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I went to Recipe Group this evening. Since I nominally help lead the group (i.e., I call people and remind them to attend) and the real leader said she might not be able to make it, it was particularly important for me to be on time. I tried. I tried hard. I was stressed. But I wasn’t on time.
I’ve been musing about my reasons for always being late and always being behind. Two years ago I had a newborn and I was nursing constantly. Yes, I was always late, yes, I was always behind, but observe: I am caring for an infant. This will pass. Well, infancy and nursing have passed, but lateness and behindness haven’t, not for me. Now, I have a 2 yr old and I look at those with nursing infants (unfairly I know) and think, “Oh, that’s much easier. If you put that baby down it will stay where you leave it.” My baby no longer stays where I leave her. She tears around the house doing destruction and requires an awful lot of attention. In the past couple of months, trips to the potty (and yes, I almost always have the honor of being her companion) have often been more frequent than diaper changes were in the past. And of course, she still eats many times a day, although tablefood now suits her just fine.
Something tells me, though, that when she hits kindergarten and 1st grade, I will probably still be late and behind. Because, let’s face it, it isn’t any particular stage my kids are going through, it’s me. Comparisons aren’t wise, but they are human. I noticed that my hostess had several children including a ~2 yr old (same age as Kate). Not only did she host the recipe group, she also prepared two different recipes. And she works. I was home all day. I can’t explain it.
I was cleaning the kitchen and noticed this in my fruit bowl:
I don’t know about you, but my fruit don’t usually have messages for me.
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Do you think this means I can put little “shut me” post-its on the cabinets? Perhaps that is too imperative mood. How about: “Would you like to shut me?” Or “Wouldn’t you like to shut me?” Maybe I should make a little sign for the apples to hold with toothpick arms. Their sign could say: “Wouldn’t you rather eat a cupcake?” like the cow at Chick-fil-A.
But perhaps that is the wrong direction to go with my apples. Perhaps they need a meeker, more on board with the nutrition program slogan like “You won’t regret eating me” or “Stop and think: Cheetos have fewer micronutrients.”
What do you think?
When is it a good idea to give advice to other people?
Are there any situations in which one is obligated to offer an opinion? When is it non-obligatory to give advice, yet still a better choice (supererogatory) than not giving advice, when is it merely acceptable to give advice, and when is it best morally speaking (not answering the question of your own better comfort) not to offer any advice at all?
How do these questions intersect with the question of how well you know the person in question, whether that person asked for input, and what the nature of the topic in question is?
I ask because the other day I overheard one woman ask another woman (who was clearly a stranger to the first woman) a question about swimming lessons at the Fitness Center. I knew the answer to her question, the woman she asked did not. Not only did I know the answer to her question, I could have told her a lot more. All in all, the stuff I thought about telling her was stuff I really wish some more knowledgeable, more experienced mother would have told me when my kids first started their swimming lessons a couple of years ago. But no one did. And I heard this woman’s question, and thought over all the things that would be of benefit for her to know, and I remained silent.
I have a friend who reads this blog, S., and I was thinking about it later: What would S. do? And I reflected that no way would she have said nothing. S. would have said something, and she would have said it in a way that made the other person laugh–possibly thinking she was a tiny bit overbearing, yet funny, but more likely so grateful for the helpful information. But I am not S. I’m too earnest. I offer opinions too vigorously and without humor. It puts people off.
Often we withhold our advice or opinions in favor of the potential advisee. It’s easy to become the subject of unwanted advice, and knowing that, we spare the unknowingly lucky almost-victim. That’s a good move, a sound decision. But I’m interested in that other scenario: those times when we withhold information or opinons to benefit ourselves.
