The Perfect Woman

Do you have a definition of what the "perfect mother" looks like? We all know she's out there, right? What immediately comes to mind? Here's an excerpt from the book I'm currently reading, "Toss the Guilt and Catch the Joy" by Merrilee Boyack:

"Clearly, she is a size six. No question about that. She has been married a long time to a really important man. He's the stake president (minister/bishop/pastor). And she's the stake Relief Society president (women's group ministry). And they have eight kids - four boys and four girls - evenly spaced. And she homeschools them all. Yeah, and they all play musical instruments - beautifully. And she's a, a,...a neurosurgeon, and she works out of her home, only part-time.

She has her family history done back to the Dark Ages (and is praying for help to find the rest). She sews clothes for the whole family. She has a huge garden and can most of their food. She makes a loaf of whole-wheat bread from her food storage every day. Her scriptures are completely marked and color-coded, and she studies them for an hour every morning and every night. She is taking a class in Mandarin in order to be able to serve a mission.

Her house is beautifully decorated and always immaculate. Her hair and nails are perfectly done. Her clothes are beautiful. She feeds the homeless every week, and she has created a foundation to help the entire country of Bolivia. She is making a quilt with 100 blocks for her grandmother, who is 100. And yes, all the corners of the quilt blocks match perfectly.

Shall we go on? It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? And yet, somehow, we all believe that the Perfect Woman exists somewhere."

Feel free to add and subtract as you like to this list, but we all have this unrealistic ideal in our heads and in some way truly believe this woman is out there!

I laughed as I read this quote. First of all, I laughed at the descriptions that actually fit me! I bake fresh bread, I'm looking forward to planting my first garden and I can't wait to start canning my own food. I just bought a beautiful pattern to sew a baby crib sheet set, quilt, and accessories. I taught myself basic Spanish. I am very taken with the idea of homschooling. I fantasize about a day when my children and I can join in a family musical evening.

Second of all, I laughed as I thought of the women I know who seem very very close to my idea of the perfect woman. They seem to fulfill many of the above qualifications, plus a large list of things I consider also important.

But what I quickly realized is that any checklist we create for ourselves is nothing more than a trap. Even if the checklist includes worthy goals of daily prayer and scripture study, simply completing these tasks is not what this life is all about.

It isn't? But for a Christian woman, it is, isn't it? No? No. The Lord requires none of this from us. He doesn't want us to do anything. He wants us to be. Charity is the quality above all for which we strive. But charity isn't something you do, it's something you are. It's a love that is rooted deep within, that naturally reaches out to all our fellowman. "Life is a process to learn charity" Merrilee writes. Now, we will definitely learn to love through blessing our family as we keep house, or by coming closer to Christ through study and prayer, or by serving our fellowmen. But there won't be a compiled list at the end of our life. We will simply stand before Him and see if His image is "reflected in our countenance". Have we become charity? Have we become like Him?

One last note that I need to continuously drive into my poor, thick head: life is not a competition! I will be compared to absolutely no one in the end. I won't approach the pearly gates and see the "perfect woman" standing there holding a measuring stick. If it won't matter in the next life, then it doesn't need to matter now.

So, as mothers, embrace your calling with joy. Toss the guilt and catch the joy.

Guilt that I am tossing:
- the desperate, unending, and losing battle of keeping the house tidy
- family history (there's a season for everything...and this is not it!)
- trying to keep a schedule
- keeping the boys silent during church (hey, we're there, and that's a start!)
- the perfect garden. It's my first one and I just hope I can make one lettuce and tomato salad.
- a three year old that isn't toilet trained. Sigh.
- a one year old that still doesn't sleep through the night. Double sigh.
- boxed cereal, potato chips, frozen prepared meals and all those other foods that aren't great for you, but make life so much easier when you're tired, worn out and just don't feel like spending an hour cooking.
- the ponytail. I love to spend a little me-time pampering myself to look nice when I leave the house, but an hour with a blow-dryer just doesn't fit into my day anymore.

Joy that fills me:
- baking bread. Hey, it gives me joy, but don't think it qualifies me for perfection!
- sewing, in small spurts, really really easy projects that don't really need a pattern, or don't matter if you can't follow the pattern
- scripture study. Not always daily, but in-depth when I do manage.
- reading books, playing volleyball, going for a walk, chatting with a good friend, playing the piano, and a number of other activities that involve me spending time on myself.

Healing

May the LORD answer you when you are in distress;
may the name of the God of Jacob protect you.
May he send you help from the sanctuary
and grant you support from Zion.
May he remember all your sacrifices
and accept your burnt offerings.
May he give you the desire of your heart
and make all your plans succeed.
We will shout for joy when you are victorious
and will lift up our banners in the name of our God.
May the LORD grant all your requests.
Now I know that the LORD saves his anointed;
he answers him from his holy heaven
with the saving power of his right hand.
Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.
They are brought to their knees and fall,
but we rise up and stand firm.

***

I knew the answer in my heart, and that was enough for me.

