Choosing happiness. It’s been a bit of a theme for the year—one of my resolutions, one of our Group Writing Projects (oh, man, looks like it’s about time for one of those again). It’s something we hear about a lot.

And now I finally know what it means.

Surprisingly, it has a lot to do with why, when I talk about how heart-rendingly difficult stay-at-home motherhood can be, people tell me I should get a job.

It’s because we don’t know how to be happy.

Choosing to be happy does not mean that we will automatically be happy all the time. It doesn’t mean we always choose whatever might make us happy right this second.

Choosing happiness means we choose the things we know are most important for our long term happiness.

The analogy that keeps springing to my mind is one of food. I like donuts and ice cream and cake and pie . . . I could go on, but you get the idea. Food does make me happy, treats especially. I do the grocery shopping, so if I wanted to, I could stock up on these things every week and eat them every meal.

But I can’t choose cake and ice cream all the time. Yeah, I’d enjoy eating it (to a point), but I would soon get sick, gain weight, and miss out on vital nutrients. (Scurvy, anyone? Oh and PS tooth decay?)

To be happy with my body (liking how I look) and happy in my body (not feeling like crap), I have to make healthier choices. I do enjoy eating healthier foods, too, though not as much as my sugary treats.

The same goes for my day-to-day activities. I could ignore my kids all day, plunk myself down in front of the computer and them in front of the TV (where we are now, thank you), but we all end up grumpy and lazy.

Choosing happiness means doing what I may not want to do most right now—it means choosing the thing that I know is right for me, what’s important in the long run.

Staying home with my children all day may not be an endless delight for me. There are diapers and housekeeping and tantrums and nap strikes. But I believe the most important contribution a person can make to the world is to raise their children right, to show them love, to give them their personal attention. I know that in twenty years, my successful marketing campaigns won’t be what warms the cockles of my heart.

By choosing to raise my children myself, I’m choosing a long, hard road—but one that leads to real, long-term happiness.

What do you think? Are you giving up treats today so you don’t vomit tomorrow?

(More thoughts on how to choose happiness as a mom here.)

This post originally ran 8 October 2009.

Photo by Swamibu

Earlier this month, I posted an excerpt of a column by Mary Ann Miller. Though it was written decades ago, it still rings true, especially when she said, “It’s true that modern ideology still advocates free choice, but somehow the choice of full-time homemaker doesn’t garner the same respect and interest as choosing to be an astronaut.”

One commenter took issue with this statement:

And what sort of respect and admiration do you expect to get when the ones to benefit from the choice you made are your immediate family, as compared to someone whose choices benefit many hundreds of people? In other words, if your choice is to be a full-time mother, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of your family because they are the ones who benefit, but why would you expect to receive any acknowledgement from other people who gain nothing from your choice? If your choice is to be an astronaut, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life your work touches.

I responded in the comments there, but the more I think about this, the more this type of thinking bothers me. Let’s set aside how very ego-centric it is to only respect those who do something to directly benefit your life. Let’s look at the standard here—and I’m not trying to pick on this commentator, but using this comment to illustrate a pervasive, destructive thought pattern that undermines mothers.

Here’s our logic:

• Astronauts can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life their work touches.
• Mothers can expect to receive the respect and admiration of only their children and husbands.

Seeing it yet?

In this line of thinking, a mother can only receive respect from someone who she works with directly, her immediate family. An astronaut, on the other hand, can “expect” to receive admiration from “many hundreds of people,” who benefit from her work (and here’s a niggling point: this argument says astronauts should get respect for everything anyone in their profession has contributed to society—but not so for mothers).

So what, exactly might that benefit be? Can you name one thing an astronaut has done to make your life better?

Now name one thing your mother did to make your life better.

Now name one thing her mother did to make your life better. A friend’s mother. Your child’s friend’s mother. Another mom in your neighborhood.

So why is it that a mother can only receive respect from the people she serves directly, but an astronaut can receive respect for all of her colleagues’ collective contributions to society? Why can’t we take mothers as a force, too?

