Chasing Superwoman (16 page)

Nick doesn't like to join in the shows anymore since he announced he hates “girl songs,” so we have to get more creative to spend quality time together. We love to curl up with a good book, usually about whales, sharks, or some endangered species. But sometimes he really wants me to act silly or join him in some crazy boyish stunt, just so I can be part of his world. Last year on spring break, Nick kept begging me to boogie board in the ocean with him. I really hate all the seaweed and shells between my toes, and the thought of getting stung by a jellyfish terrifies me, but there are times when Devoted Mommy just can't say no to him. So I jumped in.

Boogie boarding is quite exhilarating when you get the hang of it. Never mind the sand in my hair, saltwater stuck in my throat, or the fact that I twisted and bruised my shoulder when a giant wave knocked me over and pulled me to the ocean floor. I felt like a teenager again, and I even had an audience. Maybe I could be Superwoman after all. I looked up and a group of people were standing on the shore cheering. Could they be cheering for me?
They probably think I'm one of the cool college girls here for spring break,
I thought to myself. Then I heard a man start chanting, “Go, Mom. Go, Mom.” The rest of the crowd started to join in with Nick, who was now yelling at the top of his lungs. Okay, I guess they knew I wasn't a spring breaker after all, but at least I was out there living life large and letting go. When I got to the shore, a guy with a T-shirt that said “I Love Hot Moms” stopped me and said, “Lady, I've got to give it to you. Most moms won't even get up off their beach towels, but not you.”

I felt a little embarrassed as I later pulled the sand out of my bathing suit in handfuls. There's a certain age where a woman really shouldn't show that much skin. Aren't mommy capes supposed to be long and modest? I probably looked a little silly out there, but Nick was beaming. It was all for him.

Unconditional Love

As much as I want my kids to think I'm cool, more than anything I want them to know how much I love them. I mean really love them, no matter what. I pray my kids won't get in trouble for skinny-dipping at church camp, but even if they do I'll still love and accept them.

I've never been the best at discipline, and I have lots to learn about tough love. But I also know that each of my children is different, and the only thing they all consistently respond to is unconditional love.

In many ways, Anna is like me—she's motivated by grace. Doug figured this out long before I did, and he always reminds me that if you're overly critical or try to back her into a corner or take away privileges, it completely crushes her spirit and she shuts down, but if you open your arms to praise her good behavior or put a carrot in front of her, she's usually obedient and eager to please. So when Anna won't listen and gets more hysterical than usual, I sit her down, look at her in the eye, and say to her, “Even when you don't listen to Mom, I still love you.” It doesn't work every time, but sometimes she gets quiet, she smiles, and then she calms down enough to make a “good choice.” There are still consequences to her actions. But she knows I'm going to love and accept her, regardless.

Anna has adopted this approach with the rest of the family. She frequently tells me, “I still love you, Mom, when you yell at me.” And she's always telling Abby that we love her, even when she's “bad.”

Abby enjoys life to the fullest and pulls more deviant stunts than the other two put together. But the one thing I'm encouraged by is her repentant spirit. Abby is by far the best at saying sorry. Getting Nick and Anna to say sorry is like pulling teeth; not so with Abby. She'll accept full responsibility, even when it's not her fault. I can't quite figure it out, except that she always wants to restore the relationship. She's genuinely sad when someone else is offended. So even though she's the wildest two-year-old I've ever met, the rest of us have a lot to learn from her.

I hope my kids learn to have unconditional love toward each other, something rare in siblings. When I was in grade school, Artist Sister—who I thought walked on water since she was a cool teenager with long hair and cute boyfriends—looked me in the eye and told me something I'll never forget. She said, “Susie, even if you screw up in life and become addicted to drugs, I'll still think you're great.” It stuck with me forever.

Artist Sister really has this unconditional love thing figured out, so I've stolen a few of her lines with my own kids. I like to tell Nick, “If all the first-grade boys in the whole world were standing in a line, and I could only pick one, do you know which one I would pick?” His eyes get wide and he gives me a big grin as I finish. “I would pick
you
every time.”

Then I tell Anna and Abby, “I love you and I'm glad you're my daughters. Before you were born, God looked all over the world to decide which family to put you in. He said, ‘What family will treat them like princesses, love them the most, and teach them about God?' And after looking long and hard, He decided to give you to me and Dad.”

