If I'm Doing Okay, Why Am I Trying So Hard?

[This was written years ago when my children were young]

When the baby eats the dog's food, my first thought is, "If I were a good mother, this would never happen!" When I realize I have forgotten my daughter's fourth grade class concert, I think, "A good mother remembers things like that." Many times a day the "If I were a good mother...." refrain plays in my mind and I feel inadequate and frustrated as a mother.

If I were a good mother. . . .  

I would know instinctively what to do,

From the day they take their first breath

To the day they take their marriage vows...

And beyond!

          I don't remember my mother agonizing about motherhood. She didn't read Dr. Spock, child development manuals, or take parenting (or even Lamaze) classes. Yet she seemed secure and confident in her identity as A MOTHER! She just assumed that she would know what to do and she did. I recall her saying that the most important thing about parenting was loving your children and enjoying them, and everything else would fall into place. She also said that knowing how to be a good mother was instinctive and that when I had children I would automatically know what to do.

          I didn't! I worried and fussed from the first minute, armed not only with my sister's child development manual, but the most popular Baby and Child Care book I could find. I recall the overwhelming inadequacy that hit me as I looked down on my new firstborn and thought, "What on earth made me think I would know how to take care this?" Is such an awesome feeling of responsibility for another life normal or even common? Years later, I still worry that maybe I'm not doing my best and I'll pay for it with delinquent, drug-crazed, undernourished, unhappy, unloving or, heaven forbid, maladjusted children?

If I were a good mother

I'd always know where my kids are at l0:00 p.m.!

And before--not after--I hear a crash,

Or blood-curdling screams.

          Did television give me unrealistic expectations? I grew up with Claire Huxtable and Carol Brady of the Brady Bunch as my examples. Did it brainwash me into believing in an ideal mother, who always solved the problems of her children with a smile and in less than half an hour. Am I trying to live up to the mother in the TV ads who always has home-baked cookies warm from the oven for her children along with the perfect retort! Television not only gave me examples of "perfect" mothers, it also countered by showing me, every night on the 5:00 news, all the things that could go wrong if I failed as a mother: the delinquency, drug abuse, murders, gang wars, mental illness, kidnappings. And it instilled a feeling of guilt as it declaimed sententiously, "It's l0:00 p.m. Do you know where your children are?" even when they were in bed asleep.

If I were a good mother...

My home would always be spotlessly clean

With floors you could eat off and

Plates you can see yourselves in.

          Did commercials that sang of shining floors and shinier plates convince me that cleanliness was the embodiment of motherhood? Did it depict "mother love" as smiling when the baby threw the cereal on the floor or the dog tramped mud in on the new carpet? Did sitcoms that never showed clutter make me feel uneasy if my daughter cut out in the living room? When I bought a toy that wasn't "educational" or the latest fad, did I feel I was depriving my children? If they weren't computer whizzes, was it a reflection on me? Did it subconsciously (or consciously) influence me that love is giving your child all the toys, computer games or designer jeans he sees on TV? Or giving him only the "right cereal?

If I were a good mother...

I'd buy only organic food,

Serve only low-calorie, fat-free, high fiber

Peanut butter snacks carved in animal shapes!

           Was my generation the first to feel that there was a "better" way to do things? We wanted organic food, nutritious snacks, low-cholesterol breakfasts, sushi, Quinoa, tofu and bean sprouts. But our children still became junk-food junkies! Did we feel that if we bought the "right" food, they'd avoid all the obesity, heart-attacks and cancers that have plagued the earth for generations? Did we feel that supervised exercise and fun activities would make our children thinner and happier than we'd been?

           I must have subconsciously felt that my parent's generation must have been ineffective or our world wouldn't be in the mess it was in. I wasn't the only one I'm sure that wanted to show we could do a better job doing things "our way", but not even child psychology books could agree what the "best" way was. There has been free love, more welfare, living together, more "friendly" divorces, more single parents and same gender families, but has our generation done better than our parent's generation? We wanted to save the world with peace on earth and universal love, but our children are still unhappy, faced with greater problems, not only physical but sexual abuse, different wars, more dangerous drugs, expanded crime, increased poverty and homelessness, not to mention plagues like AIDS, than our own generation!

If I were a good mother...

I would help my kids with the "new" math,

So they'd become the class valedictorians

Or Olympic champions and make me proud!