Mothers do not only benefit their own families. Having a mother at home can benefit the neighborhood—mothers can touch the lives of their children’s friends—mothers can influence generations. An astronaut doesn’t teach children to get along, to share, to read, to write, to sing, to love, to laugh, to live. We influence our children, and through them, all they come in contact with for the rest of their lives. A mother is the most influential career any of us could have.

Or, as G.K. Chesterton put it in his “guest post” here:

How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the Universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone?

So yes, I suppose I do agree that all mothers deserve the respect of those who have benefit from any one mother’s time, effort, talents, love. Has your life benefited from any nurturing woman?

Originally posted 27 August 2009

Photo credits: astronaut—Brian Talbot; globe—Sanja Gjenero

The other day Tom asked me, half (or more) seriously, why I love the baby best — why I never get mad at her, why she always gets kisses and exaggeratedly-happy greetings, and how I can cheerfully drop everything to take care of her ficklest of whims.

Evolutionary biology, I said.

But I do have three other kids; the oldest is ten-going-on-teenager and all four of them are girls: emotional, hormonal, sweet, cutting, endearing, curious, determined females. I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to survive the next twenty years, especially because the memory of my own middle school experience is so fresh, but here is what I have learned:

When kids are most unlovable, they are most in need of love. When they are sour with sickness or stinky with kid sweat and suspicious-smelling mud, they are most in need of hugs. When they are frustrated and impatient, they are most in need of compassion and patience. When they feel most unworthy and insecure, they are most in need of praise and security. When they make choices impossible to understand, they are most in need of understanding.

And when they are angry or sad enough to shout that they hate me and wish I wasn’t their mother, that is when they are most in need of exactly me: with all of my impatience and insecurity and frustration, all of my love and forgiveness and here-take-the-last-bite-of-bread (but don’t touch the brownies), they are most in need of me.

About the author
Shannon Johnson makes her home in Utah with her husband and four daughters. She blogs about coming to terms with motherhood, parenting, raising daughters and life at Seagull Fountain.

I tend to struggle to learn life lessons. I generally only really appreciate them in hindsight, which seems slightly unfair. They would have been really helpful to know in the middle of my life’s experiences! Lessons in motherhood are no different. I am finally able to apply many of the things I have learned as a mother with my third child. It sure would have been great to know that it was not that big of a deal and not to freak out when my newborn wouldn’t nurse for 5-6 hours. Or to have known that my insomnia, crying spells, and lethargy could possibly have been something a little more than “baby blues.” Now that I am a veteran mother (hey, I’m on newborn number three, that should give me a little street cred!) I have a tin bit more wisdom under my belt.

Oddly enough I had a motherhood epiphany while cleaning toilets last week. I was thinking about all the things I wish I would have appreciated while I was in the middle of them, and I suddenly realized that someday this exact toilet scrubbing, diaper changing, baby cuddling, Dr. Seuss reading stage will be one of the times that I will look back upon and wish I had appreciated. Ten years from now I may be going back to school or working or possibly both, and I’ll sigh wistfully and think, “Man, remember back when all I had to do was be a mom? Those were the days.” And I will be right. These are the days!

I am a doer by nature, so being a stay at home mom has been a struggle from the beginning. Now that my brood is growing I stay a little more traditionally busy, but really my days don’t usually consist of much that the world would define as productive. I used to really struggle with that because I felt like I wasn’t really doing anything. I have come to realize over the last five years that I am mothering! It’s my job, and whether or not it is acknowledged by the world in general, it means the world to my family. And to me.

I am lucky to have this season in my life to just be a mom. I am still a doer; motherhood hasn’t changed that, but now I count things like finger painting, baking with my children, going to museums, aquariums, parks, and libraries, doing laundry and dishes, and reading picture books as productive. They are producing the most important thing . . . my children. Although I will still probably look back on these years and think “Man, remember when all I had to do was be a mom?” I like to think that realizing it now will help me enjoy just being a mom!

About the author
Shannon Bowles is a Mommy, Cook, Housekeeper, Accountant and Activities Director. She and her husband have two sons and a daughter. Shannon blogs about their busy, joyful life at Bowling for Cute.

