Adeste fideles

Once upon a time, I wandered the aisles of my brain for weeks trying to think of a meaningful gift for my husband's birthday. I finally decided on a well-deserved, long-overdue surprise trip. I saved up. I schemed. I contacted a handful of his best buddies from high school to see if they'd be willing to meet up for a ski weekend to celebrate G's birthday. These are lifelong friends who really get each other, great guys. Happily, they were all keen on the idea so they flew in from Oregon, California, and Arizona, meeting four more friends who already lived there in Utah. It was on.

Once he got a seat on the plane, G called to tell me goodbye and thank you, that he made his plane, and that he accidentally took my credit card with him. We were chatting away when in the background I heard a woman say (obviously to G), very clearly, "hi! do you mind if I sit in your lap?" + playful laughter.

Now, maybe there are some situations in travel I'm not aware of where sitting in a strange man's lap (or offering to) would be advisable.  I can't really think of any right now. Or, let's give her the benefit of the doubt...maybe G was accidentally sitting in her seat.  But, still.  It rankled.

I piped up on my end of the line "um, I do!"

He relayed, "my wife says to tell you she minds."  We all laughed. Hahahahaha.  (Grrrr.)

. . .

It was kind of funny. Except not really.  

It's been a tough decade for the marriage model, fidelity wise.  It feels like every month there's a new scandal about someone (Say it ain't so, Dave! And Tiger. And various governors. And presidential candidates. And other politicians and celebrities. And other acquaintances. And friends' husbands.  Say...it...ain't...so.)

I hate that this betrayal happens, especially when it's to people I love.

I'm sad that with every new story another whisper of a fear enters my marriage heart, despite my trust in G.  I really do trust his love and goodness. Even saying that, the whisper pipes up "that's what all those wives said, too." 

(And you know what else? It rankles that some women feel free to flirt with other people's husbands. We should be better to each other than that.)

. . .

Because marriage is a leap of faith--in the institution of marriage, in yourself, and in your partner. And fidelity (the Latin fides, meaning trust, belief, faith) is the privilege and price of that unique, wholehearted relationship that marriage offers.  

Adeste, fideles. 

Because:

photo by Gemma Collier

My grandfather was born and raised on our New Zealand farm. He and my grandmother were married nearly 60 years. Preparing for a photo in the barley, my grandmother lovingly reached up to adjust his hat. This was his last harvest.

Gemma Collier, National Geographic Photo of the Day, 11.04.09

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On a different but slightly related note, this post from A Blog About Love responds insightfully to a reader's question about feeling hurt when your man notices another woman. 

Hey girl, raising boys?

Yesterday I read an interesting and frustrating article that got me thinking, among other things, about raising boys who appreciate and respect women.

Sam is the youngest child in our family, the only son of an only son. With two older sisters and a wealth of girl cousins, aunts, and friends, he's comfortably well versed in the concept of strong women and has a good example in his dad. I'm glad he isn't going to be one of those guys who just doesn't "get" women (fingers crossed, knock on wood).

It's also absolutely true that, much more than my daughters, Sam's love language is homemade food, clean laundry, and other acts of nurturing and homey-ness. Sure, he can (and does) make himself a sandwich but do you know what he really loves? Yes. When I make him a sandwich. It just speaks volumes of love to his soul.  Maybe it's because he's the youngest and has had his share of both chaos and youngest-child pampering? Or, I don't know, maybe it really is his Y chromosome? In any case, he loves being cared for (and really, who doesn't?). As his mother, I'm happy to convey these tokens of love. In fact, I love doing it. Is this a conundrum? Am I building expectations that will have my future daughter-in-law seething? Should I have him go make me a sandwich (see: Ryan Gosling)?

Whatever words feel applicable to you--enlightened? feminist? well-rounded? modern? compassionate?--I think we all hope to raise boys who don't assume they are the ones to be served without serving, those who don't presume to be the sole deciders in life, either at home or out and about in the world. Boys who don't participate in degrading conversations and commentary about girls and women (such discourse sadly on show in the linked article above). Boys who are not caught up in objectifying women and the disturbing "lad culture" of disdain that shows up particularly online but also throughout society. 