          Do I try to live vicariously through my children? Because I was a full-time mother do I equate success or failure by my children's achievements? Or when I work outside the home, do I rationalize that I am giving my children more responsibility and opportunities to garner awards? Do I claim my children's honors are bonuses earned partly by me? How responsible am I for my children's successes or failures? I recall the tongue-in-cheek song, "Officer Krumpke" from West Side Story where delinquency is attributed to failure of the parents, the schools, society and the child itself. Just as the song comes full circle in putting blame for personal problems on everyone and no one, we can't pin down absolutely why children fail or succeed. We try as parents to do our best, but more often than not we succeed or fail in spite of ourselves. I am too apt to take credit for my children's successes and blame their failures on anything or anyone else. And is that fair to them or me?

If I were a good mother...

I'd be my child's best friend

And we'd have meaningful "raps"

In our quality time together!

          Was my generation too idealistic?  The disillusionment when I realized I was not an ideal parent made me feel not just inadequate but a failure. I was not a "good" mother, whatever that meant! My mother on the other hand never expected to be the perfect mother; but she felt she was a good mother. Would I worry less about how good a mother I was if my own mother could have shared her insight and failures with me as I raised my children? Do I see her as a more "perfect" mother that I can't live up to because she died before I made her a grandmother? Because I can't recall the times she yelled at me and got angry do I worry when I lose my cool? Was she more like me than I realize?

If I were really a good mother....

I would realize the raising a child

Is not always easy, but it's worthwhile.

The rewards are not always tangible,

But the most important thing is to keep trying.

          I felt the same overwhelming awe and fear with my fifth baby twenty years later as I did with my first when I was young and fearless! "Now that I know how impossible it is to be a good mother, why do I think I will succeed as mother this time?" To the awe and inadequacy I had felt many years ago when my oldest was born, was added the knowledge and sad experiences of the intervening years when my youngest was laid in my arms. I know now what I only suspected years before-- that raising a child is the most challenging and difficult job on the earth today! And that no time, or person is perfect.

          My mother once told me that she realized she was pregnant with my brother on the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She was saddened to think that this new babe inside her might only serve as fodder in some war to secure peace in the world. The day that the my pregnancy test came back positive with my youngest child, I looked at the world and wondered if things could get worse. There were still wars, poverty, crime and pollution. I wondered what dangers my unborn child would face in this imperfect world. I am aware of the dangers that lurk hidden within each new day-- accidents, illnesses, failures, arguments, disappointments, wars, sociological perils, plagues, radiations, global warming and air pollution. But I also know the joys and delights, the revelry, the accomplishments, companionship, fun and excitement that lie behind each new day also.

          I laugh when I recall how I woke up my first baby continually to see if he was wet! I was so naive and innocent then! Now I don't worry if I will know what to do, but if I will have the energy to do it! And I realize how different and unique each child is and I know I can't treat them the same or expect them to react even similarly.

          There are many days when I feel very inadequate and a veritable failure as a mother; when I am late picking up my son from soccer or too busy to notice my daughter is unhappy. On those days, my "If I were a good mother" inner tape plays repeatedly and I feel like declaring maternal bankruptcy. But there are far more days when I feel good about how I'm doing as a mother and pat myself on the back. It may be something as simple as taking the baby to the park or fixing a special picnic supper that brings a glow to my heart. Or it may be that we survived a family dinner without a disaster or phone call!

          On those good days, I realize that I worry about how I'm doing as a mother because it is so important! I recall my mother's long-ago words that it's the loving and the enjoyment that counts and her advice to never quit trying! And so, although motherhood may not be instinctive and I'm far from perfect, I begin each new day vowing to be a not just a "good" mother (if there is such a mythical creature) but only a better mother than I was the day before.

          I try to learn from my errors and keep my head above water as I travel along the bumpy road of motherhood. But the scenery is always different and the road is filled with fun and excitement as we go along! And motherhood is one venture where the destination is only one part of the journey!

Winter Lessons

Marlowe taking care of Athena Christmas 1970

The winter winds blew so coldly and I felt so vulnerable as I left the pediatrician’s office with my 18-month old daughter, Athena. The doctor had said her cough wasn’t anything serious and hadn’t given me anything for it, but I was still worried. She kept coughing and coughing. It was only a few days before Christmas in 1970, and I was living in a small upstairs apartment in Bountiful, Utah while my husband was serving his second tour as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. My oldest son, Marlowe, had just celebrated his third birthday, and he held onto Athena’s hand as we walked to the car, telling her she would be better soon.

