Life Lessons

Like I say, a little gray hair is a small price to pay for all this wisdom:

On Being a Kid:

1. You grow out of being the smallest.
2. Fractions are more important than you thought.
   
3. Never "joke" that you saw a neighborhood kid floating in the canal.
4. Assume that your brother will find your diary and show it to his friends.
   
5. Hope you get that many interested readers later when you have a blog.
6. Your mom will find out when you change your report card.
7. A tight curly perm won't make you look like Annette Funicello.
8. Don't ever swear at your mom.
9. Someday the mean 4th grade boys will be your sons.
10. Grandparents are nicer than parents.
    

On Being a Teenager:

1. Even the popular kids don't think they're popular.
2. Peer pressure prepares you for parenthood.
3. It's the longest six years of your life.
4. The music you love will always be the music you love.
5. It really wasn't the best time of my life.

On Being Married:

1. It really is the best time of my life.
   
2. Marry somebody you like being with for hours, doing nothing much.
3. Reminisce often so you'll remember why you fell in love in the first place.
4. Notice reasons to fall in love over and over again.
5. Laugh as often as possible.
6. Expect troubles. They come whether you're married or not.
   
7. Perfect people are very annoying. Be glad you didn't marry one.
8. Go on trips,
   
9. Or plan trips you want to go on,
   
10. Or at least watch TV together.

On Being a Mom:

1. It's harder than you think.
2. It's way more fun than you think.
3. There are lots of days you wonder why you had kids at all.
4. You can't imagine your life without your kids.
5. Kids totally take over your life
6. But you'd give up anything for your kids, so it works.
   
7. You hope your kids will someday realize all the stuff you did for them;
8. You wonder if you really did anything important for them.
   
9. Kids put you in a time warp—
10. Twenty minutes til bedtime can seem like six hours
11. Looking back, twenty years can seem like six hours.
    
12. You'll feel older when they're 8, 6 and 4 than you do when they're 28, 36, and 40.
13. They won't remember that you picked them up faithfully every day after school.
14. They'll remember the one day you got there fifteen minutes late.
15. Their most memorable present will be the one they didn't get.
16. Kids teach you more than you teach them.
17. You could be a really good mom if it weren't for all the kids.
18. Parenting books are written by people with nannies.
19. Most of us think we became functioning adults all on our own.
20. All mothers are working mothers
21. Motherhood is a multi-faceted career.
    
    

On Getting an Education:

1. School teaches you how to learn.
2. Most education takes place after you finish school.
3. Life stages are like advanced degrees.
   
4. It's possible to get several master's degrees at once:
   
5. I studied childhood psychology for 20 years,
   
6. Family relations for 43 years,
   
7. Adolescent behavior for 20 years.
8. I minored in Homemaking, History,
   
9. Creative writing, Computer science.
   
10. Continual learning keeps you from noticing senility.
    

On Life in General:

1. I am wiser than when I started.
2. Getting old is just as challenging and interesting as being young.
3. Fear is the opposite of faith.
4. Worrying doesn't do anything except make you feel like you're doing something.
5. Collecting people to love is a worthwhile hobby.
6. In spite of everything, life is fun.
7. God is good.
   

I'm glad I made it to sixty-three!

Happy Birthday to me!

Do Something Hard

From Under a Sunbonnet: 1990

Against my better judgment I became a pioneer woman for a week. Our church youth group recreated a Pioneer Trek, complete with sunbonnets, bloomers, aprons and handcarts. As a leader I was expected to be part of the four-day activity as a chaperone, even though the teenagers would be divided up and grouped as families with kids they didn't know.

Specially trained young adult couples played the parts of Pa and Ma, while the legitimate adults were assigned to accompany each family as participants. I had a 16-year-old son and a 14-year-old daughter who were excited to go, so I reluctantly agreed to join the group. I knew we wouldn't be put in the same trek family, but we would have a shared experience and that was a good enough reason.