So how do we raise boys who respect, love, and value the opinions and contributions of both men and women, and who don't assume, on a very local level, that all of the nitty gritty cooking and cleaning and social arranging and gift buying and laundry will necessarily and definitively be done by the women in their lives simply because they are women?   

I think it's harder than it initially seems and the culture doesn't help us out much. Anna Quindlen said about raising boys in an interview last year, "Society is opposing you at every turn...When you have a daughter and you say to her, 'Look, things are not going to be fair for you. People might treat you in a certain way because you're female — might say this thing or that thing' — that's kind of easy. When you're saying to your boys, 'OK, there's a certain kind of privilege that comes along with being a white man and you should not take that' — that's a kind of craziness. That's asking them to be different from people — certainly different from the macho men who they might see on TV or hear around them. I just felt like the payoff ultimately was going to be so great. And as my one son says, about being a feminist boy, 'Chicks dig it.' And that's been his guiding principle" (on NPR's Fresh Air in 2012). 

Fair enough. (See: Ryan Gosling.)

What do you think?

Where am I?

The postcards tacked above my desk have been taunting me a little. They're kind of a strange little audience, this eclectic collection of images I've gathered over the years from museum visits here and there. I tend to look at them when I can't think of what to write (which is sadly and alarmingly often). Lately I've been seeing them with new eyes.

Realization #1: Apparently I really love depictions of motherhood in art. Go figure. I've unintentionally gathered a gang of mothers who look down and supervise my daily typing. Most of them are fairly idealized (which, on the wrong day can be admittedly a bit deflating...I mean, where's my halo and rosy-cheeked cherubs?) but there's something comforting about looking at paintings that give a nod to motherhood. I can see myself there.

Or I used to, anyway. Realization #2: I'm actually not up there at all, at least not anymore!  Last week I realized these art mamas are all mothers of infants and very young children--preoccupied with nursing, swaddling, cuddling littles on laps.  So I started searching for more seasoned motherhood in art and...it turns out there really aren't many pieces of art showing motherhood past young childhood. Come on, artists of the ages, where's the art showing mothers with adolescents or older children? (Yep, adolescence is a relatively newfangled invention historically so it does make sense. But still. Scroll through the images in this book. See? Mostly babies.)

I was intrigued.  After scrolling through several more on-line collections of "mothers in art" to no avail, I decided to consult with my cousin-in-law, who's a professor of art history. I asked Monica if she could think of any good examples of art depicting scenes of mothering with older children (excluding portraits and besides the Pietas, which are in a category of their own). She suggested I start with these  (thanks, Monica!):

• Alexander Roslin's "Before the Debutante Ball" seems relevant (assuming that it is, in fact, the debutante's mother and not a maid or sister): 

Before the Debutante Ball by Alexander Roslin

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Simone Martini's "Christ Discovered by his Parents" was new to me but I really like the depiction of Christ and his parents. And his intransigent adolescent expression is a little familiar to me, how about you?

Christ Discovered in the Temple by Simone Martini

There's also this mother reading to a slightly older girl  in George Dunlop Leslie's "Alice in Wonderland." (And, Monica pointed out, George Dunlop Leslie does have some other domestic scenes that could qualify, too.) 

It's a good start. But I'm still curious: where am I, art-wise? 

As you can tell, I'm on a bit of a treasure hunt. Can you think of any other depictions of mid-stage motherhood in art? What do you think about being (mostly) left out of the whole shebang?

On letting go

Me, Jordan (16 months) and Madison (2 months) in 1995. 

On Tuesday I put my oldest daughter on a plane bound for Salt Lake City. She will spend two weeks in Provo and then head off to France for 18 months. For those of you unfamiliar with the protocol of the Mormon mission, here’s the nitty gritty: They can call home twice a year, on Mother’s Day and Christmas.  Needless to say, there is no texting. They can e-mail (or write letters) once a week on their Preparation Day (commonly referred to as P-Day). There is no visiting allowed. So, when I say I sent my baby off. I mean I SENT HER OFF. TO A FOREIGN COUNTRY. WITH VERY LIMITED CONTACT. I’m alternately JUST FINE and weepy, with little cognitive understanding of why I can’t just pick one emotion and stick with it. Moody, I think they call it.

