Not so Great Expectations

Mother daughter relationships aren't always as wonderful as Hallmark cards make them seem.  Nor are they often as bad as made out to be on TV dramas.  No matter what the reading of the stage of relationship with my mother happens to be at any given moment, I realize that I am blessed to have a relationship with my mother.

Today is my mom's birthday.  My mom has lived most of her life being a mother.  For some reason, that fact impressed me when I thought about it.  It's not like she stopped being a mom when I turned 18. Or 21.  Or when my baby sister turned 21.

Of course I remember lots of her bad mom moments. But I've forgotten some of the good ones.  Not the big good ones like when she came and cleaned my house every two weeks when I was on bedrest when expecting my youngest daughter. Incidentally, many forgotten good moments occurred during my teenage years I was not even aware at the time were good mom moments.  

I have a teenage daughter.  I am not patient about her decision making process during shopping, the way my mom was.  I find that swimsuit shopping for my daughter is almost as bad as swimsuit shopping for myself.  Not for the same reasons.  She is absolutely adorable and looks cute in anything.  She is the world's slowest decision maker, however.  And almost too tiny for adult sizes and slightly too big for kid sizes.  And not allowed to wear super skimpy bikinis.

Moms do not get appreciated for sitting through hours of swimsuit shopping with teenager daughters when they could be making dinner or gardening or at least shopping for themselves.  Nor do they get appreciated for spending 60 bucks on the only swimsuit within a 50 mile radius that both mother and daughter agreed upon.  They are actually expected to do this, I realize now. Just as I am finding out moms are expected to make stains vanish from favorite shirts, fix scheduling glitches, and reveal the secrets of Algebra.

I always had clean jeans in my drawers, but always having clean clothes was another expectation, not revered as a small miracle. I expected that there would be food in the pantry when I came home hungry from school.  I expected her to respond in a sweet, motherly way even when I took things out on her. I expected her to drop everything and listen to me when I wanted to talk and to not even ask how things were when I was in a bad mood and didn't want to talk.  And she was expected to know when I wanted which.

 The time is not that far away when I will have been a mother for more of my life than not.  Moms don't stop being moms; they are expected to adapt to the ever-evolving expectations of their children.

The older my oldest child gets, the less I analyze the decisions my mother made and just appreciate that she cared enough to be there and make them. I used to say my mom was a great mom of babies and small children.  And she was.  But of course, I was an idiot and had yet to learn that there are a million more parenting decisions to make when one has teenagers, and therefore a million more opportunities to make mistakes. I should have said she was a good mom. Period.  But I was still editing the script of my teenage years.  When my mom was figuring out what the heck to do with a hormonal teenager, and the next one right behind her in line, as well as still pay sufficient attention to the kindergartner.  She was adjusting to living in a new state away from everything she knew - a woman who hates change and loves security.  She was trying to bring up her family on half the salary her husband used to make.

I appreciate my mom.

The Wisdom To Know the Difference

Ok, I am calling "Uncle!" But wait - I'm the one who twisted my own arm!  So I'm stuck. At least until this phase of the pilot program is over.  In an effort to release some of the pressure building to unbearable levels inside me, I posted on Facebook that I have about 2 weeks left of being sane.  Just in case any of you had anything you really needed me to say or do before then.  One wonderful lady joked, "Oh, there's an expiration on that too?"

My dear friend Ami remarked, "Nope, we're here to keep renewing."

In the pea soup fog of the moment, I often forget that renewal feels an awful lot like losing sanity sometimes.

The wisdom lies not only is knowing the difference, but also in knowing how to keep perspective while it is happening, and acting accordingly.  Does acting insane cancel out the progress that happens in renewal? *Sigh*

Lately, I have questioned my sanity for stepping into the land mine that is this pilot program born of a partnership between two good nonprofit organizations.  Today was the first day of the workshop, and things did not go smoothly.  Both partner organizations were on the brink of calling it quits (but there are 15 people who have their hopes pinned on this now!)  My job could still blow up before this is all over.  And I knew that I was gambling not only with that partnership and our programs, but also with my very own employment status when I took this on.  And I still did.

Now you're questioning my sanity.

The other side of this story is that things went so well if viewed from a different angle.  15 interesting, wonderful people have hope.  There are people from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Nepal, Burma, Cuba, Iraq, Sudan, and the United States all sitting together at a table, helping one another, sharing with one another, and cheering one another on.  They are ready to take on new jobs in either a new country or a new career field.  They are in the process of renewal and not acting the least bit insane. They are putting a whole lot of chips on this new endeavor. And whether or not I am a wildcard that someone should not have used to bet: I am the facilitator. That, I think, is God's way of making sure that everyone is clear about who is responsible for renewal. (Hint: not the Wildcard Facilitator).

Renewal hurts.  Sometimes it takes awhile to look pretty.  Sometimes it looks like foolishness. And it has to happen over and over again in order for us to stay fresh. For us to become wise.  And did I mention that it hurts?

No pain, no gain.