Chasing Superwoman Page 7
I had so much fun volunteering for Nick’s birthday that I decided to do it again the last day of school. I even signed up to plan the last-day-of-school party. The day before the last day of school, I emailed Nick’s teacher to see what I needed to do. Apparently, the party had already been planned, and I had deleted the emails telling me what to bring. In any event, she was pleased to have another set of hands and told me I was welcome to show up. Nick was thrilled, and I took the entire day off work.
On the last day of school, the kids have a swim party and meet their first-grade teachers. Not only had Nick been placed in the class I had requested, he was placed with two of his very best friends. Nick was beaming. Over half the kindergarten mothers were present on the last day of school, most of them eager to find out about first-grade teachers. I overheard several remarks about Nick and his friends being placed in the same class with the school’s top-notch first-grade teacher. “I wonder how that happened,” one mother said to another. The mafia was in an uproar. Another mother mentioned under her breath but loud enough to be heard that it was complete taboo to request a teacher, and the principal never honors such requests. I bit my tongue and smiled.
First grade is even more complicated. Nick brings home a red homework folder every night. He usually has nightly homework in reading and basic math. Spelling homework is always assigned each Monday and due on Thursday. By Friday I’m completely exhausted. I don’t remember having homework in first grade. If I did, I can guarantee my parents didn’t have to sign a nightly homework log.
How will I ever manage when Anna starts kindergarten? By then, I’ll be inundated with second-grade homework. The good news is I won’t be a rookie. I’ll arrive at kindergarten registration by 7:00 a.m., and Anna will get the best teacher. I’ll buy more coffee, write more letters, and pray more. Being a mother of school-aged children is something I don’t take lightly. As much as I make fun of the mafia, it’s my own insecurity and guilt that drives me to make fun of women I don’t know, who have time I wish I had and get to spend more time and energy with their kids at school than I will ever know. I can’t argue with their intentions. The mafia and I have something in common. We’re all trying to figure out what’s best for our children.
I should have written The Idiot’s Guide to Grade School for Parents instead of this book. It would be a best seller and I’d be a very rich woman. The problem is I don’t think I could write such a book with any degree of passion. There’s simply no formula. Every time I think I have it figured out, the rules change. Kindergarten may be about face time and volunteering, but first grade is about homework and carpool. I can only guess about the expectations of second grade, let alone the years to come.
I’m against formulas anyway, just as I’m against instruction manuals. So I decide to just live day by day and pray.
Dear Lord, help me to trust You to take care of my kids at school. Forgive me for always trying to take matters into my own hands and battling with the system for control. Show me how to support my kids at school, even when I can’t be with them. And help me not to resent the mafia. I confess my own insecurity and pray You would take away the nagging guilt of wanting to be two places at once, and show me that You are in control, even though I’m not. Amen.
SIX
Superwoman Goes to Hollywood
Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.
1 Samuel 16:7
I grew up in a church that embraced the fundamentalist traditions of no drinking, no swearing, and no dancing. “We don’t drink, smoke, or chew, or go with girls who do.” Ironically, the only time I experimented with alcohol as a teenager was with my church youth group. It was a short experiment. I got sick, woke up in a fog, and quickly decided this was a “thou shalt not” worth adhering to. As for swearing, no one in my family used curse words, including me.
But no dancing? I couldn’t deal with that.
I have always liked the story about King David dancing before the Lord. His wife, Michal, apparently didn’t agree. She scolded him for “disrobing in the sight of the slave girls,” but David didn’t seem to care what anyone thought about him except God Himself.1 I like that about David. Now I realize that David wasn’t dancing in the nightclub scene—he was dancing before the Lord in worship. I just genuinely appreciate his spirit of freedom.
Late-Night Fashion
Too often Christians are caught up worrying about what other people think and, as a result, they never make it out to the nightclubs. Not me. I have always liked the nightclub scene. People are fun to watch, and it gives me a chance to dance.
During college I went on a mission trip to Eastern Europe with a group of other students who, like me, always figured God wasn’t against dancing. Our primary goal was to build spiritual bridges with other college students in an emerging, post-communist society. And, yes, some of our best spiritual conversations were in the nightclubs. Now that I am married with three kids, I don’t get out to nightclubs much. Shocking, I know. But every once in awhile I muster up the nerve to go out, just so I can see what’s going on out there. Each time I do, I learn a few things.
Like the last time I went out in Hollywood. We had a partners’ meeting in nearby Los Angeles, which is where a bunch of lawyers get together, eat and drink too much, and talk about how much money we can make for years to come. The first night of the partners’ meeting, a group of us decided to go to this new club in Hollywood. The club is too exclusive for the average Midwestern lawyer to get into, but we had a few connections. Jock Jill took a cab with me to meet the rest of the group, and some blond-haired, six-foot-three bodyguard named Chris let us in the back door. It’s the kind of club where you can’t find the back door unless you know what you’re doing. We didn’t know what we were doing. Chris spotted us from the inside and opened the door. Midwestern lawyers are easy to spot in Hollywood. Jill had a pretty swanky outfit on, but Midwestern swanky has long been out in Hollywood.
