Something to Think About When You Sweep the Floor

Tonight I swept up six "piles" in the kitchen.  Our kitchen vacuum is broken, and we had guests and a late night, so I sent Grace (our kitchen-cleaner-of-the-month) to bed and did the sweeping myself.

As I looked at the final contents of the dustpan, I was shocked at how many things ended up on the floor throughout the day.

And then I thought about this article on Power of Moms that has had more than 11,000 Pins on Pinterest and more than 20,000 reads.

It's called Christlike Mothering (by Rachel Hixon), and it starts like this:

I had just swept the final collection into the pile.”Pretzels, captain crunch, popcorn, cheerios, chips…” I spouted off to anyone listening. “Nope. I didn’t eat any of these things,” I continued, as I brushed the last of the pile into the dustpan.

 

But then it parallels mothers' work with the work of Christ:

They spend their life cleaning up messes for everyone else, messes that they had no hand in making.

You'll want to read the entire post so you can read everything in context, but I've been very interested in the comments that it has generated.  

This has had a profound effect on so many mothers--including me.  

I want to clarify that the post doesn't say that selfless service and cleaning doesn't also apply to fathers.  And it doesn't say we shouldn't teach our children to be responsible and helpful around the home.

It simply suggests that when we do sweep or do laundry or dust or vacuum--we can do it with a pure, loving heart.

This is the quote that has been pinned most often with this post:

Mothering as He would. Not for praise. Not for recognition. Not for a hug, a kiss, or even a thank you. Not because I can’t stand a dirty floor or because someone coming for a visit might see the display of animalistic behavior my children can exhibit. Not for any type of compensation.

Sweeping up crumbs because that’s what He did. With a perfect love.

I like thinking about things like this when I sweep the floor.  Rachel did a simply beautiful job with this post.

The Last Time

Tonight I had a quick chat on the phone with my mom, but we had to hang up kind of quickly.  My children had already started to unravel the Christmas lights, and I could see we were going to end up with a tangled mess if I didn't intervene and get going with our tree decorations.

While I was fiddling with the long strands and trying to plug them into the socket by our tree, Grace said, "Mom, remember that article you wrote about 'The Last Time'? Whenever you say goodbye to your mom on the phone, you should make sure you tell her you really love her.  And you should say, 'mmmmwah, muah, muah, muah' (like you're blowing her kisses).  Because you just never know if this is going to be the last time you get to say goodbye."

I didn't think Grace even remembered that article.  I wrote it four years ago when she was six.  We don't even have it on Power of Moms anymore because it was on the old site and hasn't been transferred to our new one.

But my friend Sarah re-posted it on her blog when I first wrote it, and I went and found it tonight.  And of course, as I read it, I realized that all those beautiful things I treasured back then are now simply memories of the past.  

That's okay, though, because we're making new ones right now.

Thought I'd post that article here tonight: 

 

 

The Last Time

 

“You know you’re a real mom when you have peas in your purse.” I said to my friend Sarah last week as she opened the container of strained peas she’d brought to a dinner party to feed her baby. We laughed for a second, but then she said something that has stayed with me all week. “I’ve been thinking lately about all the little things that moms do,” she said, “and I wonder when it will be the ‘last time.’”

I must have looked confused because she clarified: “There’s a last time for everything. For example, when was the last time you played Barbies?” Well, I can’t remember the very last time I played Barbies. It’s not like I sat down and said, “This is the final time I am going to let you kiss Ken.” It just kind of happened, and then I moved on to something else. Sarah’s point was that there will come a day when she’ll put peas in her purse for the very last time, and she won’t even know it’s the last.

For the past several days, I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember when the last time was that I did handstands in the hallway of my parents’ house. When was the last time I tap-danced in the kitchen or sat on my mom’s bed and told her all my problems. Can you remember the last time your dad took you on a walk or the last time your mom did your hair or the very last time you asked to borrow the car? Probably not, right?

Then I started thinking about my own children. I know there was a “last time” I put water wings on my oldest daughter, Alia, a last time that Grace asked for a note in her kindergarten lunch, a final time my son wanted me to watch Baby Einstein with him, but I didn’t even realize it at the time.

Now I look at what my children are doing, and I wonder if today is the last time for something we’re experiencing together. I won’t mind if today is the last time I have to sing the “Kindness” song when the children are bickering. I would love it if tonight were the last night my one-year-old woke up at 3:30, and I would be thrilled if today were the last time I had to beg the children not to take a dead grasshopper to school (because one child is screaming to keep it OUT of the car, and the others are fighting over who gets to hold it).

