meaningfulness...is that a word?

so um yeah, i know i haven't posted in ages, but there's no time to restart like the present, right? i'm going to skip the bringing you, me, we up to date because that's why i don't write--the pressure of bringing it up to date. so i will start with the now. it's fall, and finally starting to feel like it--how so cal feels like fall, that is. i love fall!!! favorite season, without contest. recently, i read a book called the happiness project. enjoyed it. good ideas. fun ideas. and since reading it, i wanted to do my own happiness project. in a nutshell, it would start with the blog, and then each month i would have a goal to focus on that month to increase the happiness in my life. not that i'm not happy, just that i could be happier. i never started it because something didn't quite gel until i read viktor frankl's book, man's search for meaning. it was then that i realized i didn't what to do a happiness project, i wanted to do a meaningfulness project.  so this is the first post.  putting it out there.  i am doing a meaningfulness project.  more to follow.

The Parable of The Gardener, Part I

Once upon a time, there was a young mom who had a three year old daughter named Haley. Haley loved to be outside and loved to eat fresh home-grown strawberries from her great-grandmother’s garden. Haley’s mother thought, I could plant a garden. Haley and I could tend it and watch it grow and bond together over our garden. But Haley’s mother dismissed this great idea because Haley’s mom hated gardening.

Her over-active immune system had blessed her with seasonal allergies and hay fever. Being among weeds and plants made her eyes water, throat itch, and nose run. As a kid, she was the only one out of five children excused from pulling weeds because her allergies were so bad. Perhaps is was her whining or her family’s misery in watching her sneeze and sniffle endlessly that got her out of the dreaded chore. On top of the allergic nightmare inherent in gardening is the inevitability of creeping things. Bugs and spiders and stinging things live in dirt and like plants. Unlike Haley, Haley’s mom did not like bugs and spiders and stinging things. Nor was the hot summer sun good for her fair-freckled skin.

But the idea kept returning--little inklings of a desire to have a garden—just a small home garden with a few fruits and vegetables. At the very least, it would give Haley’s mom and Haley something productive to do together--quality time with tangible evidence. Haley’s mom thought: This would make me such a good mom. Oh the possibilities!

So they first bought the plants--strawberries, beans, tomatoes, garlic, onion, lettuce, corn and a bell pepper. Then they found a few spots between bushes on the northern fence line. They dug up any weeds or stray strands of grass. They maneuvered existing drip lines to reach their plants and hoped the spray from the sprinklers in the grass would reach the rest. They believed: If we plant it, it will grow. And Daddy is such a good gardener. When he’s not busy working or studying for school, he’ll come out and check on our plants.

Haley’s mom knowingly and unknowingly ignored tried and true principles in planting a garden. She ignored the need for at least six hours of direct sunlight. She rationalized that it was hot and the indirect sunlight they would receive along the north end of the house would be sufficient. She took no thought to pest control, nor how and when to plant. They should have planted the strawberries inside in February or March in separate pea pots where they would have been given the proper time to mature. She should have planted them where they would receive ample water supply, but very good drainage. She planted them where grass had once grown, which is unfavorable for strawberries.

The garden failed miserably.

The only thing they ever ate from that first gardening venture was a tiny bell pepper. The rest got swallowed up by plants and grass, trampled by the dogs, water-logged, or scorched in the hot California sun.

Maybe gardening isn’t my thing, she reasoned. Her husband would sometimes tease that she had a brown thumb—that every living plant she touched died. They moved on to other projects. But the gardening itch returned, and she was desperate. It was more than the idea of quality time with her girls. She was desperate for results.

Are you Domestically Challenged?

I am a mother. I have four daughters, and I don’t work. Well, let me re-phrase that—I don’t have a paying job. I quit my paying job when the eldest was 2 and I was expecting baby number 2. I wanted to stay home and care for them. In addition to the excitement that I could sleep in and not have to go through the emotional turmoil of leaving my kid at the babysitter, my secret added benefit was that I thought staying home would be easier than working. And it was, in many cases. Until I realized that staying home had its own challenges, especially for me. When I worked, much of the day-to-day chores of taking care of a family were shared with my husband. And, some of it, like cleaning, wasn’t a big issue because we weren’t home for the house to get messy. When I quit, I found myself in a whirlwind of new responsibilities, many of which I didn’t know how to do, or wasn’t particularly good at.

You see, I am domestically challenged--my term for a lack in sewing, cooking, cleaning, organizing, and crafting skills.

You might also be domestically challenged if
…you have ever burned instant rice
…the dirty laundry occupies an entire room
…organizing important household documents means piling, not filing
…while doing the dishes, you think, “didn’t we eat this two (or three or four) nights ago?”
…the household mending consists of taking it to another household, usually mom’s.
…on craft night, your five year-old shows you how to do the project
…you once thought the small bottle brush was for the nipple not on the bottle

All of these have at one time happened to me.

I am not altogether without talent and skill. They just aren’t what one would consider domestic. I received a proper education. I earned a Bachelor’s degree, and later a teaching credential. But who would have thought I wished I had taken home economics, instead of—no in addition to (I wouldn’t want to give up the others)—Spanish? My Spanish is quite useful in interpreting Dora, the Explorer (that’s not saying much) for my children, and according to my daughter it makes me smarter than Daddy because he doesn’t know as much as me in Spanish, but does it really help me with the day-to-day tasks of doing the dishes and raising children.

I often thought that because I wasn’t a “natural” in the domesticity arena I couldn’t be a good mother; that my individual talents were inconsistent with those of a good mother. In my journey (short, thus far) through motherhood, I have learned that the stereotype of a good mother being the perfect cook, seamstress, and crafter is just that—a stereotype. Good mothers come in a variety of forms with an even wider variety of talents and gifts. “To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby” (D&C 46:12). The very fact that we are women enables us to be good mothers. I know that love and action is required on my part to be a good mom, but me being born with or without a specific gift does not make good motherhood unattainable, nor does it mean I can’t strive for the gift I lack.

I also know that I do want to learn some of these skills—or at least improve them. I think it will benefit my life and my family’s life if there are clean clothes to wear. But I don’t profess to being good at it, and so perhaps my perspective will be helpful: motherhood for the domestically challenged, from one who is domestically challenged. If your challenges are similar to mine, if you don’t like cooking just for the sake of cooking, if threading a sewing machine is a twenty minute job, if you are not particularly satisfied and uplifted by cleaning a toilet, then join me on my journey to find ways to do this stuff. Too bad we have to do it. No wonder we dreamed of being princesses (who had servants to do all the domestic things)…Oh well, that’s another topic. I am always looking for creative ways to stay sane with the mundane. Right now cleaning should be my top priority.