The mission launching is especially dicey given the communication restrictions. But dropping her off for college was difficult as well. Let’s face it. We will all, in some way, launch our children off into the wide world. Without us. I’ve written a number of essays where I’ve bemoaned the lack of shared information on launching one’s children. Heck, that’s a big reason I wanted to create this blog. Everyone talks about their childbirth stories, and toddler antics, and their children’s athletic or academic prowess. But about the leaving? Not so much. I have found some commiseration in the women I speak to day-to-day. I had a number of sweet moms  approach me this week either in person or via text. They spoke softly about how hard it is. They assured me the separation would become less painful. They looked at me very sympathetically.

Jordan 2004

And I appreciated those words so very much. Even an acknowledgment is helpful; it eases the loneliness. But what I’d really like is a guide. Some steps. How to get from point A (heartbroken) to point B (okay with my semi-empty nest). Also, am I crazy? Am I  making too big a deal of this? Because I feel both. And also? I WANT MY BABY BACK.

Here’s my offering on 'letting go' – what I’ve felt and observed thus far. It’s sketchy because it’s new and raw. I'd LOVE for other moms to chime in. Teach me in the ways of this new (and sometimes horrible) undertaking.

1. The anticipation is rough. I’d like to say the anticipation is worse than the actual separation, but I’ll have to get back to you on that. I think we did too much “This is your last . . . swim party, Chipotle burrito, tex mex food, real deodorant.” It was emotionally exhausting for her and us. I think towards the end she was like, “Let’s just get this ball moving already!”
2. I was really unsure how to balance her feelings about leaving (excited, scared, etc.) with my own feelings. I wanted to buoy her up and certainly didn’t want to burden her, but I also wanted her to know how much she would be missed – how much we love her. Here’s me: “France is going to be so great! You will be awesome! This is the experience of a lifetime! I might shrivel up and die inside!” Just kidding on the last one, but figuring out how to best support her emotionally was tricky.
3. The preparation part, while daunting, was fun. She won’t have much time for shopping while in France, so we wanted to make sure she had pretty much everything she needed clothing-wise for 18 months. I’m not a big fan of shopping, but working on mission prep together gave us time to talk and envision what her future in France might look like. It made me feel better anyway. [Here’s a packing note: Jordan has a pretty good case of chronic eczema. So, fearing she wouldn’t be able to get her lotion in France, we bought a number of large bottles to tide her over for about six months. When we finally packed her bags and weighed them, we realized she was over the weight limit by 20 pounds!! We pulled out some of the lotion, but still had to pay an arm and a leg for excess baggage.]
4. Hard work is a great distraction. On Sunday afternoon I found myself feeling particularly low about the impending departure. While the rest of the family napped, I set about straightening up the downstairs. At first I was just going to unload the dishwasher. But once the music was on (the Weepies Pandora station) and I was working, I felt better. As I slowly ordered my physical home, I found that I was also working things out in my head. Yesterday, while I was waiting for her plane to make it to Salt Lake, I weeded the back flowerbeds. On the up side, we might have a very clean house for the next 18 months.

Jordan 2007

Mostly, right now, I’m just stunned. I don’t know how this is supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to respond to the leaving. There's not much of a blueprint to follow other than just keep on keeping on. A friend sent me a quote by Erma Bombeck that is a beautiful summation -- beautiful, heartbreaking and true:

I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you're both breathless . . . they crash . . . they hit the rooftop . . . you patch and comfort, adjust and teach. 

You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly. Finally, they are airborne: they need more string and you keep letting it out. But with each twist of the ball of twine, there is sadness that goes with joy. The kite becomes more distant, and you know that it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together and will soar as it is meant to soar, free and alone. 

Only then do you know that you did your job. 

Show me who you are

Back many years ago (*cough* 2008 *cough*), I started a parenting blog project called Letters to a Parent, a collection of letters by parents for parents about the art and practice of raising kids. Since I'm away from home today I thought I would share one of my favorite guest posts from that project, written by my aunt Annette when I asked her how she and her husband, Scott, approached raising her three (now grown) boys. I think you'll like it, too. I especially love her overarching approach of "show me who you are":

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Scott and I had this parenting notion: Show me who you are. This was extremely helpful. When our sons showed us who they were - as they were figuring this out - they turned out to be delightful and talented people. Not one of them fit a preconceived notion of who they might be.

