and apologize that I don’t know who said it: “Perfection will kill your giftedness.”

Perfection is not my goal. If I’m supposed to be more perfect in Christ that means leaning on Him, and not continuously, silently labeling myself “less than”. This is part of why I’m no longer very much fun: if “it” – whatever “it” is – isn’t perfect, then I’m dissatisfied. I know, it’s ridiculous, but feeling this way has been very normal for me. It’s also been normal to only have real “fun” if my kids are around. This too has to change.

It’s been a little nuts becoming a mid-life Mom and raising three teenagers. Perfecting what I could helped me cope with other things that spiraled in ways I couldn’t control. But, no longer. Now, I’m imperfectly moving forward.