I made that one up myself.

Sometimes I think that if I pray hard enough, keep teaching Sunday school, make sure we have fun in the process, and practice unconditional love, my kids will naturally turn out in the end and follow God. Maybe there's a formula after all.

Then I am reminded that God is in control.

Nonjudging Jane told me there was someone she wanted me to meet. She was mentoring Nicole, a premed student who was raising money for a mission trip. Nicole knew few Christians because she grew up in a non-Christian home. I was intrigued.

I met with Nicole and decided to support her mission trip. She told me about her own conversion to Christianity, and I was completely baffled. Nicole's parents did absolutely nothing to encourage her faith. Her father, a university professor and self-proclaimed atheist, considered Nicole's conversion to Christianity a deep and personal failure of his own. Her mother, while not as openly hostile to Christianity, was disenchanted by the traditional church and would just as well keep her children away from organized religion. Yet somehow Nicole could not resist the calling of Jesus. Against everything her parents had taught her, she embraced a relationship with God with zeal and purpose. In fact, she has more passion about her faith than most Christians I know who are raised in loving, “Christian” homes.

Like Nicole, each of us comes to faith as an individual, not based on life circumstances or genetics. On the other hand, if I smother my children with Christianity, are they going to be rebellious? I've seen too many children raised in traditional Christian homes simply run the other way.

As a parent, it is reassuring to know that God is ultimately in control of bringing my children to faith. But it's also terrifying. It means
I'm
not in control. In other words, once Devoted Mommy teaches Sunday school, reads bedtime stories, acts cool with her kids, and practices unconditional love, she can let go and leave the rest to God. It sounds a little too good to be true. Most of the time, we think that we need to put our kids in the perfect environment—the best schools, the best church, the most stimulating activities, cutting-edge educational experiences, and peer groups who will model good choices. And we actually feel guilty if one of the pieces of the puzzle isn't completely perfect. Working mothers especially feel that we need to overcompensate, so we probably overdo it to reinforce a “positive” environment for our kids. But despite our efforts to control everything we can, at the end of the day we really just need to float.

Floating

Devoted Mommy is jumping into the river with both feet. In fact, I think my own mother approached both motherhood and faith more like a river than a road. Roads are hard, straight, and require a set of wheels or a pair of legs. Most of us get tired of walking and want someone to carry us or at least give us a ride. But a river is different—a river allows you to float. It doesn't mean that you're not prepared for what's ahead or that you don't shape your children's environment, encourage their faith, and help them make good choices. It just means that you can float with the current and allow the Spirit to carry you on the journey, knowing that it's okay to let go.

In
Surrender to Love,
David Benner's description of the river is welcome news for working mothers like me who just need to know that God will never let go, even though we have to.

Surrender to God flows out of the experience of love that will never let me go. It is the response of the heart that knows that since God is for me, nothing can come between me and the perfect love that surrounds me and will support me regardless of my effort, my response or even my attention.

Considering how easy and natural floating is, I am amazed how much energy I expend treading water. The lie I seem to believe is that my efforts are keeping me afloat, perhaps even keep me moving through the water. The reality is that all they do is tire me out, hold me in the same place and deprive me of the joyous discovery that I am supported.

***

Then, in exhaustion, I momentarily surrender. I relax. I allow my full weight to be supported by the Spirit. And not only do I float, I flow with the current. I hadn't even been aware that there was a current. My thrashing about in the water made me oblivious to its presence and force. Now I begin to know what I was fighting.

To fail to go with the flow is to try to push the river. But the river—God's Spirit—doesn't need any help.
2

Trusting Tracy says that approaching faith like a river has changed her life. So I asked her, “How does this concept of the river work in real life?” Sure, in simple terms it sounds good, but does it really work?

So I gave Tracy a hypothetical. “What do you do if you're running late? After all, it's hard to float when you're in a hurry.”

Tracy's answer? “You never rush. Instead you're just going to be late. Humble yourself and apologize.” She went on to explain that, when you start to flow with the river, it's difficult to set boundaries and you find yourself baking cookies at midnight for someone you just ran into who needs encouragement because you're just responding to the moment instead of staying in control. Plans tend to change. According to Tracy, the only downside to this way of life is that sometimes she gets less sleep. But approaching life like a river helps her to live in dependence on the Holy Spirit, especially when she feels as if she's going to sink.

