Walking the desert of motherhood in search of validation

My husband stood in the middle of the toy store, watching me pace the floor.  I was trying to find the "perfect" toy that was fun, educational, and not something that would end up in the junk pile going to Good Will in a few months.  The toy was for my girls' Easter baskets and if I had been on the ball, I would have ordered what I wanted on Amazon.  But even with Amazon Prime, I had passed the horrible cut-off "2 business days" window and I was pacing this stupid store one business day before the holiday.

It had to be something not too grand, but still something happy that could actually come from a huge fluffy Easter bunny.  I wanted to make my 4 yr old and my 20 month old smile.

 It took a while and sadly some grumbling before I realized what the problem was.  I told my husband,
"I want the girls to like what we give them.  It makes me feel like a better mom."
 Somehow, if the girls liked what I got them for Easter, I would feel validated as a mom.

The word "validation" echoed around in my mind for hours.  What does that mean?  Why don't we as moms always feel validated?  We are doing God's work right? Raising children, teaching them to love, and be upstanding members of society?  So, shouldn't I feel good about myself?  But, looking at how my life has changed since having kids, helped me realize, being a mom can feel like one long drought in the Validation department.

 When I became a mom four years ago, I quit my job of being a kindergarten teacher.  As much as I liked the job, it was stressful teaching and taking care of other people's kids.  It occurred to me that if I was going to raise kids, they would be my own. I was done with that part of my life.  However, quitting came at a price.  I now made no money.  My husband took over financially. Though we somehow made it work, it has been really tough to no longer feel like I add to our family's income.  Somehow, my wages were validating.

Another change in my life as stay at home mom, is that now I don't have the same co-workers I once had at my other jobs. If I want to "chat around the water cooler" I have to seek out those chances, arrange schedules, and then try to talk to my co-moms all the while being interrupted constantly by my kids. (bless their hearts, they have nothing to say until I open my mouth to speak to another adult!)

 I also don't have a boss telling me anymore that I am doing a really great job and to keep it up.  Now, I know spouses can be very validating.  But in my husband's defense, most of the time he is so tired and overwhelmed from working all day (like I am) that validating my efforts at home isn't always the first thing on his mind. But maybe someday, someone will put my face on a plaque and hang it outside, saying Most Valuable Employee.   Maybe I could get a gift card to Target too. I mean my husband gets incentives at his job.  I could think of some lovely shoes that could be my incentive. :)

Everyone also knows when you have children, they don't exactly take the time to thank you for such a well planned dinner or activity. My baby doesn't ever thank me for getting up in the middle of the night and making such scrumptious bottles, even though I KNOW she can sign thank you!  My kids might have their moments when they are hurt and cry just for me or when they randomly exclaim (usually after they have had a ice cream or a happy meal) "Mom, I love you!"  Truthfully this helps, but it is not too common of an occurrence, at least in my experience.

So, truth be told, validation for moms is a little scarce.  But this morning I got thinking. Maybe this is why women are so competitive as moms (I'm speaking of myself here). Maybe this is why we care so much about what other moms are doing.  Why we are always trying so hard to be perfect, and why it is so frustrating when our child makes a bad choice.   I remember being so embarrassed in our music class when my little girl was going through her hitting phase and smacking other little kids on their heads, for NO REASON.  For heaven's sake, I wasn't hitting anyone so why did I care?  Because I wanted to be validated as a mom. I wanted to have a perfect child and I wanted others to think of me as a really "good mom."

I knew I needed to take my questions to the Lord.  I like to get up early and say my morning prayers before the kids are up and when I can truly talk to my Heavenly Father.  While praying this particular morning, I was feeling a lot of shame for how often I scream and yell at my kids.  One minute I think I'm doing ok and then I get so angry from some stupid mess or when my little one (just after a bath) repeatedly puts ranch dressing in her hair to get my attention. I hate the competitive side of me or my judgmental side.  I also hate how often I take things personal.  