I wanted to do some reading about miscarriages, reading about ways to cope, and how other people felt after one. I spent only minutes reading, because everything that I came across talked about the time it took to grieve the loss. People wrote about how they marked the day they lost the baby, and about how this little angel would never be a part of their family. They spoke of the terrible life-long loss, how something was always missing. Some wrote about how they long to see this baby again in the next life.

I didn't feel the same. Something in me told me that this little soul wasn't lost forever. In fact, it wasn't even really lost for long at all. What I felt was that the spirit of my baby was still waiting up there in heaven. The body whose creation had been started needed to be ended, but another body would form again very soon. And that little spirit is still waiting to come down to me. I will see him or her very soon, will rock her little body or hold his tiny fingers. I didn't feel the need to grieve a child lost from this life forever.

Although the tears still come, although I still feel a vague sense of emptiness in my body, I'm in fact looking forward to the next short while when once again I'll have that little body growing inside of me. The experience is heartbreaking, and I'm sure come July I will wonder at the idea that my little one might have arrived during the warm sunny days of summer. But my baby is up there, waiting for me, and so the only thing truly lost for me is a little time.

Heartache

Sunday, we lost our baby.

I was nearly three months along in the pregnancy. The baby would have arrived in July. There was no real physical advance warning. Sunday I woke up as I always do - exhausted, nauseous and with the normal discomfort. Sunday evening the baby was gone.

I feel as though I have suddenly become part of a group of women. The world seems divided into those who have experienced the pain of miscarriage and those who haven't. And I can never regain that innocence before loss. No matter the future joys that grace my life, a sad twinge will always rest on the corners of my smile.

I suppose, by luck, I have never bonded to a pregnancy. I suffer horribly during these 9 months, often bedridden and in a lot of pain. With my second pregnancy, I thought finding out the sex of the baby might help me imagine who this little one growing inside me was, but I felt no different than I did not knowing. This lack of connection is a saving grace right now. Somehow I don't really feel the loss of a child, the way I would if I lost one of my boys. Mostly I feel disappointment that the baby won't come in July. I feel that I just have to wait a little longer for this little one to join our family, hopefully in November or December.

I am surprisingly not tired. I thought the draining emotions would exhaust me to my limits, but I found myself wide awake last night. Not wired or over-tired. I simply felt like, for the first time in three months, I was well rested.

The strangest part of it all is how normal I feel physically. All of a sudden I can eat a meal and not feel ill, have a bite of chocolate and feel fine. In the evenings I can talk again because the suffocating tightness in my chest is gone. The nausea disappeared. The exhaustion is ended. 24 hours ago I had a tiny life growing inside of me that affected every aspect of my life, and now there is nothing.

I am an ocean of tears, but I cannot discern their origin. Perhaps there is some level of subconsciousness inside that feels the emptiness and is crying out. Perhaps it is the memory of the tiny little fetus, that I can hardly believe might have one day grown to a healthy 7 pounds.

I am amazed at the emotional preparation that was taking place before I knew I needed it. Over the past few months I have been close to good friends as they dealt with the loss of a pregnancy, endure a difficult pregnancy, pray that a baby will not come to early, and spend weeks in a hospital with a baby that did come to early. I have also followed the online journal of a complete stranger, not sure why I was drawn to her life until Sunday - she miscarried in November, writing openly and honestly about the emotions she struggled with as she mourned her loss and then prepared for pregnancy again. Then, this Sunday afternoon before I took a nap, I opened the bible and came to a passage in Psalms that spoke of the healing power that is provided from heaven. And then I opened the current "Anne of Green Gables" book I am reading and read the heartbreaking chapter of Anne's first birth, and how her baby girl did not live more than a day. Each of these was leading me down a road of empathy and then sympathy, which has gently lifted me up from the valley I am in.

I do feel a strange sense of renewal, a revival of energy and purpose. I suddenly have yearnings to get my home in order, to find purpose and industry as a wife and mother. I am dreaming of my very first garden, of woodshop projects, of taking my fingers to the needle and really learning to sew. I am filled with the desire to bake fresh bread and get on the floor to play with my boys.

I have so many things to be grateful for. I am grateful my body knew that something couldn't support this tiny life and that it wasn't good for it to grow. I am grateful it happened early, that I might not become so attached to the idea of my family one soul bigger. I am grateful that the tragedy was before the baby was born, that I might not have to endure unimaginable heartaches of watching a darling baby struggle with illness or perhaps even depart this world early. I am grateful that it is so easy for me to become pregnant, and that in a short time joy will likely fill up the corners of emptiness. I am grateful for family to fill the long minutes of the day. I am grateful for two healthy, beautiful boys who love me unconditionally. I am grateful for a husband who can be near me for as long as I need, who aches along with me and cheers me with future dreams.

I am grateful for my faith and hope which will heal me, for the comfort of scripture that speaks to the heart, and for the atonement of Jesus Christ, the only one who can truly know exactly the sorrow I feel, and what I need for healing:

"And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

Right now I am trying to fill the time of my days. When I find a quiet moment, or am alone in the dark at night, or when people have moved to a different room in the house, the tears come unbidden. If I can keep myself busy, my mind in conversation, I find I can forget for just a little while. I pray that this time will be no more than a passing moment until I am again welcoming a baby into our family. And, in time, I pray that I will be able to see the change this has wrought in me for the better, the tugging closer to my husband and children, and the deeper sense of purpose in motherhood.