Photo via You are My Wild

Support their interests. We did not make demands on Scout participation or certain athletics or after-school activities. We had only one "must" and it was that they must take piano lessons until they could accompany others. Each of them did this and we were amazed when they continued their lessons way beyond the point where we thought they would quit. As parents, we paid for a lot of lessons in several fields, drove them to their lessons until they could drive, and we attended every activity we could, which turned out to be most of them.

Photo via You are My Wild

Feed them and feed any of their friends, and let your home be the gathering place. This involves extra money and lots of late hours, but it was great having them know they could always invite friends over, and our home came to be known as a "safe place" to hang out, by kids and parents alike. As a result, we knew their friends well--and enjoyed the interaction. Also, one cannot underestimate what we learned while everyone was hanging out here. The casual eavesdropping opportunities were tremendous - so we had a pulse on what was going on with them and their friends. This also leads to another tip: drive them and their friends where they want to go. The parent at the wheel becomes invisible and SO MUCH info is dropped in the conversations.

Look for something to praise and compliment every single day - and then SAY it, don't just think it. Also tell them you love them whenever they walk out the door or end a call. Every single day. We always did this, but became extra-motivated when friends of ours lost their son in a car accident and were comforted knowing that the last words exchanged were, "I love you."

We are strong advocates of natural consequences for choices and behaviors. We also tried to be VERY consistent: we did what we said we would do (so we were careful about what we agreed to). Most of our house rules and policy evolved through a democratic family council method. Our boys had a lot to say about what happened in our home, even down to furniture choices.

Photo via You are My Wild

We granted them three (and only three) "saves" for each school year. They had to use these saves wisely - having us bring stuff to school they forgot, etc. This helped them to be responsible for their work. If they had to stay after school for detention - my coming to get them was a "save." Each son had only one detention in all their school years. But they each had one. Each usually used up their "saves" in a year. Now that they are grown, we have funny family stories about these.

Reflective listening is powerful and helps them know they are heard. This method also defuses arguments. As parents, we worked hard to listen and allow them to talk, then we'd feed back what we heard in a neutral tone of voice (sometimes hard to do): "You must feel very frustrated." "Wow, that must have been hard." "Yikes, what did you choose to do about THAT?"

Photo via You are My Wild

Have them check in with you when they come home. We always waited up for our kids, no matter how tired we were. They had to check in with us. We placed two comfy chairs at the end of our bed, and the kids developed a habit of dropping into those chairs or on the foot of our bed to talk about their night or day. Sometimes we would be there into the wee hours. We had an unspoken policy if they wanted to talk, we would listen (and stay awake).

Let them have complete stewardship of their rooms. I RARELY went in their rooms. Laundry was done only if it was delivered to the laundry room. Each of them went through a period when they lived wearing the clothes off their floor and sent their laundry down in huge heaps occasionally. If they wanted to keep the rooms messy, then that was their choice. (Choose your battles.)

Photo via You are My Wild

Which brings me to my final three tips for parenting teens:
Have fun with them every single week. We often had some family activity each week.
Laugh a lot. "Save the day with laughter," as Grandma taught.
Talk (and listen) a lot. Be sure to ask questions that cannot be answered with a grunt or shrug, a yes or no. Here are two good leads, "Tell me about..." or "How did you feel when...?"

Wow. I'm going on and on. It's kind of fun to think back on this and realize that a lot of this really worked. We still love each other. We’re friends. They are delightful and responsible adults with unique talents. I occasionally told them back then, and I've told them a few times since they've left home: I have many weaknesses and have made errors, but one thing I know about myself and about them is that I was a really good mother. They seem to believe my press statement.

Annette Paxman Bowen is the author of three books, including one about connecting with teens. She currently works as a public affairs director.

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All photos in this post are used by permission from the fantastic photography project You Are My Wild. In their words: "You Are My Wild is a weekly portrait project that brings together 14 photographers to document how they see their children." It's a favorite internet stop for me every week. I love the loving lenses of these glimpses into family life around the world. It's definitely worth following.

