What Did Mothers Do...

I think I've mentioned before, that Sophia and I are reading Laura Ingralls's Little House books, one chapter a night, after Henry and Amelia are in bed. Our bookmark is an index card with new words on it - words like "butcher." We look at these pictures to help us really understand how a hog is butchered before it is salted and hung up to freeze and dry before the long winter. Sophia is learning more about life back in "the olden days," getting a little more grounded in things like where our food comes from, how precious things like sugar and new dresses really are.

But me, I think re-reading these books as a mother now, I am getting the better education. Sometimes, when I'm trying to do something and I throw Henry a handful of Cheerios to keep him happy, I think what did mothers do before Cheerios? Or PBS Kids? Or double strollers?

But the thing is, I do know what mothers did. I think about Caroline and her life in the woods and on the prairie. It was a hard life, for sure. But it was so much simpler. They didn't need Cheerios to keep their babies happy while waiting for their coffee at Starbucks, because they weren't running to Starbucks during nap time. They didn't need PBS Kids to entertain their children while they tried to check email, because they weren't checking email. They didn't need double strollers to run errands all over town, because they didn't drag their children all over town. They weren't trying to juggle their houses, their children, their careers, their childrens' social calendars and extra curriculars, their church volunteer duties... they put food on the table and made sure their children were safe, and when night fell, they listened to Pa play his fiddle and went to bed. Putting food on the table meant painstakingly churning butter and molding it into lovely little pats, it meant turning month-old salt pork into a meal with simple cornbread and handpicked beans. But it was beautiful, simple work. There was no constant tugging in a million different directions.

Right now I'm churning butter. The children are within feet of me, playing with their cornhusk doll. Right now I'm churning butter.

When I am cooking dinner, chopping five different vegetables - vegetables not in season, which have been shipped halfway across the world and taken for granted as they are easily plopped into my shopping basket - and listening to Pandora, helping Amelia with her Weekly Reader, talking to Davis on the phone to coordinate just exactly what time dinner will be ready, imploring Sophia to pick her many tiny Barbie accessories up off the living room floor before Henry eats them, my brain is abuzz.

Right now I am chopping vegetables. I still haven't addressed Henry's birthday invitations but I think I texted everyone the date just to be sure. I have a meeting Wednesday and I need my blue suit, which I forgot to pick up at the dry cleaner's. We have a birthday party in two weeks, but I can't find the invitation, and I need to email the mom to RSVP and get the details again. I need to make sure I have Henry's one year check up and Amelia's four year check up on the big calendar. Does Sophia have a clean white shirt for tomorrow? I need to tell Davis to check the outlet in Henry's room when he gets home. I forgot my grandfather's birthday yesterday. I still have a letter to write on my father's behalf to his attorney. I need to find a sitter for the auction next month. Right now I am chopping vegetables, but my mind is so far away.

It doesn't help that my work calendar looks like this



And so, as I think about life on the prairie, I think about simplifying. I think about the things that keep me from being able to chop vegetables in peace. The things that keep me up well after darkness falls. The things that make life so complicated and distracting. Because, when it comes right down to it, I just want to put food on our table and keep my children safe. Yes, there are some other things that must be done - going to work, getting the oil changed, going to the doctor. But there are always ways to cut back; and when my brain feels constantly abuzz, that's when I know. It's time to cut back, and it's time to organize. So, we have spent many days cleaning out the attic, organizing cabinets, purging, purging. And all the while, I am making an effort to take care of things as soon as I think of them, to keep a written to do list, to get those constant mental reminders and nagging thoughts out of my head, purging, purging.

Because the reward is priceless - it is PEACE. It is being able to give a child my undivided attention. It is being able to focus. To pour love into the stew that I am cooking. It is restful sleep.