However, there are other things I don’t want to end. What if today were the last time my baby made “that face” we all think is hilarious. How would I feel if after today my son didn’t need me to help him shampoo his hair anymore? Today might be the last time Hotwheels are in my bathroom sink, the last time I have to pick up bath toys before I take a shower, the last time I’m awakened by a seven-year-old girl with big blue eyes.

And now that I think even more about it, I realize that for all the new advancements that happen each day in our home (learning to spell, walk, play the piano…), we’re leaving an equal number of things behind. That’s just how it’s meant to be.

I’ve decided I’m going to savor every hug, every phone call with my mom, every chance to volunteer in the classroom, every sweet question, every scowl, and every runny nose. Because even though I feel like the challenges of motherhood will never end, these precious moments just might be here for the very last time.

The Mission of "Power of a Family"

My life as a mom doesn't neatly coordinate with the ideal world painted in my mind.  Do you ever feel that way?

Our rare vacations aren't exotic.  My pie crusts are crumbly.  Our pilates ball is mostly used for rolling up and down the stairs.  Our walls have multiple chips in the paint.

And I don't always have great lighting or beautiful backdrops to help document my totally ordinary daily routines.

I ask my sons to gather the trash from the upstairs bedrooms, and they decide to hang the garbage bag on my ceiling fan and see what happens if they swing from it.  (Can you relate?)

I'm not giving up on (or putting down) this ideal life I imagine, and I'm sure someday I'll have a cute kitchen and maybe a trip to Europe.

But what I need after a long day of messes, meals, interruptions, and squabbles is to feel relief.

I need to know that my efforts are worth it.  And I need to know that all my work is enough.

Mostly, I need guidance, confidence, and tools to spend my time on what is most important.

Because so much of what I yearn for--the images that please the eye and leave me feeling utterly and devastatingly inadequate-- is completely unnecessary.

What is necessary are people, relationships, and family.

Far too often, however, I get distracted by superficiality, the inundation of emails, and the siren song of social media.   I miss out on the true happiness that is ALREADY EXISTING right around me. 

I want to live better.

I want to kneel down by the couch and fold dish towels while my ten-year-old cartwheels all over the living room.  And I want to hold her tight when she wants to talk about her friend at school whose mom passed away from cancer this year.

I want to ride our little tandem bike home from the kindergarten pick-up and let the wind blow in my face while my son and I race down the hill--cherishing his voice while he yells, "Faster, Mom!  Faster!"

I want to chop sweet peppers and celery with my nine-year-old and let him excitedly tell me all about the characters in the book he's read four times this month.  

And sit cross-legged on my teenager's bed while we brainstorm ideas for her science project . . . and then sit quietly and really listen when she changes the subject and lets all her concerns and insecurities spill out.

I want to savor this messy, noisy, unpredictable life.

You do, too.  Am I right?

So let's share our imperfections, discuss our best ideas, and help each other to keep our focus.

Big things are expected of us, and there is a Power beyond our own who will guide us toward solutions--in a way that will never overwhelm or discourage us. 

Building a powerful family, with God as our Guide, makes life beautiful and leads to true happiness.

This is my goal, and I'm dedicated to achieving it. If you want to join me, it will be so much more fun to do this together.

My PDF Download for Planning Christmas

I spent a few hours today working on a Christmas-planning post for Power of Moms, and I must say that I'm very excited about Christmas this year.

Here's the link, if you'd like to read more: "Planning What Matters Most at Christmas."

My children and I were laughing about our gingerbread house from last year (I included this photo in the post):

The first caption I wrote for it said, "Can you tell I let my children do 100% of the decorating?"

But that hurt their feelings, so I changed it to, "Didn't I do a good job?"

And then Alia changed it to this:  "We made a kid-friendly gingerbread house.  No rules or regulations . . . just pure fun."

I said, "That's great, Alia!"

And she replied, "Yeah, I have a way with words."

Hope your Christmas planning is going well.  It doesn't have to be expensive or complicated.  It's about the feeling, right?

Love,
April

PRIVILEGED to Be a Housekeeper

The title of "housekeeper" isn't very impressive.

I've never referred to myself as a housekeeper because it sounds so mundane and undesirable.  

