[Note: I wrote this submission for the Power of Moms over the summer. These are the kinds of things that I want Jack and Lachlan to know about me.]
I was so grateful to find a job after graduating from college, that I never really asked enough questions about what it fully entailed. When I arrived at the newly designed “children’s animal farm” as their only animal health specialist I discovered that it wasn’t just cows, sheep, horses and goats, but ostriches, water buffalo, miniature rabbits and ducks. So many ducks. My job as loosely defined as it was, was to develop an animal vaccination and breeding program and to keep all federal animal safety and health documentation. It turned out that the paperwork was the easy part. Wrangling all of those animals was hard! Have you ever tried to vaccinate a water buffalo or heal a cut on an ostrich?
Needless to say, there was very little down time and most days I was lucky to leave with all of my fingers and toes. I quickly developed a necessary friendship with a retired dairy farmer, Mr. Fox, who volunteered his time on the farm. He was practical, helpful—and could milk our dairy cow in under five minutes (no automatic milker on this farm)! Mr. Fox had raised nine children and although a little rough around the edges, he was my salvation on that farm.
One afternoon I asked him to answer the constantly ringing phone in the main office. It was a call from the Utah School for the Blind and Deaf. They were requesting a guided tour of the farm. I asked Mr. Fox to tell them that we didn’t have time for the tour, but he didn’t listen to me (which occasionally happened). My jaw dropped when I heard him say, “yeah, be here tomorrow and I’ll give the tour myself.” I took a look at those huge, rough dairyman hands and his old coveralls and thought, “this is going to be a disaster.”
But I was wrong. The following afternoon, I walked through the large barn. Mr. Fox was ready. He had the llamas brushed, chickens caged, and the cow in the stall ready to be milked for the children. Upon their arrival, the children were climbing on top of each other to be near Mr. Fox. He helped them pet every animal, picked them up and held them, and recited crazy poetry about farm animals. He was a rockstar.
The grand finale was miilking the Holstein cow. One smaller blind girl who had clung to his back overall pocket for the entire tour finally called out to him, “Mr. Fox, I cannot see. You have got to help me!” Mr. Fox turned around to lift the child into his arms. He held her body up next to the huge bovine. She felt every inch of that cow. She placed her hand on the udder and ran the warm milk through her fingers.
And then she did something unforgettable.
She placed both of her hands on the sides of his face and looked directly into his eyes and said, “Oh, Mr. Fox, I see her now…and she is beautiful.”
I’ve thought so much lately about what it means to really see things for what they are—or even what they could be. In reflection, I can see that motherhood is a lot like this first job—I had no idea what it would really demand! I’m often lost, confused, and unsure of how to handle situations with wild animals (my children). This particular experience occasionally surfaces in my memory when I think about what a special experience I would have missed because I “didn’t have the time.” To see something new, grand or beautiful requires the right amount of time—especially if you don’t know exactly what you are looking for, or even what you are looking at.
Lately I worry that I’ve been blinded by my own expectations, inabilities, or lack of balance. How frequently do I feel overwhelmed at the prospect of small tasks that could lead to a joyful experience with my children? Is my life so crowded with worries and thoughts for things, places, and business—that I have lost my vision for experiencing the real loveliness of motherhood?
Blindness as a condition is rarely described as absolute darkness. It is often a condition of degrees. Some individuals have a sense of light; others have portions of the whole which are blurry and undefined. To some extent, every mother suffers from her own unique form of blindness. Life is busy and complicated. There choices to be made and consequences to bear, but consciously slowing down, asking for help, and using all of your other senses can certainly help you to truly see.
While recognizing, that total blindness to the joys of motherhood isn’t my problem, I know that I suffer from a partial blindness which diminishes my experience. For example, I have difficulty in recognizing just how well behaved my children really are—that portion of my sight is lost due to the fact that I’m constantly in a hurry to get from one task to another. How much more grateful would I be for their willingness to obey and follow directions if I allowed myself a bit more time to accommodate their slower natures?
Understanding that this type of blindness isn’t permanent can be the first step toward a new perspective. The second might be recognizing that other women (and men) are there to help us better recognize where we fall short and assist us in finding the best path. Essentially, they can be your own personal “Mr. Fox.” Focusing on being more deliberate with the balance and choices we make in our lives will enable us to sharpen up the edges of our vision—to really see where our priorities should be.
