Goodness

I actually wrote this several years ago, but the opening paragraph was the inspiration for the name of this blog, so I thought I'd post it here.

As one travels along the path of life, delighting in, fighting through, enjoying and enduring those experiences, that combined, define a lifetime, there are those incidences that leave you a little “different” than you were before. Some are massive, life changing events – good and bad - that by definition change the entire course of your existence. Others are but a pebble or shiny stone that could be stepped over and missed entirely, but when picked up and examined are recognized as a rare jewel that can change your life.

I received one of those shiny stones on Christmas a few years ago in the form of a book called Grandmother’s Memories to Her Grandchild given to me by my Grandma Law. It is a treasure, to be sure, full of funny stories and recollections, some of which I’d never heard before and others I’d heard a hundred times, but of which I never tire. The book follows a basic question-answer format – questions posed by the author are followed by blank lines filled with my grandmother’s distinct handwriting. It is a glimpse into her life in a way I’d never really seen her, and it reveals the essence of who she is and what it is that has shaped her into the person I admire so. And this essence was perhaps most keenly expressed in her answer to one question:

That which I value most in life is:
My belief in God. The love of my family. I had the love of a good husband for 65 years. The years we had together blessed us with a daughter and husband, and a granddaughter and husband to be very proud of. What more could one ask of life?

I must admit that I’d read the book through several times, walking past this shimmering jewel without really pausing to appreciate its value. But then as I read it through for perhaps the third time, I attempted to answer this question for myself, and suddenly I found myself re-evaluating my whole life.

My grandmother is a good woman.

Good is a word we tend to use too easily and too often inappropriately, its impact diluted through misuse. Used to describe a plate of fried chicken, good implies passably tasty, but not great – good ain’t as good as better, and is a far cry from best. We use good to describe the girl whose made a mess of her life with two illegitimate children, and a drug problem but who wouldn’t dream doing anything really bad, like robbing a liquor store or killing someone. Suddenly we hear ourselves saying, “She’s got a lot of problems, but down deep she’s a good person.” Really? If she were such a "good" person, would she make the types of choices that lead to all of those problems?

The kind of good I am talking about implies character, integrity and a sense of moral decency. The kind of good I am talking about is the kind of good that does the right thing even when it isn’t the easy thing. The kind of good I am talking about is the kind of good I hope will describe me someday. And I never really thought about that until now.

I don’t believe one can simply aspire to goodness. Greatness perhaps, but not goodness. By definition, one might think that goodness is good, but greatness is better. I believe that the opposite may be true. I believe that Goodness is far more complicated and the two don’t necessarily go hand in hand. Greatness implies talent coupled with a deep dedication. A great musician, a great author, a great athlete. Goodness implies character and one can’t simply aspire to be of good character. Rather, it is the result of one's values, one's priorities and one's dedication to keeping their integrity in tact. I venture to say there are many who aspire to greatness who haven’t much goodness in them.

My grandma may not have had an extraordinary career, written a best-selling novel, made a lot of money or be world-renowned for a remarkable achievement. Perhaps by the world’s standards there isn’t much interesting about a Nebraska farm wife who worked hard all her life. But she is extraordinary. She is remarkable. She is a good woman.

Now really, what more could one ask of life?

My Life As a Mom

I’m a stay at home mom to a darling 6-month-old boy. And I’m 40 years old. Not the time frame I’d envisioned when I was contemplating my future in my high-school years, but after being told that motherhood would not be a possibility for me, I’m grateful. While pregnant, I often joked that the difference between being pregnant at 20 and being pregnant at 40 is that at 20 you say “Oh, babies, they’re so CUTE! I can’t wait to dress him up!” and at 40 your thinking “Oh my gosh, I need to plan out how much we’ll contribute towards his first car and we’ve got to get that college fund started right away!”

Carson is all I’d ever hoped for and even the cloudiest day is no match for his illuminating little smile. The love I feel for him is so beyond the realm of what I even thought possible, words are inadequate to describe it. Like any mother, I think mine is the most beautiful child that ever existed. Of course, mine really is.

