Confessions

On Tuesday night of this week I hauled the 4th Grader and the 1st Grader across town for a football game so the older one could cheer. The 1st Grader was tired from a long day at school and was in no mood to be a cooperative spectator on metal bleachers in 90 degree heat:

Her {with a snarl}: What is this sport anyway? Is this football?
Me: Yes. It’s football.
Her: Well, are there any confession stands around here?

I don’t know about hot dogs and candy, but I didn’t see anyone lining up at a confession stand.

I do have a few confessions about how this parenting gig is going, though. A few years ago when all three girls were under the age of five, our days were frenzied as I tried to keep everyone fed, clean, and happy. I clung to the adage “the days are long but the years are short” as hope through that season. I knew I would someday sleep through the night again and would miss the baby faces and the sweetness of the toddler/preschool years. But in the moment, life felt challenging.

Well, we pulled through that season. And now we’re in a new one where life is challenging in other ways. Most days I’m essentially an Uber driver, snack shop, and mediator of meltdowns as we navigate a typically full afternoon and evening schedule.

Confession #1: I was wrong about parenting.

I thought things would get easier as the girls got older. I’m beginning to realize my own naïveté. It’s not easier; it’s just different. Instead of fretting over nap times and developmental milestones, I’m worrying about friendships and homework and how to nurture qualities like independence and empathy. I’m in the market for one of these bumper stickers for our minivan since it is my new mantra:
The truth is: they don’t save the drama for their llama. They save it exclusively for their Mama. And, some days I don’t know what to do with it or how to diffuse it. I suspect the drama may increase with three girls in the house, so I’m trying to be mentally, physically, and spiritually prepared… if that’s possible. But I’m also trying to be more mindful on the days when I’m most overwhelmed that this, too, is a season and will have its own challenges and unique joys.

Confession #2: I was wrong about the suburbs.

I didn’t grow up in a small town, but I grew up in a community that felt like a small town within a larger town. The Spouse, who did grow up in a small town, and I talk often about how different our girls’ suburban life is from what we experienced as kids. We were both involved in countless sports and activities after school, but many facets of our lives seemed simpler than they are now. We spend more time in the car than ever before. Activities start at younger ages and are all over town {or even out of town}. Kids specialize in sports and hobbies in elementary school. People change schools and churches and houses with mind-blowing frequency. There is more technology but less stability. More anxiety and less connectivity. And, here we are in the thick of it with our iPhones and iPads, our private schools and soccer schedules.

Some days when I see a serene and beautiful Instagram pic that Joanna Gaines has posted of her life on the farm I’m tempted to think the solution might be for us to hop off this train, cut the cords, and move to a rural farm as well. But, do you know how many vegetables my raised bed garden yielded this summer? Exactly one zucchini. Do you know what my girls do when they encounter an earthworm or see a bee?

I don’t think anyone would benefit from us choosing a life on the farm. But, I do want these girls to know some of the joys of living a simpler, slower paced life. More intentionality; less hurry. More connection; less competition. More service; less self.

I’m not sure how to be countercultural, but I think it starts with making small changes and getting our bodies and our brains outside our suburban bubble whenever we can.

Confession #3: I was wrong about community.

I think I grew up taking community for granted. It was just there, from the elderly neighbors next door to the friendly teller at the bank. I did life with and around many of the same people my whole childhood and adolescence. So, I assumed you could live anywhere and community would just happen. But you can’t move from house to house, school to school, or church to church and be deep-rooted with people. You just can’t. There’s no app for community because it’s something that takes time and investment.

We’ve been in the same spot for the past seven years, but I still feel like the girls are missing out on something when it comes to relationships. They know their teachers, a few of our neighbors, and many family friends. But, when I was growing up there were several seniors in our church who made it their mission to be cheerleaders for the young people around them. {And the key is they were around us week after week after week}. These people spoke truth into our lives, even during those years when we tuned our parents out completely. I distinctly remember three of those people:

Mrs. Jessie–who came to Wednesday night supper every week with a pocket full of candy and a word of encouragement for any child she could find.

Mr. Red–who showed up at every concert and used any opportunity he had at the mic to praise and pray specifically for the youth of the church.

Mrs. Reba–who taught 5th Grade Sunday School for years and continues to be a friend and mentor to many, many young {and now not-so-young} people

I don’t know that our kids have these kinds of mature and godly encouragers in their lives, partly because of mistakes we have made and partly because it doesn’t happen as naturally nowadays. And something is lost because of that. There are over 90,000 books on Amazon on the topic of community, yet a lot of us would admit we struggle to create and maintain it.

The truth of the matter is that many days I would rather swing by Trader Joe’s and redecorate our home office than do the hard work of changing the way we do life. Parenting well takes presence and time and energy. Living counter-culturally is harder than staying status quo. Building community involves effort and risk.

I don’t write about these things to bemoan or despair over matters. I just think it helps to acknowledge worries of this sort so we can keep thinking and working through them. After all, I named this blog Suburban Shalom, and I have to occasionally think about what that means. So, these are nothing more than a few honest confessions from a suburban mom trying to figure out life and community in 2018.

Now… can I get some fries with that?