I was overdressed. I had clothes on. The new style in Hollywood is apparently no pants. I knew that underwear had long been out, but no pants? This was news to me. I’m exaggerating only slightly. There were several women in the club who wore long shirts with nothing but their birthday suits on the bottom. I am not beyond staring. I’m a mother with two daughters, after all, and I need to be informed. I dared to think, “I wonder what their mothers would say?” Even Superwoman wears underwear. Doesn’t she?
Once I got over the initial shock and stares, I felt very sorry for these underwearless women who were wearing no pants. It just made me sad. Then I thought of Anna. Ever since she turned two, Anna has resisted clothing. She’s always hot, which is one of the reasons she’s constantly taking off her clothes. She doesn’t like to wear underwear. It’s too restraining. I thought this was just a phase, but apparently Anna has embraced West Coast fashion.
I’m already having visions of Anna in Hollywood and it’s quite disturbing. So I pray, “Dear Lord, please don’t let Anna grow up like those women in Hollywood with no underwear and no pants.”
What can I do to make sure it never happens? It’s already happening. Just prior to my trip to LA, she was playing in the snow in her bathing suit and snow boots. And that’s in the middle of winter, below freezing. If she ever moves to a warm climate, she’ll probably give up clothes altogether. I know my neighbors must wonder what kind of mother I am. And unlike King David, I tend to worry too much about what other people think.
My mother always quotes from Proverbs with confidence, “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”2 I just don’t have my mother’s level of faith, but I wish I did. I wonder if I can quote that verse as a guarantee. Even if I can, there’s no guarantee kids won’t rebel when they’re young. It says when they’re old they won’t turn away. So do I have to wait until my kids are old to see if they turned out? I might be dead by th
en. I’ll have to admit, since I’ve become a mother I’ve placed a heightened value on my own life. Hollywood is proof that my children are going to need me, at least for moral censorship, for years to come. Lawyers can be replaced. Mothers can’t.
Inner Beauty
Like me, Anna loves to dance. It’s innate. She first started asking me if she could go to dance class back when she was three. I found a ballet program for three-year-olds but decided to put off the inevitable. She still kept asking. I finally gave in after she turned four. Ballet class is the only time each week she doesn’t refuse to get dressed. Besides, you don’t have to wear underwear with a leotard and tights. Being a former ballerina, I can’t argue with her. Underwear only gets in the way.
Anna is also consumed with her appearance. Like her hair. She was having one of her three-going-on-thirteen tantrums, and she burst out that she didn’t like her curly hair. Through her sobbing, she proclaimed in a fit that her hair looked “terrible.” It nearly broke my heart. I told her that her curly hair is beautiful, that Mommy has curly hair, and that God made her hair curly. She continued to cry.
I have no idea how this happened. How did my young, beautiful daughter become so concerned about how she looks? It’s unthinkable. Immediately I think it must be my fault. I wear too much makeup. She sees that I spend too much time primping, getting ready for work. I really need to trade in those high heels for some sensible flats. I’m gone too much. I should have never left her overnight on business when she was only three months old, even if she was with my mother. If she and I could spend more time together, she’d never feel insecure.
I thought it was just Anna, but then Abby started. Before she could walk, she started wearing my high heels around the house. One of her first words was “shoes.” She and Anna constantly play dress-up and princesses, raiding my makeup and jewelry. What’s a mother to do? Of course I can tell my girls that “God looks at the heart,” not outward appearances, but these words seem hollow when everything around them is threatening to rob their innocence.
I try to read Anna Bible stories before bedtime. I even bought her the Princess Bible, but she still prefers to read about the Disney princesses. Ariel is her favorite. Unfortunately, Ariel is no role model. Forget obedience to parents or nurturing her God-given talents and inner beauty. She’s in love with Prince Eric and will put everything aside, including her own soul, for his admiration. So she disobeys her father and makes a deal with an evil sea witch to give up her only talent, her voice, for a man she has met only one time. And I’m trying to teach my girls to love God first, resist evil, and resist men, at least until they complete graduate school.
Lord, I’m really struggling here. My girls need a role model, please help.
Where am I going to find a suitable role model for my young daughters these days? I have always admired the woman in Proverbs 31, but it’s just hard to find a modern-day, “cool” role model who lives by the virtue “[c]harm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.”3 These words mean so much to me, now that I am a mother of girls. My own parents raised five girls. No one told me it would be this hard. And Ariel is no help.
The pressures on girls today are simply unbearable. Every time I shop in the little girls’ department I am stunned by the prominent display of training bras. Call me old-fashioned, but I really don’t think my preschoolers need to be concerned about their breasts. And these stores aren’t even subtle about it. Sure, society has always been focused on outward appearances, but I believe the bra messaging has recently spun out of control. I remember shopping for bras with my mother as a preteen, a very modest and private experience. We had to ask the lady in the lingerie department for her “assistance,” and she brought us training bras from behind the counter, prepackaged in cardboard boxes. Things have changed.
