Memories are not always accurate

Do our memories ever put on rose-colored glasses? Maybe an event that seemed unpleasant at the time is recalled with fondness and sentimentality. Even to the point that we would consider doing it again, only to realize it wasn’t actually fun the first time. Our brain loves to play tricks on us. It loves to let emotion cloud over better judgment. When you have children, you experience this regularly. You recall the amazing family trip you just had, telling everyone what fun it was, and plan for the next one. You block out the tantrums, the meltdowns, the incessant asking of “Are we there yet?” You conveniently forget the large amounts of money that you just hemorrhaged, all for the sake of “fun.”

Before our third child was born, we planned a trip to Sea World. As with most families, this practically required the selling of our firstborn. After driving ten hours with two children under five, we decided to go to dinner. We knew this would be risky. Two children, who have been cooped up in a Toyota Camry for ten hours don’t mix well with Olive Garden. But we were determined!

So as expected our kids were whiny, impatient and ill-mannered. We were prepared for that. The surprise came when our children were the best behaved. Every single child (and we’re talking dozens) in the restaurant was frazzled, exhausted, over-stimulated and miserably unhappy. All this after their parents had spent thousands of dollars on a dream vacation. At the time I am sure most of those parents were thinking, like us, “Whose idea was this?” Then we got home, back to reality and those memories were pushed to the dark recesses of our mind, and the pinkish, flowery memories emerged.

It is much like childbirth. If all you could remember was the pain, all maternal desires would cease instantly. Instead, our brain pulls a rabbit out of the hat and we seem to block out the nine months of misery and hours of agony. Our brain replaces the difficulties with warm, affectionate memories of holding our little creations for the first time.

The brain is a slightly deceitful genius, so the next time you reflect with fondness on a past event, be careful before you repeat the process, because our memories are not always accurate.

Your mother wants to call you every day

A mother’s love surpasses time. If you are eighty and your mother is a hundred, she will still worry about you, she will still give you advice, and if she is able to pick up the phone, she will still call you. I actually think it’s only mothers with an extreme amount of self control who don’t call their children every day. Even the ones who hold themselves back still have the desire.

Every mom has experienced letting go. Maybe it’s the first day of kindergarten, the first bus ride, the first field trip, the first date, your child moving out, getting married. Every inch your child grows feels like a foot of letting go. You want them to be independent, successful adults. Yet you secretly hope that they will still need you.

I talk to my mom almost every day, sometimes more than once. Usually the conversations are uneventful. She’s just checking in, touching base. She wants to be sure we are all right. If she has good news, she shares it with us. When she has a bad day, we can brighten it. I take it as a compliment.

Growing up does not stop a mother’s affection. It may make her appreciate you more. If she has done her job right, you will be someone she wants to have a relationship with. She will yearn to talk to you, to hear your perspective, to find out your thoughts and feelings. She has invested much in you and this is her dividend: to have a relationship with someone she has unconditional love for. I know without a doubt that when my children fly away, I will want to follow. I am sure they’ll pay me back by moving 3,000 miles away. I will miss them terribly and I will call them every day.

They may be my purpose

I have seen many people hit a certain age and become dissatisfied with their lives. They feel that they have no purpose, no meaning, no direction. Some only feel satisfied when they’re working. That gives them a mission. Others feel as if something is missing, but like a dog chasing it's tail, they never quite reach it. I too have experienced these feelings. The uncertainty, the discontentment, the restlessness. The search for your purpose. Sadly most never find it. They continue searching, with frustrating, life-ruining results.

When all three of my children started school I felt the waves of aimlessness wash over me. What now? What direction should I go? Truthfully, I had no idea. I decided to start with a small purpose. My aim was to try to make one person smile, each and every day. It was a simple goal, but it worked. It helped me to not think so much about myself and try to figure out how to make others happy. It felt good to have a small purpose.

Parents can easily lose their direction, they can lose their value. Your to-do list is long, and can take over eighteen years to finish. Even when the time is up, you still don’t know if you did a good job. You won’t know if you’re successful until years later. There is no instant gratification, no immediate reward, no paycheck at the end of the week, nothing to gauge your worth. But a good mom or dad is the most valuable commodity on the planet. Parenting is a grandiose purpose!

