Listening

For my book club we were supposed to read The 3rd Alternative by Steven Covey.  Now, truth be told, I am not a Steven Covey fan.  Mostly because people get weird about him and his books, and all the people I know who tout his most famous book are people that I don't wish to be like.  "Effective" is a nasty word.  I don't want to be effective, I want to be happy.  I don't even want to be effectively happy.  I want my happiness to be sloppy and messy and haphazard and natural.  Anything but effective.  

However, I've been in school for so long that I haven't read a single book club book for quite a while.  Out of a sense of joy at my newfound freedom more than anything else, I decided to go ahead and read the book.

And holy cow, the book is deep.  It's like learning about Charity, but in a completely applicable, how-to sort of way.  I figured out that I'm really good at seeing myself "correctly", but I'm pretty terrible at seeing others the same way.  In particular, I felt a sting about a few specific people that I've been giving a hard time (I've been known to tell my husband that these people aren't quite human - they're sub-human.  How's that for an honest admission of how awesome I am, eh?).

The book talks about how to listen, mostly.  How to really, truly listen.  And I realized that I'm also a pretty terrible listener.  I might be able to help come up with a solution to your problem (though, probably not.  I'm not super creative, actually), but I'm not going to say anything that sounds even remotely sympathetic / empathetic.  Empathy is not something I try to do.  To me it feels condescending somehow.  I don't know, I can't explain it.

But as I was reading the book, or at least the sections that applied to me, I was going, "Geez, I've got some changing to do."  More empathy needed.  Better listening.  I bet I could completely turn around my relationship with Elijah if I just listened better.  Which wouldn't be hard, cause I haven't been listening at all.  I don't even have to be a Master Listener to do a better job.

Which requires a side bar.  My 9-year-old son has been struggling lately.  We've been making a massive effort to try to turn things around.  We've gotten him outside help, we've signed him up for activities that he's interested in, we've tried to be better parents with  more consistent rules and nicer attitudes.  And things have improved quite a bit.  

Still, Elijah has been saying things like:  "No one treats me like a human being."  "You always treat me like an idiot."  "No one wants to be my friend."

I've been interpreting these statements as you would think I would:  Elijah struggles making and keeping friends, and he has low self-esteem.

Last night was another one of those times when he said that I always treat him like he's stupid.  He overreacted to the extreme, and I put him in his room to cool off.  After a few minutes, I walked in to talk to him.  As he talked and I felt myself wanting to roll my eyes at the drama and the overreacting, I consciously told myself, "Tamra, be a better listener."  And you know what I heard myself say:

"That sounds frustrating, Elijah."

Guess what I've never said to him ever before?  That phrase.  It didn't sound that bad coming out of my mouth.  And you know what it encouraged him to do?  Keep talking.  Here's what I learned:

1 - If you let him keep talking,  he'll come up with the same solutions I would have, but on his own - without any suggestion on my part.

2 - Sometimes people bug him at school.  "Everyone" means 2 specific people at school.  And one of those two moved out after Kindergarten!  (Yes, that's how long this kid can hold on to injustices.  Welcome to Elijah's world.)

3 - After listening to him for a while, he was totally willing to accept what I had to say.  "That makes sense."  

Wait, that's all it took?  Why haven't I been saying things like, "That must be hard," all this time?  Oh, yeah, because I hate hearing things like that.  "That must be hard"?  Well, yeah.  That's why I'm telling you.  I don't want you to try to echo back the emotions I'm putting out.  I can figure out my own emotions myself.  And you'll usually get it wrong anyway, so ...  When Rob (or others) try the "active listening" stuff on me, repeating back what I just said in a slightly different way, I just get frustrated.  "No, you weren't listening.  That's not what I was saying at all.  Now I have to explain it all over again until you can get it right."  :)  

But if all this empathy will create a healthy, happy relationship with my son, I can swallow my pride.  It's not about me.  It's about him.  Check out this exchange, at the end of our discussion / listening session:

"You tell me I'm stupid all the time."

"Can you tell me a time when I did?"
"Well, it's not what you say, it's how you say it.  Like one time I was digging holes in the backyard, and you said, "Wow, Elijah, that's real smart."  If a dog had done that, well, maybe not a dog, because you wouldn't talk to a dog quite like that, but you made me feel like I was stupid because I dug holes in the backyard."

"Okay."  (pause)  "I get that.  But let me explain a difference.  Digging holes in the backyard is a stupid action.  It doesn't make you a stupid person to do something that is stupid.  I should react better, but sometimes you do things that are in themselves stupid, but it does not mean that I think you're stupid.  I don't think you're stupid.  You're very smart."