Personality

Have you ever taken one of those "personality" tests? They come in all varieties; some are assign you a colour, some an animal, some combination of letters. Over the years, I've taken a few different ones, some in school, some at church activities, some with friends, and even one of the leading psychiatric versions.

I am always consistent in my results - an exact, even split of everything. I am a schedule-driven free spirit. I rely equally on scientific fact and emotional feelings to make decisions. I am an extroverted introvert. I am a mathematical poet. I thrive on crowds but need to be alone. I am a quiet performer. Basically I am a study of contradictions.

Most often this mish-mash of personalities has worked for my benefit. I find myself at ease in almost any situation. I did well in all areas of schooling. I am usually the peacemaker because I understand nearly every other type of personality.

Sometimes, however, the result is a crushing wave of confusion. My goals, wants, and desires can be so far-reaching and conflicting. I find myself unsatisfied, while living out one facet of my personality and, in so doing, completely neglecting another side of me. I can devote vast amounts of time to achieving a long yearned for goal and feel unfulfilled. Most of all, it makes me tired.

But that's me, I guess. Those giving the various personality tests always marveled at my unusual results. Sometimes I chalk it up to two parents who are diametrically opposite in nearly everything; I must be a complete and perfect meld of the two. But mostly I guess that's just who I am. Nature and nurture, it's who I am. I guess my challenge in life will always centre around reconciling the ocean of opposition within.

Playtime

Rabba-Shnagga-Nooga-Noggin
James created this nonsense name for when he became a "monster" and chased the boys around the house. Colin immediately committed the word to memory, and it's hilarious to here his little three-year old voice call it out to "Dad". Oh, and the only cure for the Rabba-Shnagga-Nooga-Noggin monster is to operate - with the wide array of power tools we have.

***

Drawing
Many parents of young children have to contend with the masterpiece their child presents to them, a glorious combination of colours and lines. "Tell me about it" is the phrase best used to try and discern the clear image the child sees in the drawing. Colin, on the other hand, is much more reality based. When he does get the inkling to draw, he spreads out the crayons and paper. "I'm going to draw train" he will pronounce, picking up a blue (his favourite colour) crayon. Three strokes on the paper and he hands the crayon over to me. "I can't do it, Mommy. It doesn't look like a train." He sees absolutely no point in abstract drawing or pretending it is something it's not.

***

Acting
Much of Colin's active play involves acting out scenes from his favourite movies. Once he's seen a movie once, it's committed to his fantastic memory. He will then walk you through acting out the scene, including word-for-word dialogue, the exact order of plot points, and even the minute details. When the scene comes to an end, he will simply start it again. Luckily he has a few different movies that he chooses from, so it's not completely repetitive for us! Current favourites include: "The Polar Express" - skiing on top of the train with the hobo; and "Star Trek" - stealing the Enterprise.

Caleb's New Years Resolution

It seems perhaps Caleb has made a resolution of his own... last night he finally slept through the night, from 7pm until 5am, took a bottle, and then slept again until 7:30 am. Maybe, just maybe, he's turning a corner...

Wishes

I am wondering if I should try to stop setting my poor heart on things. I have suffered my entire life of a vivid imagination, which has made shopping increasingly difficult. Without having seen it before, I get my mind set on exactly a style of dress, colour of blanket, the perfect gift, or, as today proved, the perfect dining suite. I have returned empty-handed from many a shopping excursion, heart full of disappointment but wallet nevertheless still full.

My kitchen is sorely in need of a hutch. I have the perfect corner nook that could be home to nothing other than a corner hutch, golden of wood and weathered of years. It would gracefully hold my breadmaker and jars of various flours, my table linens and perhaps a treasured memento or two. It would compliment my current kitchen table and also the larger leafed one I plan to add one day.

More than a month of searching came up empty. My perfect hutch does not exist; my only option likely having it custom made and built (which would not leave my wallet full!) Not only that, but my search for a table that seats six and includes a leaf with which to extend it seems to not be available any longer. Large family dinners are going out of style, I guess.

And then yesterday I remembered an online garage-sale site, where you can list items for sale by city. Although I never find anything of worth, I gave it a go. Well, lo and behold there was a beautiful antique wooden table with eight chairs, that included a leaf to seat ten. And being sold alongside was, alas, not a corner hutch, but a beautiful wall hutch that had so much character I couldn't help falling in love at first site. The entire set was being sold for $800, or best offer.

My heart skipped a beat and then raced in excitement as I tried to send a distant email that didn't express my anticipation. And then my hopes were dashed in the reply: it was sold. Of course it was sold. It was beautiful, perfect, exactly what I wanted and priced lower than either piece would sell for separately.

Ah well. I feel certain that I will never find another like it. And I'm probably right. But hopefully I will find some other addition to the house that emits that feeling that it always belonged here.