Then it occurred to me that no one else's opinion mattered.  I was spending far too much time trying to make everyone happy and feel good about myself.  I wanted others to validate my mothering.  The only thing that really matters is what God thinks of me. I don't have to care what others do.  Their validation doesn't matter.  God is the only one who knows my heart and He knows what I need.  I don't need comparison and I don't need wages.  I don't need to read every blog out there on how to have a perfect 3 yr old or how to make 500 slow cooker clean meals that will prevent cancer.

I can make my decisions with Him and His opinion is all that matters.  Don't get me wrong...I think it helps to talk to other moms and make the effort to reach out. I also think reading blogs and learning new things, sharing ideas and so forth can do wonders.  Validation from friends and family also helps a great deal, but in the end, it isn't what matters.  It is just icing on the cake.  The real point it to rely on the Lord, be close to Him, and understand His counsel to me.  That way, I have God validating me and helping me.  I never have to worry about doing something to please another person.  My best is all He asks of me.

Neil L. Andersen wrote a talk a few years ago entitled, "What Thinks Christ of Me?"  He says, "I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him and follow Him, you will feel His love, and approval.  As you ask, 'What thinks Christ of me?' you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself."

This was His answer to me.  I didn't need an expert to evaluate my daily job. I only needed THE expert.  I need Him.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my Dad's birthday.  He would have turned 66 but his life was cut short and I am learning there was nothing I could have done about it.  To put it lightly, acceptance sucks.  But, I get that it is a part of life.  My little girls loves this picture and she recognizes Grandpa in it, even if he is not with her anymore. I miss his smile.

In honor of his January birthday, (Which he hated and always wanted to celebrate in May) I am posting my talk from his funeral.  Anyone who never knew him, missed out.  But this talk helps you get to know him a bit more.

I miss you dad.  Happy Birthday.

Lessons I have learned From My Dad

A quote from the book The Martian Chronicles matches my emotions today: “It fills me with such feelings that I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

            When someone you love dies, a gate in your mind is broken and a flood of memories washes over you.  This is what happened just an hour or two after we left the hospital last Thursday.

Luckily I had the foresight to begin a list of everything I could remember about my dad.  

At first 90% of it was about food.  My dad passed on to me a few traits and one of them was an ever-present sweet tooth.  He and I love candy. Halloween and Easter were favorite holidays (probably due to the abundance of marshmallow peeps being sold), and we stashed candy like thieves all over the house.  (For example, a few days ago, my mom found several petrified and forgotten milky way mini’s stashed in my dad’s temple bag). I was shocked since I thought I knew all his hiding places. 

Though candy was not his only love. My dad bought a bushel of Golden Delicious apples every September. He would then dry them, filling the house with a warm fall scent.  He also had a special place in his heart for Thai food, Jewish delis, hot mustard, and like me, any type or form of marshmallow.

But setting aside the black licorice and pastrami sandwiches, my dad was a scientist at heart.  I think of my childhood, going to his lab, looking at slides under the microscope and learning how to properly use a pipette.  He lived in a white lab coat and seemed to be saving the world, one test at a time. When children are little, parents will often read fairy tales to their kids.  Instead my dad gave me a children’s version of all the great scientific discoveries, complete with pencil sketches of Alexander Fleming.  And once when I was in elementary school he brought home a little plastic bag with tiny microorganisms that would glow.  It was his version of a night light.

However, beyond all of this, my dad taught me some lessons that have helped shape who I am.  Here are just three of the most important.

Lesson 1-My Dad taught me how to fall in love with words

Ray Bradbury said in his book The Martian Chronicles: “Science is no more than an investigation of a miracle we can never explain, and art is an interpretation of that miracle.”

From a very early age, I remember both my parents having stacks of books next to their bed.  My mom seemed to devour a book each a night, and after my dad’s eyesight began to go, he received a special tape player from the library for the blind. It looked like my walkman and played all of his favorite books on tape.  He constantly listened to books and his running list as of a week ago was probably in the thousands.  I still remember being up in Yellowstone with my grandparents and seeing my grandpa sew a scrap of leather into pocket for my dad’s tape player.  My dad could thread his belt through and his player could literally be attached to his hip. 