Photo by Richard Summers

When Jordan asked me to write a guest post on her blog for Mother’s Day, I almost turned her down. Who am I to write on something that used to cause me so much pain? You see, I’ve never been able to conceive a child of my own and for several years Mother’s Day had been a difficult holiday to get through.

I lost count of how many times I heard other parents complain about their kids and I longed for their trials, their daily routines of wiping noses and changing diapers. How I craved their sleepless nights, pacing with a sick child, the cookie crumbs crunching beneath their feet on the kitchen floor. I cringed every time a friend announced she was expecting or when a baby was blessed in church. The inability to conceive a child had worn through to my soul. I doubted everything I did, everything I was.

My husband and I chose to deal with our infertility differently. He dealt with it in silence. I, on the other hand, had the idea in my head that if I could make the world around me perfect, that maybe God would perform some kind of miracle and make me pregnant. I insisted on a perfect home. Shoes came off at the door. Dirty dishes were never left in the sink. Coats were not allowed to hang on a doorknob or chair—they had to be carefully hung in the closet. My compulsive behavior soon drove a wedge between my husband and me. He spent more and more time at work and I spent more time complaining about it. He could do nothing right.

It was a trip with my mom that changed everything. She needed help cleaning my grandmother’s house and asked me to go with her. While there, I met with a cousin I hadn’t seen for years. She had also been unable to have children, but had chosen to adopt. They had a beautiful little girl. We talked for hours about the process and how much joy it had brought to her and her husband.

On the long drive home, our conversation played over and over in my head. Why hadn’t we thought of adoption? Was it the answer to our prayers? Was there still hope for us? Could we love another woman’s baby?

The following week, Ed and I had gone grocery shopping. We’d gone different directions with our own list of wanted items when we found ourselves at opposite ends of an aisle. As we walked toward each other, I realized we were on the baby aisle. Emotions swelled up inside me. This was a place I always avoided. This time it was different though. I’d let a glimmer of hope wander into my heart. Adoption.

Where we’d avoided talking about having children in the past, I suddenly had the courage to confront Ed about bringing a special spirit into our homes. Without hesitation, he said yes.

I don’t even know if we finished shopping that day. I don’t remember. All I know is that the walls we had built between us were falling down and we were talking. We discovered each other’s feelings and realized that in sharing them, the pain was easier to handle.

After months of paper work and interviews, we were finally approved to be adoptive parents. Four years later, we held the most precious baby boy in our arms. The joy in our hearts was overwhelming. In spite of all the sorrow and pain we had endured as an infertile couple, we had come together as a couple and were now a family.

Our son, Joshua, is seventeen now and even though he’s been diagnosed with autism, and life with him as been a challenge, he has brought more happiness to our lives than we could have ever imagined possible. As for me…well…let’s just say I hang my coat on the dining room chair and there are usually dirty dishes in the sink.

Being Joshua’s mother is a much more important thing to do.

About the author
Christine Bryant has always been a writer. She’s spent the last twenty-three years married to the man of her dreams and raising their family. After helping run the family restaurant for most of their marriage, Christine has finally broken away to pursue her dream of being an author. She blogs about her writerly pursuits at Day Dreamer by CK Bryant.

What Do We Really Want as Moms?

Several things—to begin with, wonderful children that help bring meaning to our lives. Secondly, recognition for being able to tackle the impossible—being a mom isn’t easy but it certainly is rewarding. Thirdly, we want the occasional break, the chance to get away and be us again—that person we once knew minus the baby spit, uncombed hair, frazzled features and non-maimed outfit. Fourthly, we want to know our children were raised right, fed right, loved right, taught right and above all—grew up right—to be wonderful people, citizens, moms & dads, and husbands & wives. Right?

Children Bring Meaning to our Lives.

There is always a time where we get frustrated and maybe resent being a mom. And then, there are those times when something fantastic happens and we wouldn’t imagine being anything other than a mom. The latter scenario happens more often than the first because being a mom is fun and rewarding and without having little Jimmy throw Cheerios in your hair, what is life about? My uncle used to always tell me, “Grow up, get an education, find a wonderful man and have children because without children, there is no meaning to life.” I don’t necessarily thing the last part of his lecture is true; many people find meaning in life without children but those of us who have them know . . . there’s no going back and that’s they way we want it.