"Yeah, because stupid is like when you don't know what 1 plus 1 is.  And I know lots of that kind of stuff."

"Right.  You're very good at math, for instance.  But we all do stupid things sometimes.  You do.  I do.  We all do."

"Oh.  So, doing something that is stupid is different than being stupid.  That makes sense.  You'd be stupid if you kept doing that stupid thing over and over."

Ding, ding, ding!  Did you hear it in his last comment?  A light bulb when on.

I think a light bulb went on for both of us.  

Am I a Mother?

A mother is someone who, when there are 8 pieces of pie and 9 people, says, "I'm not hungry."

You guys ever heard that before?  I've remembered it since the moment I heard it because it struck me to the core. 

Clearly I am not a mother.

Cause you know what?  The mother in that quote, she probably made the freakin' pie.  And if I made a pie, you better BELIEVE I'm getting a piece of it.  You know who should go without?  The 2-year-old who couldn't care less if he gets a piece of pie or a piece of candy.  How does that not make sense?! 

Even if I expand this quote out to apply in a more general sense, I fail hard core.  My needs certainly don't come last.  Ever.  It's just not what I do. 

I started looking around.  In the circles I occupy, mothers give all they have and then some to their kids.  They don't wonder why they do it, or feel stuck in a rut.  They just give and are happy to do so.  Conference talks define these women, and it comes naturally to them.  All these characteristics of wonderfulness, then, were bestowed upon them at birth, ...  I clearly was standing in a different line in the Pre-existence when God was handing out personal characteristics.

I decided, over time, and with a smidgen of guilt, that I was simply not a mother.  Or, I guess, not the right kind of mother.  Not the way a mother should be.  Not a real mother.  However you want to put it.  Other mothers were Something Great and I was Something Less Than Great.

And while I have always known this about myself, I finally stopped fighting it:  I am a selfish person.  If selfless mothers give and give and give and don't think about themselves for a moment, then I obviously am not selfless.  I am selfish.

So imagine my delight and surprise when, as I was reading a required text for an on-line BYU class, I read this quote:  "Other-centeredness is the capacity to care for others and the maturity to allow others' needs to become equal or greater in priority than one's own."* 

Did you catch it?  EQUAL.  I did a double-take.  This means, then, that I can be a good mother if all I do is put my kids' needs on the same plane as my own?  Well, did and done!

So take a moment and be happy for me that I have re-claimed my Good Mother status.  I get a piece of pie, the baby gets a piece of candy, and everyone is happy.  As it should be.

* Quote from Young Adulthood and Pathways to Eternal Marriage by Jason S. Carroll

Don't Mention It

Tonight I had to go to a scholarship recognition dinner.  When I arrived and looked at the program, I saw that each scholarship recipient would be called by name and asked to come to the front of the room for recognition.

Wait.  Say what?

I know.  At this point you're wondering what I thought would happen at a recognition dinner if not recognition.  I thought, you know, that maybe I would sit at a table and chat politely with faculty and scholarship donors.  That's no problem.  But walking to the front of the room while everyone claps? 

I was in instant anxiety zone.  Seriously.  Looking at the exits.  Wondering if it would be believable that I had to go to the bathroom right this very minute.  Weighing the pros and cons.  Would it embarrass my husband if I left?  Would it embarrass the college president?  Would my friends who attended wonder what happened to me?

So I went up there.  Smiled.  Nodded.  Took a picture with the group.

I don't know why this bothers me so much.

You know, one time I was at a different scholarship recognition night, a long time ago, and the presenter asked the crowd to give me a STANDING OVATION while I walked to the stage and grabbed my medal.  A standing ovation?  Really?  I was pissed.  Seriously on fire pissed off.

You're thinking, "Tamra, this isn't a big deal."  I know it shouldn't be!  But it is for me.  I really, really dislike recognition.  Particularly of the stand up and walk across the stage, smile and grab your award while everyone claps for you variety.

I don't know where these feelings come from.  I can't put into words what it is about these events that influences me so.  It's something about a lot of things, I guess.  The recognition isn't personal.  It's for show.  It's not on my terms.  I get lumped with a group with whom I share nothing other than that we all recieved some amount of money from some group and we all attend Cincinnati State.  And then people who don't know me are clapping for ME.  No, that's not right.  None of this is right.

...

Clearly I have issues.

Election Confession

Yesterday I dutifully went to the polls, filled out my ballot, and turned it in.  A nice older woman thanked me for voting as she offered me a sticker.  I said, "Yeah.  Whatever."  This year no one should thank me for voting.