A fresh perspective: When the boyfriend comes to visit

I feel like I have some serious dish for you today. Pour yourself a cold Diet Coke and pull up a chair because this is going to be some good (and rarely shared) info.​

If you have just joined us, I'll give you a quick update for context. Jordan, my oldest, recently returned from her freshman year at BYU.  While at BYU, she got herself a boyfriend, who we (Sterling and I) had never met because BYU is 1500 miles away. Jordan will be serving a mission for our church for 18 months in Lyon, France and The Boyfriend will be on a mission in Brazil. So, Jordan and The Boyfriend cooked up a trip to Houston to meet the family before she leaves for her mission. I quietly encouraged the trip because I'm extremely curious about The Boyfriend. The Boyfriend arrived on a Friday and stayed through Wednesday. 

​The Boyfriend and my baby.

You might be wondering how that whole 'meet-and-greet' went. I had hoped to write a post about "When The Boyfriend Comes to Visit," but, EVEN BETTER, the boyfriend wrote about the visit from his point of view. 

Can I get a high five?​

Anyone?​

What follows is a guide for parents, written entirely by The Boyfriend. [No boyfriends or parents were harmed in the composition of this essay.]​​

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When The Boyfriend Comes to Visit
Written By: The Boyfriend

1.  Acclimate The Boyfriend slowly.

Take it easy on the poor fellow! Remember what your mother used to tell you about spiders, because the same holds true for boyfriends: they are more scared of you than you are of them.  Go slowly and try not to frighten him.

Sarah did exemplary job of this when I came to visit her daughter, Jordan. I flew into Houston with jitters in my stomach, not only in eager anticipation of finally being reunited with my incredible and lovely girlfriend, but also at the intimidating and fearful prospect of meeting her entire family. Luckily, I was acclimated slowly. Before meeting any of the family, I had a one-on-one reunion with Jordan at baggage claim, which was heavenly. (No, Sarah I did not kiss your daughter at baggage claim! Okay, maybe I did....) Then Jordan walked me out to the car where I met her mother, who said, “Call me Sarah!” and was disarmingly kind and personable. We had a pleasant car ride home together before I met sisters Maddie and Becca, little brother Parker, and then finally the man I had been most dreading to meet: the dad. Of course, the entire family (dad included) was incredibly charming and friendly. But even the most charming of families can be overwhelming if met all in one sitting, so I was very thankful to be introduced in increments. The experience of a boyfriend meeting his girlfriend’s family may be likened to a deep-sea diving excursion—if you don’t give him some time in a recompression chamber, his head might just literally implode.

2. The Boyfriend will probably do and say some really stupid/funny things.

              JORDAN: But Mom, driving on the highway scares me.

              SARAH: Toughen up, honey. You need to be made of steel. Not—  
                           marshmallows.

              BOYFRIEND: [sheepishly] ….But I like marshmallows.

Because The Boyfriend is trying so hard to make a good impression, he is likely to occasionally do exactly the opposite—often with highly amusing results. He might, for example, randomly address you using your maiden name instead of your married name, forcing you to correct him as kindly as is possible in such a situation. (Yes, this actually happened.) He might, on the first or second night of his visit, lose one of the few valuable items in his possession—for example an iPhone—by carelessly leaving it in the cup-holder at the local movie theater. Rest assured that The Boyfriend is not (necessarily) so incompetent as he appears; he is simply nervous. Enjoy his antics. There is a reason so many blockbuster comedies are based around the exact premise that is being now played out for you in real life.

3. Remember that The Boyfriend is here to entertain you.​

The Boyfriend is not on vacation (though he might foolishly believe so). He needs to earn his keep / prove his salt / etc., so put the kid through the wringer. Does he have any talents? Can he sing? Can he cook? Make him prove it. As long as The Boyfriend is staying in your house and eating your food, think of him as your own personal court jester or slave, rather than a human being.

(I should note here that Sarah and the entire family were incredibly hospitable during my stay. By the end of my visit, I felt both incredibly welcomed and slightly spoiled. Sarah did ask me to sing a song for a family gathering, and I did have the opportunity to work a piping bag for a few minutes in her kitchen. But for the most part, she was far far too kind to The Boyfriend.)