Few topics spark the level of passion – or strength of opinion - inspired by the working mom vs. stay-at-home mom debate. And it is a debate that raged within me as my due date approached. I’d always been a huge proponent of staying home with your children and sacrificing whatever you had to in order to make that happen. Easy enough to say until I faced making those sacrifices myself.

The most obvious is impact hit our pocketbook: It meant selling my beautiful brand-new convertible with plush leather interior and buying an inexpensive economy car. It means that “having dinner” no longer involves a menu and waitress but rather a pan and stove. It means that my cosmetics bag is no longer full of Chanel and Estee Lauder but Cover Girl and L’oreal. It means that, at least for right now, I can’t spend a dime until I talk to my husband about it and accept the fact that many times the answer is simply going to be “no.”

But perhaps what is requiring the greatest adjustment, is redefining my sense of self. I’ve been working for almost 20 years in some capacity or another and my job has always provided me not only with a paycheck, but with my sense of purpose and my social network. Every friend I’ve made in the last two decades is someone I’ve worked with. My job has been where I feel capable and competent. Where I get my kudos and pats on the back. Where I feel the satisfaction of accomplishment. Where I've always felt like, well, me. Now I spend my days at home with a little guy who’s social skills are limited and isn’t much on positive reinforcement.

In light of both of those adjustments I understand why so many working moms claim they can’t afford to stay home – financially, emotionally, or both. When the difference between mom working or not is the difference between a roof over your head or not, I get it (when that roof is over a 3000 square foot house with a BMW in the driveway, I admit that I don’t get it quite as much). But at the end of the day, I had to admit that being a stay-at-home mom simply won out over working no matter what my “mental arguments” were. It doesn’t mean that there aren’t things that I struggle with. It also doesn’t mean that I stand in judgement of every woman dropping their child off at Kindercare. It just means that when I reviewed the arguments in my head, there simply wasn’t any really good reason for me to be at work all day and there were dozens of reason for me to be at home. To name just a few:

No one will love him throughout the day like I will. It isn’t that I don’t think that there are people in the daycare industry who love children or that there aren’t those people who love nothing more than spending their days hugging babies and developing little minds, but no one else cares as much as I do that he always have a clean diaper, that he has adequate tummy-time throughout the day, that he gets books read to him or that he has enough one-on-one time to ensure his needs are met.

I want to be the one see all of his “firsts”; I admit it, I’m selfish. I want to see his first teeth, watch him take his first steps, hear his first words. He is the child I’ve waited for most of my adult life. I don’t want to hear from the woman handing him to me over the door at daycare that he walked for the first time that day.

Quantity of time ensures that quality time takes care of itself. When Carson and I are together, there’s no pressure. I definitely work activities into our day – I read to him, I play with him, but if I want to sit and rock him and just look at his little face, I can do that without worrying that I’m not doing enough somehow. I’ve heard countless stories of working parents who don’t want to discipline their children because they don’t want a moment of their limited time together to be "unpleasant." When they’ve got 2 hours between dinner and bedtime, they’ll do whatever it takes to stop the tantrum as quickly as possible so they don’t have to have the unpleasantness of – and temporarily unhappy child that is the result of - metering out discipline. Obviously with a six-month-old this isn’t an issue yet, but as he grows up if Carson and I have 10 hours together every day, him being unhappy for an hour because he didn’t get his way isn’t a big deal. I have the time to commit to making sure he’s happier in the long run, not just for the moment.

Carson gets my best every day. This for me was the issue that won the argument in my head. He doesn’t get a mommy who’s exhausted from a day at the office or frustrated from a meeting that didn’t go well. By the time I'm cleaning up the dinner dishes in the evening, if I'm worn out, well, that's okay because we’re looking at the end of our day together and Carson has already had my best hours. He got Mommy while she was rested and ready for playtime. Don't I owe him the best I have to offer? The best of me? Would I really be giving him that if I were working and trying to cram it into the 2 hours between dinner and his bedtime?

As much as I’ve never spent a moment questioning my decision, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there are some days I miss being in an office with other grown-ups having conversations that didn't involve a hungry caterpillar or an observant brown bear. But those moments are over-shadowed every time by the joy of spending my days being a mom to this little boy I love so much.