Everything That Is Good and Thoughtful and Kind, I Learned From My Mother

Me and my sweet "Lil" at Grant's graduation, May 2010

Thanks to my sister Mary for the photo -- as always,she and her sweet husband

are always quick to capture the moments I most want recorded.

I had originally meant to make this a Mother's Day post, but since we spent Mother's Day in the Redwoods and life only got crazier after that, what would have been a nice Mother's Day post will now serve as a tribute to my mother (whom we affectionately call "Lil") for her birthday month.

A few months back, my mom and I had a sweet phone conversation that I've thought about many times since. Lil and I aren't real phone people, but every once in a while, when she and I both have the time and we're feeling chatty, we'll have a really nice, long chat. What stuck with me from this particular conversation was an experience my mom had while buying greeting cards. What you need to know about my mom is that she has a knack for selecting THE perfect greeting card. She can spend hours browsing card shops for just the right cards. Whatever she finds perfectly expresses her sentiments for the receiver -- it's a real gift of hers and a tribute to the time (and money -- cards are expensive!) that she's willing to spend to find just the right card. To me it's a tribute to the thoughtfulness of my mom -- she always finds a way to do and say just the right thing to show her love, and card-giving is just one way she does it.

So on that particular greeting-card hunt, my mom went to the register, and as Lil always does, she had the several cards she planned to purchase turned over, tucked under their individual envelopes, with the bar codes visible, so that the cashier could ring them up without having to turn them over and or worry about getting them back with the right envelope. Just one little thing my mom does, probably without noticing she does it, to be considerate of others. The cashier, however, was quick to bring it to my mom's attention and thanked her for making her job so easy for her. Lil, surprised and maybe even a little embarrassed by the cashier's observation, thought for a minute, and said, "My mom taught me to to do that -- she was always thoughtful like that."

I have thought many times about my mom's statement. And, with all of the warm memories of my mom's mother, my Nana, I can attest that what my mom said is true -- my Nana was the epitome of a gracious, considerate, and kind woman. She was always finding quiet, thoughtful ways to serve, just like my mom is always finding quiet, thoughtful ways to serve. I loved visiting my Nana because I knew she loved me. Not because she bought me elaborate gifts or made a big production of showing me she cared, but because she was attune to my needs and feelings, and always did and said just the right thing to make me feel good. And just like her mother, my mom does the exact same thing. In her own quiet ways, Lil nurtures and loves and lets people know they're special. She even cares enough to make the job of a clerk at a store counter a little easier. And just as my mom learned from her mother, everything that is good and thoughtful and kind, I learned from my mother.

In contrast to my mother's experience of courtesy and gratitude at the card store, I had a horrible mommy moment today in which I came to appreciate my mother's example even more. I'll spare you the gruesome details (and it was gross), but while I was waiting in a long line at the library checkout desk, with a stack of books and DVDs in one arm, and wiggly 30-pound Eliot in the other, poor Eliot threw up -- all over himself, all over me, all over the library floor. And long-story short, the dozens of people around me, all insistent on keeping their place in line, suddenly dispersed, and no one at the counter, from which I was only a few feet away, would help me. No one would help me. No one offered to take my stack of books so I could run Eliot to the restroom to clean up, no library workers assisted in cleaning up the mess, no one would even look at me. One person literally threw his hands in the air and ran away from me. By the time Eliot and I got to the bathroom to clean up, we were both in tears, and I was so embarrassed by what had happened and shocked that no one -- the many patrons and workers who no doubt understood what it's like to have a sick child -- offered to do anything to help me. Instead, I was made to feel like a disgusting nuisance. I did my best to clean up quickly and get my business taken care of at the counter (where the librarian neither did nor said anything to comfort mascara- and vomit-covered me). Despite her basically ignoring me, I apologized profusely and got out of there as fast as I could, feeling devastated that I had been surrounded by people and yet felt so terribly alone and shunned.

I can't say for sure what I would have done if I had been an onlooker of a similar scene. Admittedly, there's not a whole lot someone else can do. I understand people have queasy stomachs and varying levels of tolerance for such things. I understand that a stranger might not feel comfortable offering to hold my purse, and I definitely did not expect someone else to wipe up my son's puke. But maybe at least say, "Oh, I'm so sorry, can I get you some paper towels?" so I didn't have to tromp across the library with a sobbing, sick child? Would that have been asking too much? I can't help but think that the same people who wouldn't make eye contact with me, who spread as far away from me as possible probably have children or grandchildren, and maybe, just maybe, those kids have thrown up before, and quite possibly, in public. And maybe they've felt humiliated and helpless and overwhelmed, and having someone -- anyone -- to acknowledge their difficulty might have been all they needed to hold back their tears of embarrassment and make it through such a catastrophe without feeling 100% mortified. I think I would have found a way to help -- at least I hope I would. I know my mom would. She would have reached for a tissue in her purse, had a kind word to say -- you know, just the right mixture of humor and compassion, something along the lines of, "Oh that's nothing -- I had a child [me] that would have launched it much farther than that!" -- to make the poor mom feel better.

I don't know what this world is coming to. I see plenty of good in the world, but I also see a huge lack of compassion and kindness --all of the things my mom and Nana taught me cost so little but matter so much. I told Grant after what happened today that I guess I need to grow back my thick skin now that we're back in Utah (I really hate to be stereotypical, but sorry fellow Utahans, after living away for three years, I'm realizing that in general, we're a pretty inconsiderate crowd). Grant told me that he hopes for others' sakes (and for my own), that I won't grow back any supposed thick skin -- the world is in too big a need of sensitive and compassionate people. And lest I sound too cynical and ungrateful, I am thankful for those who are thoughtful and kind, including and especially my mother. If there is anything that is good or thoughtful or kind about me, I owe complete credit to my mother. For she is the kind of person who turns cards around for a clerk in a card shop, and, bless her for it, the kind of person who helps a poor pathetic mom on a lousy day.

My vow to myself this week and always is to be a little better, a little more thoughtful, a little kinder. A little more like my Lil.