It sounded both exhilarating and exhausting. So I gave Tracy another hypothetical. “What if you are having twenty people over for dinner and you forget to prepare?”

She replied, “You decide to just go with the flow.”

“Everyone arrives at your house at 6:00 p.m. with no food. What next?”

According to Tracy, again, you humble yourself and apologize. Then, you problem solve. You discover that half of your dinner guests want junk food, and half want healthy food. So you order out both. How else would you have known to buy
both
junk food and healthy food in the first place? So the river is a win-win for everyone, including your guests. Thank God you didn't have a plan.

Tracy's answer makes me laugh hard. I can just picture a bunch of hungry friends arriving at my home for dinner with no food in the house and Doug telling me that again I've bitten off more than I can chew. I still love Trusting Tracy's perspective on life, and I know that hanging out with her helps Devoted Mommy be a better mother. And I really can't wait to meet Jaina.

FIFTEEN

Chasing Superwoman

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Ephesians 2:8–10

When I was a little girl, I loved superheroes. My favorite cartoon was
Superman and the Hall of Justice.
My favorite character? Wonder Woman.

I always wanted to be Wonder Woman. From my perspective, she seemed to have her act together. She was smart, beautiful, powerful, and always got her way. What more could a woman want?

Now that I am a full-time lawyer, full-time mom, and part-time writer, I could use some of that superhero strength, not to mention the gold wristbands and magic lasso. The gold wristbands would help me fight off Jerk Lawyer and MECHs, and I also need that magic lasso with the truth serum—it would come in handy with the kids, not to mention in the courtroom.

Little girls today are told they too can be superheroes. Anna and Abby like to sing at the top of their lungs, “Who said, who said, I can't be Superman. I say, I say, that I know I can.”
1
I don't have the heart to tell them just yet that Superman isn't everything he's cracked up to be. Unfortunately, there's no training manual when you're pretending to be a superhero. At least Lady Lawyer got to go to law school and clerk with the firm. There aren't any Superwoman schools and no paid internships. It's all trial and error.

Superwoman Hits a Brick Wall

Sometimes, I forget I'm not really Superwoman, and I try to attempt the impossible. We all have those experiences when we know we have gotten in over our heads. Working mothers tend to be gluttons for punishment, even though we know deep down that we really can't do it all. So there are certain experiences that even I would never subject myself to a second time. On the top of the list? Flying to Vegas with a five-week old, a two-year-old, and a five-year-old. Alone, of course.

Why would I ever put myself through the utter insanity? It's easy. In addition to the delusion that I can really do it all, I did it for Encouraging Amy. There are only a couple people in this world I would do just about anything for, and she's one of them.

Amy had been begging me to come and visit since she and Jon moved to Vegas several years ago. But between the kids and work, when could I ever find the time? Then, during my maternity leave with Abby I thought,
This may be the only time I can get away for the next decade.
So I bought the tickets and didn't look back.

Doug thought I was crazy. With Anna in the terrible twos and Abby only five weeks old, how would I ever handle all the kids on the plane myself? I invited Doug to come with me, but for some reason he didn't think it sounded like much fun to make the trip with a newborn and two toddlers. In fact, he told me he thought it was a complete waste of time and money, and that I should wait until the kids were at more suitable ages. After I booked the tickets without him, he went and booked a golf trip with his buddies the same weekend. The nerve! I would show him! I'd have more fun, go out on the town late, win lots of money, and have three perfect children on an airplane.

It all came true, except the part about the airplane.

Getting through security was my first obstacle. I had Abby strapped securely in one of those handy-dandy, front baby-carrier slings, freeing up my hands to push Anna in the stroller and hold Nick's hand, while carrying luggage on my back. Unfortunately, all that changed when security made me disassemble the sling and peel Abby off of my body. Apparently they thought all the baby gear was a clever disguise to smuggle drugs across the country. So when I realized I couldn't carry everyone or everything through security, I must have looked completely helpless, and some guy in a white muscle shirt and gold chains ended up feeling sorry for me. He picked up my luggage as I carried my kids and asked, “Where are you going anyway, lady?”

