Doing Your Best

I have a sign that hangs above our kitchen door--"Just Do Your Best." It's a motto and a reminder that is not unusual to many families. I tell my children, myself, my husband all of the time--just do your best. Try your hardest, show up, put your best foot forward, life is not a dress rehearsal, etc. Miss Judy used to tell us that the audition started when you walked into the ballroom, not when you first danced. It all mattered, even how you put on your ballet shoes. 

But, by example, we're not living this for our kids. We are not. I've written about this topic before today, but recently, the "living hands free" thing has presented itself to me again. 

We have a babysitter who keeps my little kids a few afternoons a week so I can get other things done quickly (It's amazing how fast I can grocery shop.). I pay her to be responsible, present and active--all the things I am (or should be) when I'm parenting. She is 19, newly engaged, and ON HER PHONE ALL OF THE TIME. She's "reading" to Ellie, and half of her attention is on her text messages. She's rocking the babies while checking her Facebook status. She pushes Ellie in the swing outside, while with one hand, talks with her fiance. And it dawned on me--these will be Ellie's memories of adults. Of life. Of "normal." And that is just not acceptable to me. Watching this sitter half-ass her job reminds me of how I half-ass my vocation. 

I do not want Ellie's memory of me to be the top of my head. I do not want her to remember looking over at me from the playground and seeing me more engrossed in a friend I haven't seen in years but who posted something on Facebook than on her--the most important contribution I will make to this universe. I do not want her to think it's ok to be halfway paid attention to, halfway listened to, halfway appreciated. What am I teaching her when I treat her this way? To expect others to treat her the same. "Your friends, spouse, co-workers, boss, children--none of them, Ellie, will give you 100% because I don't." If your mother doesn't, who will?

Now. I am not a very messy mom. I am not into sensory play (whatever that means), pouring and dumping and gluing and cutting just for the sake of exploration and discovery. It doesn't mean I shouldn't be, it just means it takes a lot from me to prepare myself for a kitchen to look like this after Ellie discovers sand and rice and lentils: 

I have to remind myself that being present doesn't mean being perfect. It doesn't mean thinking everything my kids say is critical or earth-shattering or hysterical. It doesn't mean I have to stop what I'm doing every time they speak or need me or decide to treat Bonnie as a small horse and ride her until she bites. But it does mean that SOMETIMES I do stop what I'm doing, lock eyes with them and listen. Pay attention. It means it's unacceptable to go to bed at night and think I know my children when I've spent the entire day "with" them but really with my phone. It's unacceptable to treat the people on the phone more importantly than my children or my husband. Just not right. And that's what we're telling each other when we are captivated by the text and not by the person with us. That's what we tell our children--you are not as important as this other person and the gossip we're engaging in. Your story, problem, question, observation--has to wait. It has to always wait for me and my attention because I have 267 contacts who are all saying different things I have to notice.

Put it down. I say this to myself and to you. Put it down. Put it on silent and plug it in by your bathroom sink. It can wait. What are your childhood memories? How did your mother make you feel? Did she make you feel valuable and worthy and interesting, like you could do anything and be anyone and that your best was amazing? Or did she make you feel like you were boring, kind of interesting, adequate company for when she had the leftover time to spend with you? 

Do your best. Nothing is really acceptable unless it's your best. Be the best mom and wife and friend you can be today. And today will be different than tomorrow and next week and next year. And your best might not look like someone else's life, but that's ok because it isn't someone else's life. It's yours. And if you look back on it and realize you half-assed it all, you'll be sad. You won't know your kids, you won't know your spouse, you won't know yourself. But you'll know your 267 contacts. Kind of. 

See your children. See your family. See your friends. Look at them. Pay attention.

"Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike." J.K. Rowling

“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.” Elizabeth Gilbert

“I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face, I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you. . . and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.” Laurell Hamilton