My dad had many favorites.  He was the only person I knew whose favorite book was Les Miserable by Victor Hugo- the unabridged version.  He listened to it many times.  One author however stood out as his favorite.  He loved the works of Ray Bradbury.  He loved the poetic language Bradbury skillfully wove together into stories about traveling to Mars.  I soon fell in love with language and poetry too.  When I read something beautiful, I got trapped in the words and phrases, reading them over and over again, and savoring them like a piece of dark chocolate.  My dad was a quiet man but he would light up like a candle when we talked about Ray Bradbury.  My dad helped me truly fall in love with words.

Lesson 2-My dad taught me to work hard

Ray Bradbury said in his book Something Wicked this way Comes, “Too late, I found you can't wait to become perfect, you got to go out and fall down and get up with everybody else.”

Anyone who knew my dad, knew he was a very smart man.  School came easy for him and he was very good at what he did.  However, he taught me that working hard was valued far above any good grade that I got. 

I’ve always struggled with math; any type, whether it be algebra or geometry or even my basic math facts as a little girl.  Numbers felt so foreign compared to the words I loved, but to my dad, numbers were a second language. When I needed help on my math, we sat at the kitchen table, my dad’s diet coke and scratch paper at hand, and we would work through everything together.  I hated that math only had one right answer.  But my dad encouraged me to keep working hard towards that one answer.

Though my dad had health challenges he never let them slow him down.  He kept going to his job day after day and he did his job well.  He never gave up.

In 2003 my dad unexpectedly had a stroke that only affected the speech center of his brain.  He sat up in bed and could spout off all the technical terms about what happened to his brain, yet, he couldn’t remember simple words like lamp, chair, or bed.

During the following months, I had the honor of accompanying my dad to speech therapy where we worked on building up those parts of his brain again.  He had homework every night with loads of pictures to label.  It was an odd feeling to be sitting at the same kitchen table helping him with his homework this time around, but again, my dad never gave up.  I’ve applied his example in my life, over and over again.  And, each day, I strive to work hard at what matters most.

Lesson 3-My dad taught me that I matter

Ray Bradbury said in his book Dandelion Wine, “No person ever died that had a family.”

In 2011, Evelyn, our first little girl was born.  Labor had been difficult for me without an epidural and I felt so out of my element, being a first time mom.  When my family came just minutes after Evie was born, everyone crowded around the new baby at the warming table.  My dad, without a hesitation, walked straight to my bedside and asked if I was doing ok.  He cared.  He taught me that I matter. 

Many times in my life my dad has helped me see that I matter. At my wedding, he told everyone how proud he was of me. He sacrificed time and energy helping me with school. He was patient and supported me through my worries and challenges. Just weeks ago, he called to see how I was doing, offering his listening ear.  Being a young mom has pushed me to my limits often, but he has always defended me, loved me, and listened to me when things got hard.

I believe that even now, my dad still defends me, loves me, and listens to me. President Joseph F. Smith said,

“I believe we move and have our being in the presence of heavenly messengers and of heavenly beings. We are not separate from them. … We are closely related to our kindred, to our ancestors … who have preceded us into the spirit world. We can not forget them; we do not cease to love them; we always hold them in our hearts, in memory, and thus we are associated and united to them by ties that we can not break. … If this is the case with us in our finite condition, surrounded by our mortal weaknesses, … how much more certain it is … to believe that those who have been faithful, who have gone beyond … can see us better than we can see them; that they know us better than we know them. … We live in their presence, they see us, they are solicitous for our welfare, they love us now more than ever. For now they see the dangers that beset us; … their love for us and their desire for our well being must be greater than that which we feel for ourselves.”

I have a firm testimony of my savior Jesus Christ.  He loved us and gave His life for each of us.  He died, but (as my Evie would say), “he got his body back!”  My dad will get his body back too someday.  It will be perfected. The resurrection is real.  And the love I have for my dad will continue to grow as it always has.