We have an umbrella shortage in our house. Umbrellas come for a while and then succumb to the Chicago wind or a hole in the ozone and disappear. The ones that stay seem to have lost their life, tilting on one side or refusing to open at all.
The doorbell rang this morning. It was my daughter Eve letting me know that the umbrella with which I sent her to school wouldn't open. It was hardly raining, but Eve is seven and if an umbrella is in hand, it must be opened and twirled, if only for effect.
Sadly for Eve, I had already crossed "Get Eve to School" off my list. Her return was not welcome because I was tired. "You don't even NEED an umbrella," I said loudly. Okay, I lied. I actually yelled. I took it in my hand, and pulled the handle firmly, releasing the entire telescoping arm into my hand in two pieces. It was broken. Now I was mad. "Just go to school, Eve." I threw the hood on her coat and shuffled her out, both of us crying on the either side of the door.
I think the hardest part about parenting is that children reveal our impoverished places.
When Eve needed an umbrella, I was angry with her not because of her need. I was angry because I saw my poverty.
I saw that I wasn't prepared. (I hate being disorganized.)
I saw that I had to go shopping. (Don't like shopping.)
She already has an umbrella which she broke. (Gosh, I hate waste.)
My husband usually wakes at 4am and Eve goes to school at almost 9am. My morning has already been 5 hours long by the time she goes to school. I was tired and the day had barely begun. (Come to me, coffee.)
My daughter needed something I couldn't give her and that registered to me as inadequacy and weakness.
I tossed out the idea that I could be a perfect parent long ago. My goal in parenting is not perfection. My goal is not that I will be everything to my daughters. I don't have the capacity for that. In fact, I don't necessarily want my daughters to utter, "She was always there for me." A few years back I called my mother on the phone and she said, "Honey, I'd love to talk but I have to go on a hike with some friends." I was thrilled. "Mom, go. Enjoy your hike."
My game plan is this: To show my children that life is beautiful and worth observing. That life is also hard and worth fighting for. I want them to know that they will make mistakes but that they don't have to be defined by them. In fact, the one day on the calendar which we circle as their birthday is not entirely true. They will be reborn many times. Statistically, that would be every seven years, but some life events cause those changes to come more quickly. I want my children to know that the purpose of life is not to find all the answers and be an expert in something. The purpose in life is discovery and joy. And if that joy is rightly placed, they'll find God right there in their midst, satisfying their hunger and cheering them on.
So here's how the umbrella story ended. First, I cried big donkey tears. Then I wiped my face and went on amazon.com to order Eve a new umbrella. When she got home from school, she instantly remembered my angry state before she left and so it was no trouble to launch into an apology. Then we had cookies and laughter and moved on.
I mentally re-offered God all my poverty, all my regrets and re-aligned my day with the reality before me. Life is beautiful and worth observing. Life is hard but worth the fight.