How do we benefit? We benefit in that it is easier to be silent than to be embarrassed. Withholding information seldom embarrasses or disgraces you. Keeping quiet doesn’t put people off. Talking, and especially opining, can and does. But what is morally better? Comfort isn’t the question. Surely I didn’t have an obligation to share what I knew with this stranger who didn’t direct her question to me? But the Golden Rule might suggest that I need to. Do I? Or would I simply have been a better person if I’d overcome my reticence and fear of rejection to share with her? Or is the risk of offering unwanted thoughts so high, that choosing silence is never a bad choice? What do you think?
Should I feel guilty?
Purposely killing a living thing?
Being fickle?
Don’t mistake me. I am crazy about poinsettias. I love them. I suffered under the poisonous poinsettia myth for a couple of years. When I discovered the truth, and no longer needed to fear for Kate’s safety, I was thrilled to welcome them back into our home. Other than our Nativity, poinsettia plants are my favorite way to decorate for Christmas. I struggle to think of anything more festive than the poinsettia’s scarlet foliage.
But–it’s April, not December.
And my huge poinsettia plant, which was a well-spent ~$17 at Costco in December 2008, was still a bit too healthy. The problem: even if the April Fool’s joke in these parts is snow on the ground, I want to believe that Spring will come–that Spring is coming. Daffodils say that, poinsettias do not.
I don’t live in San Diego. There was no possibility of returning it to nature.
Will the daffodils scent the work of death on my hands?
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
What do you think? Do you agree?
I’m posting this quotation to go along with the recent competition related posts. I particularly like the last part about how by pursuing excellence ourselves we allow other people to be comfortable doing the same. This quotation was used in the Akeelah and the Bee movie which is for obvious reasons a favorite around here.
I have always encouraged Amelia to participate in competitive settings at school–from Reflections, to storytelling (doesn’t sound competitive but it is), to the Spelling Bee. I believe she benefits a great deal by participating. We are lucky because it turns out that she enjoys competing very much. There are some aspects of competition, though, that aren’t as enjoyable. Competition can hurt when you discover that you are not as good as your peers. It can hurt even more when you give a contest everything you’ve got and still fall short. Some of Amelia’s experiences in the past few months have led me to think more about the nature of competition and its role in the lives of our children.
Faded, frayed, and well-worn
As of today, I am now fully eligible to be President of the United States of America.*
When I turn 50, will I still feel like I am 20? At 35, is all the suspense about my life over? Is my main life path pretty much determined now? (How can I ask these questions when even as I ask them I realize my 50 year old self will find them naive?)
- I know where I went to University and what I majored in.
- I know who I married.
- I know how many children I had. Don’t I? (Scary.)
- I know that I actually stuck with it and earned my PhD
- I know that I shelved that PhD and chose to stay home with my children. (Do I?)
20-35 is so formative, it changes so much about what your life will be. 35-50 simply isn’t as formative is it? Sure, many people get divorced, which would be a major life change, but I don’t plan that. Let me state it more strongly, I plan against that. There could be another baby, but . . . well, I am 35. There is a little suspense as to whether I seek to be PTA president or University Professor. What do I really want? And, regardless of what I want, will I be happy with what I choose?
Happy 35, Pmom. May you choose well so that 50 year old Pmom is happy with where your choices have taken her.
*I think I read this about someone else being 35. Was it Shannon from Rocks in my Dryer ? Or one of her Works-For-Me-Wednesday contributors? I’m not sure.
I know that I am a more productive person when I get up early. I know that I am a happier person when I go to bed early. I know that I am a better mother when I get enough sleep. Every day I have the goal of getting to bed in good time–until about 9:30 or 10:00 at night, and then–the house is dirty, the laundry needs doing. There is a movie I really want to see, a blog I want to write, other blogs I want to respond to. I’d like to talk with my husband. Good intentions go out the window. And then the next morning, I wake up and it’s 8:00. Yikes! (Or even worse, it’s 6:30, my 3 year old is at top volume, and I am death warmed over).
How can I stop the cycle? If I got up at 5 a.m., when the clock struck 10 p.m, would my house be dirty, the laundry need doing, and would I still be wanting a moment to talk with my love? I fear that answer in yes.