Category: expectations (Page 2 of 2)

The empty motherhood feedback form

In my working world I was that girl who demanded the feedback on how to do my job better. I would celebrate my victories but even more, I wanted to learn what it took to take my work to the next level.  I would spend probably more than appropriate time at my colleagues’ desks asking them questions, recalling situations or having them talk me off the ledge. Daily I would do this. At lunch time, we could converse in the cafe or after the kabillion meetings and group calls we were required to attend. I had instant messaging windows open constantly for chatter about this, that or the other. While worked “independently without much direction” I did so in a “team environment.”

Image via CC by Steven Depolo.

Image via CC by Steven Depolo.

SAHMs often have a team – it’s typically a spouse, and all prayers to the heavens for those who fly solo – but the feedback isn’t immediate. I might text an unlucky friend about the day’s woes or even a few highlights, but the lack of sharing physical space changes things. Presence matters. I don’t want to have to schedule a coffee date 3 Tuesdays from now to rant about the crayon on my wall – I want to march 20 feet away and find willing ears and resume my day with weight lifted, feeling validated.

The desolate loneliness of staying home with children isn’t only about missing adult interaction but also the lack of timely and appropriate feedback  on our work. For instance, I once spent the first quarter of nap time in a loud discussion with the 5-year-old about how mommy’s job isn’t just to give him what he wants, but to help everyone get what they need – in this instance, rest. I was shouted at, name called and eye rolled. The feedback was neither helpful nor thoughtful.

When I think about the ways my kids do offer feedback, I live in extremes. I hear “I love you” no less than 63 times a day. Within the same breath, they might scream at me that “I’m being mean” when I ask them to put shoes on as the mercury dips below 60. Often, I go completely ignored. Repeatedly.

For a person whose love language is primarily words of affirmation, these conditions make it especially tough terrain.

Of course, I do have people tell me “you’re doing a good job” but I sometimes resist, and not out of false humility. They see me at my best, with an audience. What about when I loose my shit before breakfast, ranting like a lunatic because of the 400th apple core left on the coffee table? My boss wouldn’t stand for my behavior. Where are the voices in my life with that reminder?

Right now my life’s work is raising these little humans. I’ve invested my working hours and energy into this gig and I want to give it all I’ve got – as much for my own sake as the children’s. What I want to know is not if I should be doing more crafts (because I won’t) or if I yell too much (because I do): I need the side-by-side learning offered in most work environments. I need co-workers who dealt with similar clients who were never satisfied. I need a meeting where someone brings donuts because she knows we’re working hard but still have miles to go.

Cheap, Fast or Good

Last year I had the privilege of working with a wise woman on a local project. At one point in the planning process she said what is likely a familiar adage to smart people: You can have cheap, fast or good. Pick two.

Photo courtesy of Juan Freire - CC License

Photo courtesy of Juan Freire – CC License

I tried to find a way around that one. It doesn’t exist! In my shopping life, in my organizational life, in my purchases – it seems I’m always making a decision between those three things. For food, we pick fast (local) and good. For clothes I tend to choose cheap and fast. For vacations, cheap and good. I would venture to say, take a look at which two you tend to choose and you have yourself a personal value system. (As a Wingfield, cheap seems to nearly always creep to the top of a list. It’s bred into me.)

In my mothering life, I’ve revamped the system. On a daily basis I’m choosing between Happy, Clean and Productive. I can manage to hit two of those, but never all three. I can have happy kids and get stuff done, but the house will be a disaster. I can keep it neat and tidy and I can attend to work tasks but my children are climbing the walls and screaming for attention.

On some days, I’m not even choosing two: if I get one of them, it’s still a success in my eyes. Especially if it’s Happy, because working to make sure all 4 of these little monsters lives fully into the day is sometimes all I can manage. (And that’s okay, too.) But I’m ridding myself of the belief I need to do all three. I’m not sure they can co-exist. Just like cheap, fast and good cannot co-exist (or it’s a small miracle), Happy, Clean and Productive rarely arrive at the door simultaneously.

If you look through your days, do you find a trend in your success rates? Perhaps you’re usually quite productive? Or the kids are mostly happy? Perhaps the challenge isn’t choosing the most important – they each have their place – but rather making sure we keep them all in the mix.

the woman’s epic battle

This weekend while in my hometown, I made a trip into this amazing dress shop to do some looking for our company’s holiday party next month (eek! Next month?!). I tried on several fabulous dresses but left with nothing in hand. In typical Me-fashion, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I found two I loved, but feared that they may be too formal. Or too casual. Not being in the office, I don’t hear the chatter around the coffee pot about what the fashions are this year.

My fear is that I’ll be the girl in the 1999 prom dress that everyone makes fun of. Overdressing is my worst nightmare. 
On a smaller scale, this happens to me every time I dress. To put it in Pinterest form:
Pinned Image
But you know what happens when I dress it down out of fear? 
I’m right
The day becomes insignificant. 
On my birthday, my lovely sister called me up to sing a tune and asked what the big plans were. My loving husband had arranged a babysitter so we could go to the Italian ristorante in town. Her response?
“Sis, break out the heels!”
So I did. 
Did I share space with people in blue jeans and OSU pullovers? Yes. 
But was it their birthday? Probably not. AND, more importantly, did they enjoy their dinner as much as I did?
I cannot imagine they did. Because they didn’t come expecting anything grand. If they truly felt that something spectacular might happen, they’d have put on a bit of mascara and tossed a button-down shirt in the back seat. But they didn’t. I’ll go as far to say that evening, for them, was another meal. 
But I had a wonderful celebration of birthday goodness with the man who loves me. 
I wonder what life could be like if I dressed expectantly – and not just my jeans, but in my heart. If I came to the day thinking, “what amazingness is yet to unfold?” 
Perhaps my churchgoing experience would be a bit different as well. If I came expecting to be inspired, connected. I came in anticipation of meeting God. Would I dress the part? Would I tune in better? I imagine I’d probably be on alert. Every inner nudge and thought I’d tuck away thinking, “this is what God has for me  today!” 
But why limit it to the days and times I step into a special building? What about each morning when I sit with a cup of coffee and my Message? 
Or every morning that my children arise, eager to greet the day (and their toys). I can look expectantly to be blessed by the new words and experiences they’ll uncover. 
So, I need to buy a dress. I could worry that ruffles and lace and taffeta and glitter will be “too much.”
Or I could have a more spectacular evening than anyone else, simply because I expect to. 
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