I shudder just thinking about the teenage years. I think back to my own youth. You could have told me that beauty is fleeting until you were blue in the face. I wouldn’t have given up big hair, eyeliner, and miniskirts to save my life. Yet my own mother was patient. The fear of the Lord was modeled, not forced.
Looking back at old photos, I wish someone would have told me to lighten up on the eyeliner. Eventually, I abandoned big hair and miniskirts, but not overnight. I’m too old for miniskirts—at least that’s what Doug tells me. The big hair is genetic, but nothing a little hair gel can’t fix.
My mother always showered her daughters with compliments. We would stumble out of bed with bad breath and bed-head. Before we could open our sleepy eyes, she would stroke our hair and say, “My, I really like your hair that way,” or, “You know, I don’t even think you need makeup.” She never told us we were too fat or too thin, and she didn’t even bother to tell me when my eye makeup was too heavy or my jeans were too tight. I got to figure that out on my own. Instead, she was never negative about our appearances and always said, “You’re just right the way you are.” The result? I developed a terrible ego that eventually matured into a solid sense of security. At least I never felt the need to display myself in public or go without underwear.
It seemed to work, so I might as well try it with Anna. Every day I tell her she is beautiful just the way she is. I’m not lying because she is literally the loveliest expression of God’s creation I have ever seen. (Abby is still too young to rival her, but will be equally beautiful as soon as she grows some hair.) I tuck Anna in bed, then I tell her that even though she is beautiful, the most important thing is to have a beautiful heart. Sometimes I quote Proverbs 31 out loud and beg God that she will grow up to value inner beauty. Anna gives me a big smile and she’s asleep in about thirty seconds.
Anna has announced she wants to be a rock star when she grows up. She is crazy about Hannah Montana, and I can only hope that Miley Cyrus won’t disappoint the millions of little girls who are looking up to her. Especially my little girls. I cringe every time the Britney Spears’ tune plays on the Barbie keyboard as Anna and Abby sing in unison, “I’m not that innocent.” I remember when Britney was young and innocent. Such a bright, young, talented star.…
I confess I haven’t prayed for Britney Spears or Miley Cyrus. I know I should, but I have my hands full at the moment. I’m too busy worrying about Anna wearing underwear and Abby’s obsession with high heels. I thank God for showing me the women in Hollywood as a reminder of just how fragile my little girls are. Something good always comes out of my experiences in nightclubs. So I keep telling Anna the most important thing is to be beautiful on the inside, and I keep praying that she and Abby will grow up to be women who fear the Lord. I want to be a Proverbs 31 woman, a true role model for my children, but so many of us with daughters are still so scared for them because we know the pressures we felt and sometimes gave in to as girls. And we know the stunts we pulled and got away with, before the days of GPS tracking, of course.
So even though it’s her dream, I really hope and pray that Anna won’t become a rock star (unless God speaks to me out loud and tells me it’s His will). The pressures on girls today are just unbearable. What mother would want her little girl subjected to yet the additional pressures of Hollywood? And what mother doesn’t want her little girl to always be sweet and innocent?
Too much pressure for one little girl.
SEVEN
Superwoman Goes to Church
But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.… There should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.
1 Corinthians 12:18–20, 25
I can still remember a former pastor’s words. He was explaining how evil the world would get in the last days, quoting with authority from the Olivet Discourse: “At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each othe
r.… Because of the increase in wickedness, the love of most will grow cold.”1
He went on and explained that we are obviously living in the last days. The evidence? Mothers who put their children in day care. Forget wars, rumors of wars, earthquakes, and biblical prophecy. Day care would usher in the second coming of Christ. Why would a devout Christian woman sacrifice her children for a career, unless of course her heart had grown cold? Never in all of human history have mothers abandoned their children for a paycheck. Not until now. Yes, there are certain “circumstances” where a mother has to work. But in most instances, mothers who work outside the home are motivated by good old-fashioned greed.
My jaw dropped and my heart sank. I could feel myself getting warm, and I felt as if everyone in the room was watching me. I was in my third year of law school, ready to launch my career at a big firm. And I wasn’t exactly planning on being a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be a top-notch lawyer and a devoted mother. Would the church still accept me?
I went home and read the Olivet Discourse for myself. I didn’t see any mention of day care or working mothers. Was I missing something?
Doug told me not to worry about it. “Who cares what people think? What matters is what we think.”
Actually, I was more interested in knowing what God thinks. I just couldn’t hear Him. Too many people were speaking for Him.
Eve’s Curse
This wasn’t the first time I had heard the church take a swing at working mothers. Usually, it was in the context of Adam and Eve, a regular hot button for women and the church. I vividly remember sitting through a Bible class where the teacher explained the roles of husbands and wives, based on Adam and Eve. Adam’s curse was that he had to toil in the ground. Hence, men are in charge of work, providing for the family. Eve’s curse was that she would have pain in childbirth. This was figurative in part, meaning that it was Eve’s responsibility for the family and children. One of the students raised her hand and stated, “I know a situation where the wife has a good job, providing for the family, and the husband takes care of the kids.” The teacher responded, “I would seriously question whether the husband and wife are living out God’s plan.”