4. The Boyfriend needs to meet EVERYONE.​

Start amassing a list now: family (close and distant), friends, neighbors, former boyfriends and their families, old classmates, vague acquaintances, pets of any of the above. If you can think of their name, or even if you can’t but you can sort of picture them in your mind, arrange a way for them to meet The Boyfriend. A few good alibis are: “family get-togethers”, “open houses”, and “school events”. Any and all of these are an excellent pretense for requiring The Boyfriend to meet as many people as possible.

5. Keep in mind that the daughter kinda likes The Boyfriend.​

When it comes to The Boyfriend, your first instinct as a parent will probably be to hate him with a passion. After all, he is stealing your daughter away from you. The Boyfriend represents your daughter’s transition from the idyllic innocence of childhood to the responsibility and independence of adulthood. And as exciting as that transition may be, it is also just a little bit tragic.

Just remember that your daughter actually kinda likes The Boyfriend. In fact, she probably likes him quite a bit. He’s probably kinda important to her. So give her the benefit of the doubt and believe her when she says the blundering fool she brought home to meet you isn’t as big a dud as he appears. Who knows, maybe you’ll like The Boyfriend so much you’ll want to feature him on your blog.  

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Editor's notes: I did make the poor boy sing at a family function. However, he has some mad musical skillz, and around these parts we make the musicians STEP UP. ​

My favorite thing about The Boyfriend? He was extremely kind and respectful to Jordan.​ Anyone who adores my baby is A-okay in my book.

Also? The Boyfriend is going to Brazil for two years. Letter-writing between France and Brazil is soothing to a skittish mother.​ 

Prom 2013

Prom happened this weekend.

There are a few important mother/child interactions that I feel comfortable with, competent even. I feel pretty good about helping proofread an English paper or scholarship application. I enjoy talking with my kids about friends, and life experiences, and dating. I can remember being a senior in high school and am happy to share my wisdom (such as it is). But prom? I feel completely at sea amongst the rhinestones and fancy hair and glittery nails.

It's not that I'm against the frou-frou. Not at all. I'm frankly amazed at women with the motivation and skill to carefully coordinate accessories and shoes and handbags. And I bet those women make awesome prom moms because they KNOW something about all of this fanciness. Me? I'm merely guessing. When it comes to prom, here's what I try to do for my girls: 1. Let them know I'm excited for them. 2. Support them by listening to what they envision in terms of dress, shoes, hair. 3. Follow them around and pay for stuff.

I guess mostly I don't want to force my own predilections on my kids. And, obviously, you can't show up to prom in a t-shirt and jeans. It's just not done. So, I do my best impression of a sparkly mom. I even went to Charming Charlie's and thoroughly investigated the entire fake diamond/silver section. That's love baby, because costume jewelry is about 1, 637 steps down on my personal priority list.​

And, as promised, the dress:​

Maddie had a great time at prom. There was a lengthy gathering wherein all of the parents played overly-excited paparazzi. There was a white Hummer limo. There was a fine dinner. There was dancing. And there was an after-party that lasted until 5 AM. While she enjoyed the dressing up and the fanfare, she seemed even more engaged with the people, enjoying her friends and their last grand hurrah.

In the flurry of all of the preparations, I tried my best to live the prom moment, to remember my willful, blue-eyed toddler now changed into this silvery butterfly. But, quite frankly, living the moment is difficult. First of all, it's hard to help with the jewelry, and carry the clutch, and manage the manual camera settings AND live the moment. And really, the moment, as it stands, is a little much to bear. The prom moment screams so loudly, "LOOK AT ME. I'M ALL GROWN UP." And I look, I do. But then I have to turn away and shield myself a little from the glaring truth. That she's all grown up. 

And then I curse prom and go home to chocolate doughnuts and The West Wing, which are my only true friends at the moment.​

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In other prom-related materials, did you know that the asking is a huge deal? It is at our school. Even The New York Times has something to say about it. Read it here.

​Time recently published a 1979 prom picture of  President Obama, along with a note he wrote to his date. I'm not sure where my prom date is, but I am sure he's not holding high public office. Darn.