“Vegas,” I said.

He responded, “You're nuts, lady.”

At this point, I had already figured that out. But it was a little late to turn back.

The flight was hands down the worst four hours of my life. Abby was fussy and restless, and she just wanted to nurse. I really try not to nurse in public, but I figured the circumstances demanded it, even if the guy next to me was a little uncomfortable. Given the choice, he'd probably choose a nursing mother over a screaming baby any day. Everyone knows a five-week-old nursing baby eats every ninety minutes on a good day. After gate check, security, and boarding, Abby was long overdue. At the same time, Anna would not sit in her seat for takeoff, so I had to bribe her with lots of candy and soda, so much that she had to go potty before they turned the seatbelt sign off. I tried to convince her to go pee pee in her Pull-Up, because big girls are allowed to go in their diapers on airplanes. She didn't buy it. So I broke the rules and made the hike to the bathroom with all four of us. Nick stood outside the bathroom, but I couldn't exactly put Abby down in the aisle, so I tried to squeeze into the bathroom while holding Abby. But airplane bathrooms are about one square foot, and the door wouldn't shut with all three of us inside and kept swinging open, and when I stooped down to help Anna pull down her Pull-Up, the door hit poor Abby right in the head. More screaming. Then Anna freaked out over the blue water and ominous toilet seat. I finally calmed everyone down and decided to let Anna go potty by herself, like a big girl.

We stood outside the door and patiently waited, until Anna opened the door, now completely naked. She was going through that phase where she preferred to take all her clothes off to go potty, and I just remember that I wanted to crawl into a corner and cry, but I had nowhere to go so I had to stay strong and pretend to be Superwoman. But clearly I am not Superwoman, because everyone knows she can control her children on airplanes, and mine were screaming and running around naked. The flight attendant started yelling at me and told me that Anna had to get shoes on immediately or she would get hepatitis B. Never mind that she had no clothes on, this woman was more concerned with her feet.

I really don't remember what happened next, except that I started to pray and just sobbed when I got off that plane. Sometimes I ask myself why I try to do it all, because it really hurts when I fall flat on my face.

Choices

Some days, I just feel like I want to give up. Like one day last winter when Nonjudging Jane called to let me know she would be in town the following day. I dropped everything at the office—never an easy task—and met her for coffee. Coffee turned into lunch. I explained to her that the night before I had been driving home in a snowstorm. My twenty-minute commute took two hours, and I didn't get home until after the kids were in bed. I was exasperated. Devoted Mommy was done trying to be Superwoman and announced to God, “I quit. I can't do this anymore.”

Nonjudging Jane listened. She didn't tell me that I had to quit my job, or that I had to reorder my priorities, or that I just had to get up fifteen minutes earlier every morning to pray. And she didn't even tell me that I needed to make a list of all the pros and cons in my life stage and then “pray about it.” She just listened.

Then I remembered a story she had told me in college. During my junior year I was raising money for an overseas mission trip. Raising several thousand dollars for a college student is no easy task. Encouraging Amy had come to visit me for the weekend, and we were shopping when I saw a beautiful sweater that caught my eye. I had the money, but I felt like it was wrong for me to buy a sweater that I didn't really need at the same time I was asking my friends and family to fork over money for my mission trip. I agonized over the sweater and decided not to buy it. It was painful.

The next day I met with Nonjudging Jane, and I was still stewing over the sweater. I told her that I was proud of myself. I had conquered materialism, and God was looking down on me and smiling. Right?

Nonjudging Jane said, “Do you really think you made the right decision?” She then told me about two of her missionary friends who were raising money for China. At the same time they were raising money for China, they were also praying that God would provide money for a stereo. This raised a few eyebrows among their supporters and friends. Raising money for China was one thing, but a stereo?

Nonjudging Jane's friends weren't bothered by the criticism. Instead, they said, “God doesn't have to choose between China and a stereo.”

At that point a light bulb went on. God didn't have to choose between a mission trip and a new sweater. It was all His money anyway. In fact, He didn't even need me for the mission trip. He would accomplish His purposes with or without me.

Several weeks later I saw Encouraging Amy again. She handed me a shopping bag. Inside was the sweater.

