“The last temptation is the greatest treason, To do the right deed for the wrong reason.” — T.S. Eliot
When I was a teenager I was fascinated by this quote, by the notion that in the end, purity of motive made the difference between deed being good or not. It seemed clear that you were supposed to do the right thing because it was right, and at the same time everywhere there was this subtext of “Treat people the way you want to be treated (so they’ll treat you that way back)” or “Be nice so people like you.”

Here’s the problem, I cannot separate out the philosophical, the religious, and that which is just obligatory to satisfactory participation in relationship with another person. I struggle with generosity; I think I am a generous person, I certainly don’t say no sometimes when my husband wishes I would. But how does an act of generosity weigh when I realize that there were strings attached, whether I was hoping for reciprocation, gratitude or even acknowledgment? What about when it’s about sustaining a picture of myself within my own head? Has anything I’ve ever done really had a pure motive? Maybe my standard is my relationship with my kids, where I do stuff to make them happy because their being happy makes me happy, but that’s such an inherently asymmetrical relationship in terms of power and responsibility, that it’s hard to compare that to a friendship. And as a friend I am so happy to offer what I can, whether it’s picking up a child from school or picking up the check at dinner, and at the same time, so bad at asking for anything in return, that I kind of ignore the reciprocation aspect of it until things feel all screwed up.

It sometimes occurs to me that self-knowledge, awareness of all the envy and jealousy and insecurity and schadenfreude that pass through my head are just going to convince me I deserve only bad things, and that even incites fear that I try to be a better person not for the sake of goodness itself, but for the sake of resting comfortably within my own head. And as I parent towards helping my kids find the inherent reward and punishment in their own actions I still wonder if even this sort of reward and punishment taints our motives.

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Thank you!

It’s not just the assumption of what four kids is like — I think that as we are reaching certain hallmarks of self-sufficiency — all of them able to eat by themselves and out of diapers, getting closer to the fourth being able to dress himself (and brothers able to help him through the tough spots), two of them able to do their own laundry, prepare lunchboxes, read out loud to the younger ones — and their all getting along pretty well most of the time, well able to entertain one another, this is the least work I’ve had to do since starting the whole parenting gig (hence even the attempt to write regularly!)

More rigorous self-scrutiny. I’ve wondered if this comment bugs me because it re-opens old wounds of feeling like people are putting me in this “other” category so they don’t have to address me as a person, can dismiss my feelings. Many years ago I took a prenatal yoga class which involved a lot of support/sharing before we got into the moving our bodies — and I remember talking in the group about flylady.net, which, I told another overwhelmed expectant mother, may look like it’s packaged for someone you’re not, but contains tools, like building routines, doing things fifteen minutes at a time, breaking overwhelming jobs into small steps, that are useful to anybody trying to maintain a home. Two years later I was back in prenatal yoga, the teacher had suddenly become all evangelical about the flylady, and she as much as told me that when she’d first heard about it she’d assumed it was for people like me, you know, housewives, and she had dismissed it.

But you know what? I’m over that, actually. If this were all the “you must just be a natural born mother, unlike me” comment was, I’d just file it under the “dumb, insensitive things people say.” Yeah, they’re missing a whole lot of who I am, my other talents and abilities and interests. Their loss. I am proud of the job I am doing and believe that it does matter. A lot. And it feels good to write that because one of the ways I would magically change the world is to make the idea that the work of making new people and keeping households running matters universally acknowledged and so fundamental to everybody’s world view that it started affecting national policies and the way we run our society. And I realize that I am starting to truly internalize it, the way I want to internalize the “health at every size” ideas so eloquently set out at Kate Harding’s Shapely Prose. And internalizing it is, no doubt, necessary before I can do anything to make it real in the world.

So I hate the idea that motherhood is this in-born, natural capacity one either has or one doesn’t. Because it gives people who are finding it hard an out — an excuse. Maybe the most useful aphorism I’ve gotten from my twelve stepping friends is “You cannot judge your insides by somebody else’s outsides.” I’d like to suggest that a little intimate conversation would quickly reveal that we all find it hard, though we are encouraged to make it look easy and natural and not let the fraying seams show.

If I consider myself a pretty good mother, most days, it’s because I’ve done work at changing behaviors of my own that weren’t working, done work at finding models of connecting with little kids and gently getting them to do the things you need them to. I’ve read carefully, and, dammit, I’ve practiced and practiced and practiced.

Have I experienced some ‘natural’ advantages? My parents were pretty good models, though I don’t do things exactly the way they did. I’ve been pretty confident about the whole project, some lucky combination of faith and temperament. That all helps, along with the willingness to look for the resources we need. But I think the single thing that made a difference was a sense of the importance of it — you meet people all the time who are great parents even though their own were everything from apathetic to abysmal.

I am surprised, writing this at the size of this soapbox I’ve climbed up on. I don’t think of myself as a judgmental person. All the issues that news stories and magazines have told us divide mothers, work or stay home, breast or bottle, co-sleep or cry it out, I advocate for people figuring out what works for them. I think it’s really arrogant to presume one solution would work for everyone.

If a friend wants advice, I usually ask a lot of questions, trying to figure out what their own gut feeling is, because trying some solution because somebody else tells you should even when you’re not sure is generally courting disaster. If it’s something like “How long should I let a baby cry before picking it up” you can get “expert” answers from all over the spectrum, but the baby will pick up on ambivalence if you’re feeling conflicted about the answer. Honestly, lots of different approaches work, but they work best when you’re confident and consistent in them.

I try to be a friend the way I try to parent, calling out the strengths, the things I appreciate, because if we build each other’s confidence we are bound to be better parents, better people. And I don’t really believe in criticizing or pointing out failings, because people are aware of those themselves when they’re ready to deal with them. So it is startling to have this judgmental thing bubbling up. I feel strongly about people who just give up on themselves, on their kids. There is no such thing as a natural-born parent, and if you are finding it difficult, if you are having issues, it is your responsibility to start looking for some answers.

My kids: Whatever, Mom.