Rob and I moved to Ohio in the summer of 2004, just in time to vote in an election where our voice actually mattered.  Before then we'd lived in Utah, which is crimson on the policitcal spectrum.  No need to bother voting there.  So when we moved to Ohio we were excited, optimistic, and eager to learn about the candidates and issues and then go vote responsibly.  I quickly decided that being informed was difficult, but well worth it.  I promised myself that I would always care deeply and vote consciously.

That resolve was doomed to fail.  I should have known that about myself.  I should have seen the truth well before I made the personal promise. 

The 2012 election season killed my political insides.  Not only am I older and more skeptical, not only have I always been politically disillusioned, but I also live in Ohio, which was the Swingiest State of All this time.  The state that got all the attention. 

You guys who live in Blue or Red states, you don't know how lucky you have it. 

I didn't want to vote.  I probably wouldn't have even gone in if my local school district didn't have a levy on the ballot.  But they did, and no matter how I feel about politics, I care about that.  So I went.  I thought about voting for only that issue and none of the others.  I thought about voting for President, then the school levy, and none of the others.  But I couldn't do it.  I had to vote for them all.

This was my first time voting Angry.  It's when you go like this:  "Two guys on the ballot.  I've heard this guy's name more.  I'm voting for the other guy.  Next, three guys on the ballot.  That one sent me so much nasty junk mail.  That other one had a sign when I walked in.  I'm voting for the third guy, the one I've never heard of."

I voted straight Other Guy.

The issues weren't any better.  I voted, "Hell, no, you can't have my money.  What are you going to do with it anyway?  Leave me alone!" The only exception was that school levy.

I'm not proud of the way I voted.  I'm just saying that's how it went. 

Before 2016 I'm moving to another state.  Red or Blue, I don't care which.  Just some place where my vote doesn't matter.

Mission Fund

On Saturday I was at the zoo, doing a something with some people, walking around with 2 friends, and I got a text from my husband.  It said, "Women can now go on missions when they're 19.  And men when they're 18."  I instantly smiled and almost shouted, "Awesome!"  Which, of course, made my 2 friends ask me what was so awesome.

And here's where I found myself stuck.  These 2 friends are not Mormon.  What do I tell them?

So I explained a little about missions and how young men typically go at 19 and young women have to wait until they're 21.  Now that the rules have changed, more young women will be able to go.  This is a great thing for everyone.

But this isn't all that needs explaining.  The next part that I always tell people is about my Hyper Traditionalist church.  I like being Mormon, no doubt.  I believe it heart and soul.  But we stay pretty far behind the times, you know?  I mean, more equality for women?  The nation caught that vision a while ago.  Hurray for Mormons for finally figuring it out!

I mean, I'm pretty straight-laced.  I don't do all that stuff on the Don't List and I usually do all the stuff on the Do List.  But I'm not a Do What You're Told type.  My life may look traditional, but I don't feel traditional.  I ask a lot of questions.  I'm not afraid to be bold.  So sometimes the traditional-for-the-sake-of-being-traditional stuff really irks me.  I feel like my church lags behind the modern age because ...  because ...  because ...  huh.

And that's what kind of missionary I am.  "My church just made a great call that's drasticly behind the times!  ...  I really like being Mormon, I promise."


On a related note, my Kids' Mission Fund suddenly needs an extra $10,000.  Miciah heard the news and instantly said, "Great!  I'm going."

Soccer Bag - Stolen Conversation #43

You guys remember the bag I bought and then sewed my awesome soccer patches all over?  The one I mentioned in this post?  Well, I had the best conversation ever about my bag and I wanted to share.  It was between me and my 6-year-old nephew.

Jaden:  Is that your soccer bag?
Me:  No, it's actually my school bag.
[pause]
Jaden:  Do you go to soccer school?

Stolen from Jaden, pictured here with his father, July 2009

Stolen Conversation #42

I was driving in the car with Tank and he saw a bicycle with a baby/kid carrier hooked to the back.  The kind that rolls along the ground and looks like it's made entirely of mesh.  This conversation followed:

Tank:  Look, Mom!  It's a bike with a carriage.

Me:  Yep.

Tank:  There's a baby in there.

Me:  Yeah.  That's because the kid is too small to ride a bike himself.

Tank:  Yeah. ...  The baby is riding along like "Ooh, I'm watching a movie," and the dad is like "[panting noise], [panting noise], [panting noise]."

And that cracked me up.