Just when I think I have God figured out, He surprises me. I didn't have to choose between the mission trip and the sweater after all. But once I was willing to give up the sweater, it appeared in my closet.

Now you may think this is just a silly story about a sweater and a stereo, but twenty years later I'm still wrestling with the same issues and asking the same questions. Nonjudging Jane reminded me that Devoted Mommy doesn't have to choose between my family and my job, but that sometimes it just feels that way. God is big enough to handle both. Of course, I couldn't see this myself. I had put God in a box. My box. I had bought into the lie that a godly, spiritual mother doesn't work outside the home. I had bought into the other lie that a successful career woman gets ahead only by sacrificing her family.

Labels

One thing I love about being married to Doug is that he is the one person in the world whom I never try to impress or convince I'm Superwoman. I'm always trying to impress everyone else. I want my family and friends to think I'm a good mom, I want my colleagues to think I'm a good lawyer, I want my clients to think I'm smart, I want my kids to think I'm cool, and I want my neighbors to think I'm normal. Okay, maybe I'd settle for half-normal. Anyway, you get the point. It's a lot of people to impress.

But I never try to impress Doug. It's not even intentional. It's just a gift. I think God knows that we are all people pleasers by nature, so He makes sure we have at least one person in our lives that we don't have to impress. In my case, I'm lucky enough to have that person be my husband.

Here's the other thing about Doug—he hates when people try to impress him. So when Lady Lawyer drags him to cocktail parties and social events, he drags his feet reluctantly, never follows the dress code, and ends up spending half the night talking to the bartender about the baseball playoffs or the newest movie. He really doesn't care what people think about him, and he won't try to impress anyone. He doesn't even try to put on a happy face and fake it. So he ends up telling strangers that they have lousy fashion, or he tells the neighbors that he hates the color of paint on their shutters or that new car they just bought is overpriced and overrated. He just tells it like he sees it. The good news? You always know what you're going to get. I have dozens of names for myself, but only one for him. He's just Doug. He knows who he is, and who he isn't.

Sometimes I really hate labels too. At least once a week, someone accuses me of being Superwoman. The problem is, I don't want to be Superwoman. Superwoman has been thrust upon me. What are my options anyway? It's either suck it up and be Superwoman, or change my lifestyle, move out to the country, quit working, and join the PTA. I know it's not that black and white. Sometimes it just feels that way.

Nonjudging Jane likes to ask people, “Who are you?” It's a trick question, of course, but she asks it to make a point.

Most people respond, “I'm a teacher,” or “I'm a mother.”

Nonjudging Jane will respond back, “No, that's what you
do
. Who
are
you?”

It's been awhile since I've thought hard about who I am, but most of us have our identity wrapped up in what we do. We're totally performance driven. For working mothers, it's easy for us to wrap our identity up in our careers, but it's just as easy to wrap our identities into being mothers. Not just any mother, but a
good
mother with obedient—even doting—children. That is why most of us who work outside the home are utterly crushed when we see our children suffering because we work. What does that say about our identity as
mothers?

So while I want to be judged on what I do—not some ridiculous label—I think I might crack if my entire identity rides on my performance. As much as I pretend to be Superwoman, my daily life (let alone my experience on airplanes) confirms that it's just not possible to do it all.

This is where grace comes in. As a child of God, I don't have to earn anything. I am holy, blameless, forgiven, and even redeemed by the blood of Jesus. This doesn't give me a license to screw up; it just gives me the freedom to be the best wife, mother, and lawyer that I can be.

Think of the one thing in life you have always wanted to do. Climb a mountain? Go back to school? Start your own business? Even write a book? What if you knew the end result? Before you ever went back to school, you could see your diploma just sitting there, waiting for you. And your report card is sitting right next to it to prove your success—straight As! Now, think how much confidence you would have to go back to school. You don't have to worry about failure, you just have to focus on learning and doing your best. Or what if you knew your book was going to be on the best-seller list before you even wrote it? Wow, what a motivation to write! It doesn't mean it won't be hard and tedious to write the manuscript. You'll go through lots of revisions and you'll be that much more motivated just because you know it will be a success. In fact, you'll even work harder because you recognize the awesome privilege of having a large readership.