(Not) Winning

Preparing my house for an upcoming family reunion barbeque has forced me to confront some ugly truths: 1)  Spiders enjoy the nooks and crannies of my home, as they are undisturbed by dust cloth or broom most of the time, 2) Some of the sticky splotches on the floor are quite stubborn simply because they have been happy, stepped-over squatters for...ahem...weeks, and 3) dust builds up quickly, even on items that are used daily, like lamps, headboards, and stairs.  I live in this space daily!  How do surfaces in my house look, upon closer inspection, like the surface of the moon (in the case of the dust), or like a scene from Arachnophobia (in the case of the spiders), or like...something that's been splattered with unknown slop (in the case of my floors)? 

With the exception of some who really make cleaning a priority, there have to be some parents who feel my pain when they look at their cozy homes.  Any of you familiar with the "Company's-Coming-Scramble"?  That's the half hour before people come over when you shove stuff in closets and wipe off the most noticeable splotches and then stir up a cocktail to be sipping in a reclined position when the doorbell rings.  And then you apologize profusely for the state of your house that is not nearly as bad, in the main living areas, as it normally is.  But we pretend like this recently freshened-up state is natural, and we pray that the person visiting is completely fooled and completely not disgusted by our living conditions, or at least polite enough not to shatter my delusions.  I can remain inside my head, trying to ignore the critical cleaning fairy buzzing around telling me, "What is wrong with you?  Your kids are wading through the dust, except when their shoes are stuck in the goo!" The irony of it all is I'll go visit another family's house, who have most likely just labored through the Company's-Coming-Scramble, and I'll marvel at how they manage to live in such a gorgeous space and still keep up with their sticky, slobbery, yet endearing children.  Then the critical cleaning fairy turns into the self-critical-in-general fairy and demands to know why I can't get it together enough to have an up-kept house...oh, and also an up-kept family...oh, and also an up-kept marriage...oh, and also an up-kept classroom with up-kept students...it goes on and on.   I just want to keep up with everyone else who seems to be keeping up.

Last year after Zeke was born, I found myself trying to keep up--mostly with my sisters-in-law who each added second children to their families just months before.  I wanted to do what they could do...be home with the kids while my husband was at work/coaching, cart a toddler and a newborn around with me without seeming to freak out when all hell broke loose in a long grocery line, and be able to genuinely joke about the quirks and idiosyncrasies of only sleeping two hours at a time (or less).  Then, my baby had a milk protein allergy and I had to completely change my diet.  Then, my baby contracted RSV.  Then, my husband went to the state tournament for four days after what seemed like too many days of losing him to wrestling tournaments and meets.  Then, my husband had ankle surgery two days later and had to be off his feet (and unable to carry a baby) for six weeks.  I made myself believe repeatedly that I could cook dinner, and nurse a baby through the night, and help a two year-old with bedtime, and keep the house clean, and exercise, and act happy the whole time.  I tried so very hard to keep up.  As a result, I began to have panic attacks.  I began to fear everything, all day long.   

I called my sister-in-law at her office (she's our children's doctor) originally with the goal of getting some reassurance about my baby having such a nasty virus, hoping to calm at least one of my fears that seemed to be hanging over my head like a cloud.  As I talked to her, I was trying to joke about how crazy life was for us, and then I completely lost it.  I had never cried in front of her, so I was feeling awkward, but it felt good to be blubbering about how totally inept at motherhood I was feeling.  I remember her saying to me, "Erin, I always think about how calm you seem to be.  I always wonder how you deal with everything without getting upset."  I was shocked at first that she thought that I was so composed all of the time, especially when I had been trying to be more like her. But when I thought about it more, I realized her impression of me was just because I was trying exceptionally hard to be good at something, or at least seem that way.  I had done it successfully for awhile, but I had seriously damaged myself in the process.  It's a hard lesson to learn that doing my best is not always going to be enough by itself (or by myself).  Yet I repeatedly try to believe it.

So what happens when we all try to keep up with the Joneses, and we're all the Joneses?  My feeling is that there's a great deal of competition going on between neighbors, with considerable pressure to stand out, or to seem like we're winning at life.  Very often it's unstated and uncouth to acknowledge it, especially between family and friends.  Check out some Facebook statuses, and following comments, for some great examples of this.  One mother updates about her child's latest above-average accomplishments; another mother responds that he must be an unbelievable (code word for frickin) genius!  One person posts a picture of the sunset over the ocean, cooing "My view before a candlelight meal," and another person responds that they are "jealous ;-)", and we all know that the winking face really means "like seriously, keep that to yourself while the rest of us are waiting in the longest line (of traffic or people) known to man."  What we put out there for people is purposeful, whether it's on Facebook or in our homes.  It's showing our daily life successes, and it's showing disappointment when we don't have what someone else does.  It's constant competition because we all want the prize of being the best at something.  But the truth is, 99% of the time, our individual best isn't good enough to be the best.  And yet we spend our time passive-aggressively peacocking, or comparing ourselves to the peacock. 

I think we're all victims of society's conviction that we should win, and we should be able to do it alone.  I know I face the side effects of competition for an unattainable prize daily.  I strive to win at parenting, writing, teaching, or just plain old existing every day, and usually not consciously.  And then I start wondering why I feel so crappy about my parenting and housecleaning in comparison to other parents I know, who never seem to be suffering from insecurity and self-doubt.  I become a slave to the Company's-Coming-Scramble to appear to other people that I am winning.  I even post clever updates on Facebook to make myself feel better about what I'm slowly beginning to learn about being just one out of seven billion people.  I will not always win.  In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't even matter if I lose every race I participate in (by the way, I am leaving that dangling preposition as a rebellion against winning at grammar).  What I have to start realizing now, I think, is that the process of trying to win brings along with it genuine, blissful joy when we think we're winning, and hopefully (and more importantly), deep and reflective humility when we aren't.  Really, if I was the best mother, the best wife, the best house cleaner all of the time, I'd have absolutely nothing to strive for, and I'd be a hard, empty shell of a person.  I might as well surrender to this now.  In fact, since winning is a statistical impossibility, I should probably be spending most of my time with my face to the floor in reverence to the only one true perfection (my Creator).  Because I'm pretty sure that my faith and prayer are the only things that have gotten me through many-a realization that I'm not (cannot be) winning.

So here's my prayer for this week, as I try to make my house and yard look like it is effortlessly maintained for the sake of impressing my family:

Lord, grant me the grace and humility to realize that I don't have to win to have value.  That I am loved and can be loved, even when my house, or my family, or my life is a mess.  Help me celebrate success and reflect on failure as two different ways to encounter Your love for me and the world.  Amen.