Let us be Recognized!

After carrying them for nine months in our womb, breast feeding, nursing, consistent coddling, diaper changes and every other task that doesn’t necessarily stop when they turn 18, we’d like some recognition. And if they’re not old enough to drive, bike or shop—then we’d like something handmade and crafty or even just a hug to make our day. We’d like our childless friends to know how much we sacrifice and we’d especially like our children’s fathers to know and say thanks with some occasional flowers, a night off or even a night out (with a spit-free outfit).

Let us be Free!

Yes, that occasional night out (spit-free outfit included) is exactly what we need, especially when our children are always in. There was a time, and it is a distant, distant memory, when we didn’t have deadlines, PTA meetings, exams, appointments, cleanings, doctor visits, swimming lessons, baseball practice, piano lessons, birthday parties and it never stops . . . anyways, before all of this we had us, just that one person we had to worry about. We wouldn’t change it—we love being moms—but sometimes having a night out to relax and maybe briefly forget about everything, is always rejuvenating and much deserving. Of course, if you’re anything like me—three seconds out of the house and I’m attached to my phone in case the babysitter calls and Jimmy fell down or isn’t able to sleep. Sometimes it seems more like a punishment to make yourself leave and be a person again and not just a mommy; that punishment is always so rewarding when you come home.

Then there is always the “old friends” who decided not to procreate and always have free time to hang out and party—why do they always wonder why you don’t? Because you have a life, you say to yourself and then quickly realize they do too; they just decided to live a different one from yours. And just when you’re ready to envy them and beg for freedom, you realize that kind of life isn’t what you want . . . or maybe it is . . . one night a month.

The Moment of Truth.

There it is . . . all out on the table. You’ve done the raising, the disciplining, the crying, the laughing, the cooking, the teaching, the cleaning, the pep talk, the inspiring and the raising . . . and now, it’s time to see how they turn out. Oh boy! This is always the tough one. Has your skills as a mother been enough and what happens if Jimmy doesn’t go to college, then med school, then maybe Harvard just for fun, get married and have children? Does that mean you fail? What if Jimmy goes off, explores the world, finds inspiration in drawing and opens an art studio in New York (maybe Newark)? Did you do your job as a parent? This is the scariest question for me. Have I done enough to be a good parent? And what does Jimmy have to do in life for me to know I’ve succeeded as a good mom?

The Answer?

Nothing. Jimmy doesn’t have to do anything for me to know I’ve succeeded. His success is now up to him and defined by himself. If he wants to be a musician, then he’s a success because that is what he wants to do. A doctor—even better—as long as he wants to do it. I firmly believe that the lessons and skills we pass on to our children will mold them for the rest of their lives but we ourselves, will never be able to mold them into their lives.

About the author
Maria Rainier is a freelance writer and blog junkie. She is currently a resident blogger at First in Education where she’s been researching both the highest paying jobs and the lowest paying jobs on the market. In her spare time, she enjoys square-foot gardening, swimming, and avoiding her laptop.

One commenter took issue with this statement:

And what sort of respect and admiration do you expect to get when the ones to benefit from the choice you made are your immediate family, as compared to someone whose choices benefit many hundreds of people? In other words, if your choice is to be a full-time mother, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of your family because they are the ones who benefit, but why would you expect to receive any acknowledgement from other people who gain nothing from your choice? If your choice is to be an astronaut, you can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life your work touches.

I responded in the comments there, but the more I think about this, the more this type of thinking bothers me. Let’s set aside how very ego-centric it is to only respect those who do something to directly benefit your life. Let’s look at the standard here—and I’m not trying to pick on this commentator, but using this comment to illustrate a pervasive, destructive thought pattern that undermines mothers.

Here’s our logic:

• Astronauts can expect to receive the respect and admiration of everyone whose life their work touches.
• Mothers can expect to receive the respect and admiration of only their children and husbands.

Seeing it yet?

In this line of thinking, a mother can only receive respect from someone who she works with directly, her immediate family. An astronaut, on the other hand, can “expect” to receive admiration from “many hundreds of people,” who benefit from her work (and here’s a niggling point: this argument says astronauts should get respect for everything anyone in their profession has contributed to society—but not so for mothers).

