Like most of you, I was glued to the TV last week waiting to see if Punxsutawney Phil, America's favorite groundhog, would predict an early spring. As the fortunate people at Gobblers Knob celebrated, I attempted to embrace a few more weeks of wintery kid boredom, season colds and flu remnants, branchless trees and colorless grass.
Thankfully I live in the South where the sun is shining and the sky is blue. It is especially hard to complain on a day when it is 50 degrees and we are playing outside. Nevertheless, the winter is long and we are relieved by a shadowless groundhog and hopeful for an early spring. And if you think you have S.A.D. (Season Affects Disorder) you might want to read this.
We tend to watch more movies in the winter because of the long evenings and the endless, winter afternoons. Last week we watched Mary Poppins, and although I grew up watching Mary Poppins, I've probably seen it over fifty times, this time I watched it with a fresh set of mommy eyes, and I wound up taking away a few things I never noticed as a kid.
When I was little, I daydreamed about having Mary Poppins for my Nanny. She was amazing: her magical ability to clean the nursery, riding a cartoon carousel, tea parties on the ceiling, etc. She was marvelous. I somehow overlooked all her quirky and mysterious qualities. And I never realized one of her defining characteristics is vanity even though she spells it out in one of her earliest scenes: “Mary Poppins: Practically Perfect in Every Way.”
This vanity really started bothering me in a roundabout way until I eventually began wondering how my own kids perceive me. Do I constantly correct their shortcomings while pointing out my own rightness and “perfection” with a magical measuring tape?
It forces me to really think about vanity, and humility, as a mother. If you ask a mother if her job is glamorous, she will laugh at you. Most people would look at a sleepy, make-up-less mother and say she is generally fulfilling a very humbling and self-less role. I used to think that just by being a mother, by changing diapers and cleaning up puke and scrubbing toilets and wiping noses and being sleep deprived and not killing my kids I was somehow ranked higher in the trophy case of life with a little plaque that said “humble” in super inconspicuous letters.
I'm starting to think that humility has little to do with cleaning up after people or filthy jobs or sleepless nights. I can act like a humble mother all day long, but true humility is a choice, and I believe my kids will be the first to know the difference between the two.
So although it is humbling to wipe away a hidden Picasso-esque booger masterpiece from the wall behind the bunkbeds, I have trouble telling myself I am cleaning it out of humility when I definitely did NOT choose to clean it in the first place. I'm beginning to think humility, in motherhood, is not just about me resigning to cleaning up messes and doing it. I think humility is about my attitude towards each daily task I face as a mom and wife. It's about bringing my own rank down a few notches to serve my kids—not just as a nanny or a maid, but by occasionally choosing to set aside my own “important” daily tasks in order to submit myself to their real needs. Sometimes I may need to lower myself to really serve them—not just by picking up or cooking, but by sitting on the floor to build a lego ship or brush barbie's tangles.
I have been really considering the difference between keeping my kids busy and entertained with activities and outings versus the times I truly humble myself to color in a book with crayons or read or sing or play hide and seek. Thomas More reminds us: “The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.” I'm sure this is especially true when raising kids. I'm not suggesting that we need to sit ten inches from our kids every minute so that they are completely unable to play alone or with each other, but at the same time I wonder how often we tell ourselves we are above simply playing with our kids or that we have "better things to do" than spend time interacting with them and listening to them.
Along this same line, a friend and I were talking recently about how quick we are to judge other moms in parenting skills, household upkeep, etc. I am guilty. And although my house is far from spotless and is decorated like a children's museum that often smells like stale tacos, I admit I harbor some pride in the state of my house and my ability to know where everything is.
Several months ago my pride took a hit when I lost my first library book. I was ashamed when the library sent a few notices that began to look progressively “serious.” I was especially annoyed with myself since I could not even remember checking “Sophie's Wheels” out in the first place. I looked everywhere. I paid a few fines. I scoured the house again. I paid another fine. Eventually I was too ashamed to return to the library and took a complete hiatus.
By the time I got an official-looking final notice in the mail telling me I had to pay for the book or I would be turned over to a collection agency, I was irritated and blame-shifting. I immediately drove to the library where I paid a rather hefty chunk for “Sophie's Wheels” (which I'm sure is a great book and worth every penny....) Of course “Sophie's Wheels” showed up later that week when I parked on a steep incline and it slid out from the seat and under the gas pedal of the van. It was another humbling reminder that I don't have it altogether, I am incomplete and I am flawed, and I always will be. Am I willing to recognize it and admit it in my home in front of my family or will I blame someone else?
**I also learned that the Greenville Library System will actually write you a check if you pay for a book and return it later.
Helen Keller said, “I long to accomplish a great and noble task; but my chief duty is to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.” In motherhood, I hope I can do this. Others may look at what we are doing as moms and generically say we are humbling ourselves to serve our kids and our home. Motherhood is a noble calling, and I am thankful for the chance to serve my kids at home! For me, I question whether each small (insignificant) task is humility if I don't purposefully choose to serve others. Do I assume that by simply doing my motherly tasks I'm somehow gaining points for myself even if my attitude is prideful?
Humility isn't accidental. It is the opposite of pride and arrogance and it isn't just about endlessly making meals and cleaning, it is about setting aside my feelings of superiority, even to my kids to serve them daily. (As a sidenote, when I talk about serving my kids, I'm not talking about meeting their every whim and spoiling them rotten. I'm talking about humbling myself to listen to their words, caring about them enough to play on their level even when I'd rather do motherly chores, resisting anger when I'm annoyed, being patient and talking nicely, not whining about the endless messes, etc.) It all boils down to humility.
In the end, while I am very anxious for spring weather and I am eager to send my kids outside into fresh air, I hope that in these remaining winter weeks I will spend my time wisely. I pray that I won't wish away this time when I am trapped inside the house like a hybernating bear with my sometimes stinky cubs. And mostly, I want to move away from my Mary Poppins frame of mind. Occassionally I want to have a tea party on the ceiling without reminding my kids of my complete perfection and superiority. Rather than wallowing in my daily acts of “humility” and wearing them around for others to pity while my kids see me checking my practically perfect reflection, I'd rather balance my time more wisely and attempt to humbly serve my kids and my husband. If we all did that, I have a feeling it would be pretty super-cala-fragalistic-expialadoshus.
Whatever makes us feel superior to other people, whatever tempts us to convey a sense of superiority, that is the gravity of our sinful nature, not grace. --Phillip Yancey
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