It was a grueling first day. The kids started out with energy. I started out tired. We put together our own handcarts and loaded them with supplies. Since they weighed several hundred pounds, each member of the family was supposed to help pull or push the handcart on the 13-mile hike.

Ours was one of the first wagons in the train and we set off with vigor. Excited jabbering and singing was heard down the trail behind us. By 2:00 in the afternoon the little enthusiasm I had had early that morning was gone. It was 100° and I was out-of-sorts with exhaustion, and hunger. Some of the kids were whining and complaining and I identified with them.

I started dragging behind, walking slower and slower as the other handcart families passed me by. Whose idea was this anyway? Why would we take a bunch of teenage kids into the wilderness and subject them to such hardship? I felt disoriented, lightheaded, and miserable.

The trail boss, a man I respected and trusted, noticed me and led me over to a stream where he soaked my bandanna in the cold water, and gave me a canteen of Gatorade. He suggested I ride in the support vehicle behind the group for a few minutes to regain my strength.

Relieved of my sunbonnet, in the air-conditioned Suburban, I cooled off quickly, and chatted with the driver, a good friend who was a physician. He assured me I would make it, so a few minutes later he caught up with the group and let me out, and then dropped out of sight again.

I walked a little faster, passing other handcart families to reach my own. Instead of the flat trail we had been walking all day, we were now going up a mountain. It got steeper and rockier, and was difficult to navigate in a long skirt. Soon I was actually scrambling on all fours, climbing over the rocks. I had passed one group and now I was behind a handcart that perched precariously on some rocks. It was off balance, and the kids in front were pulling while others were behind, trying to push.

Suddenly I noticed that it was quiet. The ma's and pa's had asked the trekkers not to talk. The kids had to negotiate the handcarts on this difficult stretch silently, cooperating by observing their companions, and just doing what became obvious to them. Then the pa's whispered to the boys that they could not participate in the work. It was time for the Women's Pull.

We had been forewarned that there would be a section of the hike where the girls pulled the handcarts alone. Of course it was highly anticipated. The young women were anxious to show off their fortitude and stamina to all the guys. However, the results were not anticipated.

The mountain was the most demanding area we would encounter. Everyone was tired, and shaky from heat and exertion. Going up the steep, rocky slope the families had needed everyone's strength, and now it was cut in half. The boys witnessed the trouble the girls were having; some ran for water, and others whispered encouragement, and went ahead to move big rocks out of the way. The girls had resilience, and discovered new muscles emotionally and physically, tears running down their cheeks as they exerted courageously. The young men were overwhelmed with respect, wondering if they could have risen to such a challenge.

I'm embarrassed to say I didn't have the energy to help. Getting myself up the hill was all I could manage. I was several yards behind a handcart that began to tip. A tiny girl, her face shaded by a big sunbonnet, supported it from behind. I watched as her feet dug into the dirt between the rocks, her back hardened and her shoulders tensed. Her arms clenched while she
pushed the wagon with force and determination. With the help of the girls in front pulling, she jostled the cart up and over a giant boulder in the path.

For a moment she caught her breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. As she lifted the brim of her bonnet I saw it was Amy, my 14-year-old daughter.

Even after 22 years, the lessons of my Pioneer Trek continue to unfold in my mind. I would never have expected such inner fortitude of young city slickers; we all stumbled on power hidden deep inside ourselves. The experience demonstrated potential and capacity, and I knowwe can do impossible things when we need to. And so can our kids.

Sometimes the most help we can give someone is to let them do it on their own. Desperation can be the source of motivation. A person who is balancing their whole world is more careful about where they place their feet. I learned that from a girl in a sunbonnet.

Think about a time you did something hard. Are you in the middle of a Pioneer Trek experience right now? Write about it. Discover what you're learning. If you write about it, you can learn from it the rest of your life. Eventually you'll see the hard thing as one of the great blessings in your life.