So what, exactly might that benefit be? Can you name one thing an astronaut has done to make your life better?

Now name one thing your mother did to make your life better.

Now name one thing her mother did to make your life better. A friend’s mother. Your child’s friend’s mother. Another mom in your neighborhood.

So why is it that a mother can only receive respect from the people she serves directly, but an astronaut can receive respect for all of her colleagues’ collective contributions to society? Why can’t we take mothers as a force, too?

Mothers do not only benefit their own families. Having a mother at home can benefit the neighborhood—mothers can touch the lives of their children’s friends—mothers can influence generations. An astronaut doesn’t teach children to get along, to share, to read, to write, to sing, to love, to laugh, to live. We influence our children, and through them, all they come in contact with for the rest of their lives. A mother is the most influential career any of us could have.

Or, as G.K. Chesterton put it in his “guest post” here:

How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the Universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone?

So yes, I suppose I do agree that all mothers deserve the respect of those who have benefit from any one mother’s time, effort, talents, love. Has your life benefited from any nurturing woman?

Photo credits: astronaut—Brian Talbot; globe—Sanja Gjenero

Stress and fear from Conversion Diary:

I am very likely to get in a mental state where I just give in to anxiety and stress and self-pity and all sorts of other negative emotions — not because I have actually been given more than I can handle, but because I because I see a long day and a longer week stretching before me, and unless something changes I’ll reach some kind breaking point and I will have more than I can handle. In other words, I’m afraid.

Why my life is better since becoming open to life also from Conversion Diary

A product of secular society, I’d fallen into the common notion that the way to find true happiness is to focus on yourself more and other people less. It makes perfect sense, after all: doing pleasurable things for me is fun, sacrifice and hard work are not fun; ergo, the secret to happiness must be to live for myself as much as possible. Right?

How shocked I was to discover that I was wrong — dead wrong. Part of fully understanding the concept of vocation was understanding that a vocation is not to be thought of as “what you do” as much as it is “whom you serve.”

Beyond Mommy: Knowing Who I Am by the fantastic Annette Lyon on Blog Segullah

Laura made it clear in no uncertain terms that once you had kids, wanting to be anything but their mother was selfish, wrong. She was thirty years my senior, a mother of ten. I was an 18-year-old college freshman. What did I know about motherhood and womanhood?

Maybe I was off my rocker. Maybe losing yourself was something good mothers did.

I struggled with the issue even after becoming a mom. I’d carved out a “me” area but worried it made me an inferior mother. . . .

Joy in the Journey from a member of Jane’s ward on What About Mom

I remember one particular time when I just HAD to clean out the refrigerator. My then three-year-old son was lonely because his sister was in school. He kept whining and bugging me to pick him up. I resisted and ended up getting angry at him and making him go take a nap, because I had an “important” job to do. Now I realize that HE was my important job. That certainly is not the only incident I could relate. I DO feel those pangs of guilt and remorse for not making Tyler the most important chore of the day.

Lessons Learned from The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes by Scribbit

• Moms have dreams too and not only is it okay to have interests outside of your children it’s a healthy thing that usually makes you a better mom if you don’t let it take over your real job.
• Motherhood takes amazing skill to be done properly but it can be done.
• Motherhood, while eternal, won’t always require the same things of me as it does now–it will change as I do.
• There are plenty of people who value motherhood so don’t undersell your talents or abilities or think you’re alone.
• Women can do most things just as well as men though usually in their own unique way.

These excerpts are only the beginning of the wisdom about motherhood these wonderful women have imparted, so be sure to check them all out!

What are your favorite posts about motherhood, from this list or from anywhere on the Internet?

It was around 34 weeks into this pregnancy that I finally began to accept that there are really things that I can’t do while pregnant. I mean, sure, I didn’t participate in the litany of contraindicated activities/foods/etc. But it was so easy for me to (still!) forget that I was pregnant, or to want to act as though I wasn’t—walking lots, bending down, carrying Hayden, etc.