No matter how old my children are, no matter how far away they fly, I will always be their mother. That is the most important thing I can give them. Someday my life will change but today my goal is to have a successful marriage, to appreciate the family I do have and to be the best mother I can possibly be. That is no small purpose.

Did you have good parents or bad? I would love to hear!

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Get Out of Jail Free card

My dad’s philosophy was that every child should have a Get Out of Jail Free card. That meant that he would bail each of his children out of jail for free, one time. He was not encouraging jail time, but seemed to understand that if we made the huge mistake of getting arrested, we would need his help. The good part is that he was able to use this for each of his children.

My brother was the first to use his card. Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong friends, doing the wrong thing, he managed to end up in the county penitentiary. In his defense, he still claims that the drug paraphernalia the police found in his pocket was not actually his. So in the middle of the night my brother used his one and only phone call, to let my dad know that he would be cashing in his Get Out of Jail Free card.

My sister was the second. Being a nurse and never having a run-in with the law, my dad realized she might never need to cash in her card, so when the time came for her to buy her first home he gave her the down payment. He called it her Get Out of Jail Free card.

I was the third and last one to use my card. I cashed mine in for an all-expenses-paid, absolutely unforgettable trip to Disneyland with my dad. He was generous beyond compare, and even though we had to suffer through “It’s a Small World (After All),” it was much better than a night in the slammer.

So what lessons did I learn from my dad’s funny generosity? That most parents would never even consider the idea that their angels could end up in jail, but my dad did. When and if it did happen, we knew that we had someone to call. It also taught me, once again, that my dad loved us all, unconditionally. He knew we would make mistakes, and he was realistic in his expectations. We were not chastised for our bad decisions, but were given a second chance. And we were also rewarded for our good decisions.

As a parent, I hope that if I get a phone call at 3 a.m. from the local sheriff, I will calmly tell my child they can cash in their one Get Out of Jail Free card, and if I never get that phone call I will find an amazing way to let them cash it in anyway.

You get what you need

We were very nervous to have a second child. Our first child was sweet, obedient and a girl. Not a bad combination for our first try. We were confident, we were amazing parents, we had it all figured out. The midwife who was delivering our second child must have seen the arrogance on our faces, because she used five words that still ring true: “You get what you need.”

We knew within twenty-four hours of our son’s birth that we had gotten what we needed. He had a temper, he was contrary, he was a boy.

The midwife’s words have been fulfilled many times since they were uttered. As if our son wasn’t enough, two years later, the birth of our third child left us even more bewildered. Our arrogance has turned into a form of mortification. Each child has managed to embarrass us more than the next. They keep us humble, which must have been exactly what we needed.

These words bring me comfort. When I am worried about some future event, I resolve that I’ll get what I need. It may not be what I want, but it will be what I need. I don’t view every bad situation as a disaster. I think: What do I need? What am I supposed to learn from this? When I get frustrated with others who seem to face no consequences for their decisions, I tell myself, they’ll get what they need. Then I sit back and wait. Sure enough, the prophecy is always fulfilled. The user gets used. The smug get humbled. The unreliable are jilted, and the untrustworthy are misled. This principle runs on autopilot. The best thing to do once it’s in motion is enjoy the ride. Just remember, you’re the one who chose the course, so don‘t complain when it get‘s bumpy. Have fun and don’t worry, because you‘ll always get what you need.

Sometimes they do know best

Most parents have years of experience that can outweigh our inexperience. Usually they have our best interest at heart. This can be hard to accept, no matter how old we are. When your parent gives you advice, you might want to stop and listen. You may be able to use only 1% of that advice, but that 1% may be very valuable.