 Ed had left for Vietnam in mid-November and I’d felt very brave and self-confident then. But the cold, snow, and Athena’s cough, had weakened my resolve. But since the doctor had said Athena was “okay” I decided to do some more shopping. I just didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment. It was dark before I got home, and the phone was ringing. I grabbed it, and tried to get the children’s coats off as I talked on the phone. I was surprised that it was my dad. He was very worried and explained that he had been trying to locate me for hours. 

Beth Christmas 1970 Bountiful, Utah

“The doctor’s office called me when they couldn’t reach you,” he said.  “You had put me down as an emergency contact. The radiologist looked at Athena’s x-ray and said she definitely had pneumonia and you needed to get her back to the emergency room at Hill Field as soon as possible. They have medicine and treatment waiting for her.”

I looked at my toddler, whose coat I had just taken off, and who was coughing again. What a lousy mother I had been. I had kept her out all afternoon when she was sick with pneumonia! How grateful I was that my father had been able to get the message from the doctors and notify me. 

Later that same winter I was feeling lonely and isolated. I had no one I could relate to. I missed my two sisters who were closest in age to me. Both were married and living far away. One had one daughter Athena’s age, and the other was expecting a baby the same time I was, in February. How I wished we could do things together; but we were so far away and long distance phone calls were so expensive. Our mother had died not long after I had married so none of us had had someone we could call on for motherly advice.  Dad lived in the same town, but he worked swing shift. My younger brother at home was 16 years old; my youngest sister had just turned 14 years old. My mother-in-law lived several hundred miles away; she had remarried recently and her husband did not care for my husband, so I did not feel I could call on her for help or advice.

Marlowe & Athena 1970

One of the other “Waiting Wives” in Bountiful had three small children about the same age as mine, and I often thought to call her and do things with her. However, I knew she had many siblings who lived in the area, and I kept thinking that I was being a bother to want to do things with her when she was probably doing things with her family. When I went back to the pediatrician to have him check to make sure Athena was completely clear of her pneumonia, I met my friend there in the waiting room in tears. Her youngest son was very sick, and she had no one to take care of the other two while they hospitalized him. I immediately offered to take them home with me, and was surprised that her family had not offered to help her. 

“They are too busy with their lives. They don’t understand how it is to not have a husband to help,” she sobbed. 

I realized all the times I had hesitated to call her because I thought I would bother her when she was busy with her extended family, and she was just as isolated as I was because her husband was in Vietnam. I decided then to reach out to each woman whose husband was in Vietnam—whether they had a lot of extended family or not. We were in a unique situation; no one understood what it was like and how we could help each other like we could. 

Athena & Marlowe playing in the snow 1971

It was late in January of 1971 when I got my last lesson. I awoke to my three-year-old son crying. I went to him and tried to comfort him, but nothing would help. He was doubled over with pain. He was in so much pain that he couldn’t talk. Finally I realized that I needed to take him to the emergency room. It was about 3:00 in the morning, and I was frantic. I couldn’t take both children out in the cold to the emergency room, so what was I to do?  I prayed; I knew Marlowe had to go to the emergency room. Something was desperately wrong with him. 

I decided to call my father. He worked swing shift. He would come over no matter what the hour to babysit Athena while I took Marlowe to the emergency room. I called and he came right over. I’ll never forget what he said when he saw Marlowe. 

“He’s wheezing, Beth. He has asthma.” I was shocked. I had had asthma as a baby, and for a year as a teenager, but then I had mainly coughed continually. I couldn’t remember wheezing, or even what wheezing was. 

“Can’t you hear him wheezing?” Now that I listened of course I could hear the wheezing sound. “That’s why he can’t talk—he can’t breathe.” My father knelt down and carefully touched Marlowe’s doubled up diaphragm. Marlowe jumped and cried. “He’s wheezed and struggled to breathe so much that he’s pulled the muscles in his diaphragm, pour little guy. Get him up to the emergency room.”

All the way up to the emergency room with Marlowe crying and wheezing in his car seat, I kept thinking what I crummy mother I was—I didn’t even know when my own child had asthma and I endangered his life. It took my own father to tell me what to do. At the emergency room, they quickly treated him and told me what to do. 

I had felt alone that winter, and that year—and often very inadequate—as young parents often do. But I wasn’t alone; of course we are never alone. The Lord is always aware of us, and our needs; he uses those around us, then as now—family and friends—to help us meet the challenges of life.