And now, less than three weeks from my due date, I’m really beginning to see that there are things I can’t and shouldn’t do at this stage of pregnancy—constantly getting up and down, carrying Hayden all the time, slouching .

I realized today that the fact was I haven’t really been able to do these things for a while, but now I’m finally beginning to accept and admit that.

This made me think back to when Hayden was first born, and my difficult transition into motherhood. A large part of that was, of course, the physical challenges of a deluge of hormones, an inability to sleep for more than three consecutive hours, and the recovery from birth and complications.

But perhaps the more difficult thing to overcome was accepting that my life—my abilities, my time, my needs, and my role in meeting the needs of my family—was not the same and never would be.

Of course, I didn’t think that everything would be the same after having a baby—it’s probably pretty much impossible to understand how much your life will change before you go through it. But resisting the changes and the new role that you’ll have to play really doesn’t help.

Two and a half years later, and I’m still resisting accepting the changes that (impending) motherhood brings. I hope that the changes that come with my new baby won’t be as difficult to accept as they were the first time around.

What helped you to accept your new role as a mother?

One of this year’s most notable speakers was Sheri Dew, a writer, speaker, delegate to the Commission on the Status of Women at the United Nations and President and CEO of Desert Book publishing company. While Sheri Dew has not had the opportunity to marry or have children, she is still a staunch defender of the family and motherhood.

In her talk this year, she spoke about the influence of good women in the world, saying “No one has more influence on husbands than wives, on children than their mothers, or on young men than young women. Show me the women of any family or community, and I will show you the character and soul of that family and community.”

She characterized the lies that the world (and, as this is a religious setting, you can guess to what source she attributed the world’s lies) tells about womanhood and motherhood:

Lucifer has worked with a vengeance to distort the very definition of womanhood and to confuse everyone about us, including us.

Here are just a few of Lucifer’s lies: That men are smarter, have all the power, and are more important, so if we want to have influence we should be more like them; that marriage and family are confining; that motherhood is menial and a waste of any talented woman’s time; that women are perpetually frazzled and failing; and that a woman’s value is based on her size, shape and what she accomplishes outside the home.

Any of that sound familiar? Or disturbingly like some comments I came across recently?

Dew continues (italics hers, bold mine):

Too many women have bought these lies. Our culture is disintegrating at the speed of light, and unfortunately, our gender is doing a lot of the damage. Sleazy, immoral, cunning women who flaunt their indiscretions jam the airwaves and monopolize magazine covers. Yet we watch their shows, donate to their causes, and even see them as models. . . .

Other distortions are equally troubling. Consider this headline: “The World’s 100 Most Powerful Women” (Forbes, 17 September 2007). I bought this magazine because it made me mad. Every woman listed is a politician, an entertainer, or a CEO. I mean no disrespect to any women listed. What I dispute is the bold distortion that in order to have influence, a woman must have money, fame, or a title. That is a big, fat lie!

How many times a day do we get the message that motherhood doesn’t matter as much as a contribution we might be making in the workplace? How often are working moms told that the time they spend away from their children is far more valuable and has a bigger, more important impact in the world than the precious time they get to spend with their children?

I know I’m not the only one who’s heard these negative messages on motherhood from the world. Dew also knows that the world sends us these messages constantly, but she reminds us of what really matters:

Here is the truth about womanhood. Our Father gave His daughters a divine endowment of gifts that give us unique influence. First and foremost, we have the high privilege of bearing children. If mortality is the time in all eternity to prove ourselves, then there is nothing more important than bearing children and leading them along the path home. President David O. McKay said that, “motherhood is the greatest potential influence . . . in human life” (Improvement Era, 1953, 452).

And for those of us who believe that God appointed this vital and holy role to women, she adds that “We are the Lord’s secret weapon. Pre-mortally [in the spirit world where we lived before we came here], when our Father described our role, we must have shouted for joy because of the ennobling stature He gave women in His kingdom. The world won’t tell us this stunning truth, but the Spirit will.”

I encourage you to read the full text of Sheri Dew’s inspiring talk—and to be reminded of what really matters in this life.

What do you do to try to keep this perspective when no one else seems to agree?