A few months ago, my seven-year-old came to me with scissors in his hand and asked if he could cut his hair. Of course I told him “no”, and took the scissors away. He immediately went downstairs, found another pair of scissors, and proceeded to cut his hair anyway, removing sizeable chunks in multiple spots. If it hadn’t looked so ridiculously funny, he would have gotten into much more trouble, but we decided his punishment would be at least one day in school before we fixed it. When I asked him why he’d done it, he said, “I just wanted to see what it felt like to cut my hair.”

This reminded me of a few decisions I made as a child, when I thought I knew better than my mom. I shared these with my children, hoping that they would learn from my experience. The one that stood out the most was my cactus petting. After being told never to touch a small wooly cactus, I decided not only to touch it but fondle it. What did my mom know? It looked soft enough. To my surprise, it was extremely soft. I petted it, and petted it, all the while thinking my mom was a fool. My mother and I soon realized that despite its soft coat, it had left thousands of thorns in my hand, which my mom was not very happy to tediously remove.

Our parents do know us the best and have usually experienced something similar to what we are going through. They want to help, they want to give advice, they want to keep us safe. So listen, because sometimes they do know best.

I drove my parents crazy

I feel deceitful. I have managed to trick the universal forces that my mother set in motion with the infamous words, “I hope your children are just like you!” I am blessed, and a little sneaky, to have basically escaped this curse. Most of the time I have three manageable, kindhearted, easygoing children.

And then there are the other days. Days that make me wonder what I did to deserve this. Those are the days when my childhood flashes before me and it all becomes clear. I remember the days of driving my own parents crazy. There are certain personality traits that make a child loveable, that draw adults to them. I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any of them. I was at the opposite end of the spectrum. I didn’t have looks, so I learned to rely on my personality, and boy, did I have a lot to offer! I was extremely picky, exceptionally whiny, painfully shy and gravely serious.

I know I was whiny, because I actually remember my mom telling me, over and over again, to “STOP WHINING!” I hated everything my mom made, except sweets. I was sure that all adults would kidnap me, and prevented this from happening by staying in the house at all times. My parents would tell me “It’s okay if someone takes you, because they will bring you back.” I don’t remember laughing much, and took myself and others very seriously. I was afraid of my own shadow, and was without an ounce of hand-eye coordination. To top it off, I thought I was an adult trapped in a child’s body. I couldn’t understand why my mom would make me leave the room for adult conversation. My parents nicknamed me “Memorex,” because not only did I love listening to adult conversation, I would repeat it word for word at the most inopportune times.

I imagine my parents developed qualities of patience, endurance, longsuffering and mildness every day of my childhood. So on those days when I am ready for a nervous breakdown, I have to laugh, think of myself as a little girl and thank the stars that my children are not even close to the child that I was. Hallelujah!


What did you do as a child that would have drove your parents crazy?

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Patience!

I am the queen of impatience! I would like to live in the faraway land of instant results, have-it-now, don’t-make-me-wait . . . but so far I haven’t found it. To my dismay, what I have discovered is that eighty percent of life involves the one quality I am lacking: patience—the ability to not act hastily and persevere with joyfulness. The other twenty percent of life involves actually doing: seizing the opportunity and acting.

The positive side is that I am consistent: consistently impatient with everything in my life. I was impatient to grow up, to get married, to buy a house, to have children. I am impatient with people, money, time, my kids, my husband, my family. So what do I gain from my impatience, besides gray hair? Truthfully, nothing! There is not one situation that my impatience has made better.

Here are some words that go hand in hand with patience: enduring without complaint (not a chance), tolerant (nope), tranquil (no way). So what’s the opposite of patience? Irritable (for sure), resentful (okay, but I’m trying to show forgiveness), restless (ninety-nine percent of the time). Is this a HUGE flaw for me? Yes, and the sooner I acquire the skill of patience, the sooner I can move on to another.

So what good things come to those who wait? Peace of mind, better relationships, lasting friendships, a calm heart, spiritual and emotional health, and respect. These are all things I desire. Impatience is waiting for something to happen while life passes you by. It robs you of joy and contentment. Patience is about enduring without complaint, working hard and savoring every moment along the way. So even though I wear the “impatient” crown well, I would much rather be the queen of : what’s the rush, take your time, it’s worth the wait!