No education is required.  There aren't any promotions.  And the work includes things like scrubbing toilets, taking out the trash, and telling my four-year-old over and over again not to put tape all over his face.

But I was reading Psalms 113:9 today--about keeping house and being a joyful mother of children, and I started looking more deeply at the word "keep."  

For example, a phrase we use a lot at church is "keep the commandments," but in Spanish, it's "guardar los mandamientos."  Guardar suggests that we guard, protect, and treasure the commandments.

So then I wondered if I could apply the same meaning to "keeping house."  

Maybe it's not so much about keeping the tile clean and sweeping the leaves off the front porch.  Maybe it's about guarding, protecting, and treasuring my home.

A quick trip to the online dictionary revealed these definitions for "keep":

• to be faithful to

• to preserve, maintain

• to watch over and defend

• to take care of/maintain in a good, fitting, orderly condition

• to support

• to maintain a course, direction, or progress

• to stay on alert

• to celebrate

I love these definitions.  They change the way I look at my family interactions--like when I spend five hours on a Saturday rearranging my girls' rooms, vacuuming up the dust, and talking with them about their friends at school.  

Or when I make barbecue meatballs for Ethan, pick up photos for Grace's "star-of-the-week" poster, carefully scrutinize the blogs Alia has added to her Google Reader, do "finishing touches" on Spencer's teeth-brushing, and reorganize the piles of blocks, Hot Wheels, and Legos we have all over our living room.

Right now, the majority of my life is spent "keeping house" . . . keeping our home.  And more often than not, when I reflect on my efforts at the end of the day, I feel like I've hardly accomplished anything.  

But now that I look at this new definition of housekeeping, I realize all this work I never even count . . . really counts.  All that time that seems to EVAPORATE somewhere between breakfast and dinner is actually being invested in the people who matter most to me. 

And that is pretty special.

I'm grateful for the privilege of being a housekeeper.

Mercy at the Grocery Store

Remember that game from elementary school, when you would hold hands with another person, and they would try to twist your wrists until you called "Mercy"?

I didn't like that game.

I always lost.  I always called "Mercy" too quickly.  And the boys in third grade thought it was hilarious.

Well, last week, I was sick for a full week--feeling totally overwhelmed, trying to keep up with emails and deadlines, and keeping the children happy, fed, clean, and loved.

Eric saved me that whole week--making mean batches of pancakes or frozen pizzas for dinner and sending me to bed as often as he could.  And my children were incredibly sweet and helpful, for which I'm very grateful.

But Tuesday night, we were out of groceries, and Eric was driving the children around on some other errands, so I took about an hour to buy food and return library books by myself.

While I was out, the weight of the world started descending upon my shoulders.  I know I worry too much and feel obligated to do too many projects, and I know I take my concerns too seriously sometimes.  But in this case, all of my worries felt totally justified.

Thinking of all the things I wanted and needed to get done--and comparing those aspirations with my then-current state of health left me deep in discouragement. 

As I drove down the street toward the library, feeling "life" twisting me in too many uncomfortable directions, I thought back to those days in third grade.  And I quietly whispered, "Mercy, Lord.  I'm calling for Mercy."

And something amazing happened that night.  While I shopped at the grocery store and drove around our little community, I felt an outpouring of love.

Answers to my problems didn't come right away.  And nothing changed in my health, but I felt God there with me.  I felt Him telling me that He was watching out for me, and that He knew I was being stretched.  I felt His power lift me and fill me and pour out of me.

The other shoppers might have wondered what was wrong with me--as I wiped my eyes and smiled at them in the bakery section, and the produce section, and the check-out area.

But that feeling was so real.  That power was so real.  And so beautiful.

This morning I was reading from Isaiah 49 (quoted in 1 Nephi 21 in The Book of Mormon), and these words echoed my feelings from that night at the grocery store:

" . . . the Lord hath comforted his people, and will have mercy upon his afflicted. . . . But, behold, Zion hath said: The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me--but he will show that he hath not."

This is a lesson I keep learning over and over again.  Whenever life feels hard, and God seems silent, I simply need to call for His mercy.  He has the power to comfort us, to remind us that we are never forgotten, and to fill us with the power to do mighty, wonderful things.

Just thought I'd share . . . in case you needed this reminder, too.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Just wanted to wish all our friends and family (and any blog readers we haven't yet met) a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday.

Thanks for all you do in YOUR homes. And thanks for joining us on this wonderfully challenging and exhilarating journey of family.