The Message Beyond Your Works

When you arrive to admit you can’t please all or all at the same time, a sense of peace takes over disappointments and hurt.

When the world suggests to silence your joy, you learn to applaud yourself from within. 

That applause you give yourself is inner strength for what more you have to keep doing without any expected or anticipated ovations from anyone else.

In my years of what I call, playing “house”, I have always felt blessed to finally have a chance to raise a family my way. 

Contrarily, several components become an awareness of why reality is so much more difficult and challenging than any of what you try and place to happen ahead. 

While my heart is filled with gladness and so much warmth for all the work put in that has brought laughter and joy to not just my own children, but those around them, my students, and those around them, other children, and those around them, there ceases not a moment where I feel the heart, mind, body, and spirit are free from attacks to try and deter my soul from pushing through.

To challenge oneself to please all, all at once, is a try to one’s right intentions. Giving of your time and love could be the easier part compared to how, then, it is received by each and all.

Differences in each of us have been proven. Even the most identical of all twins show to not be exactly the same.

Within each human scope is a filter going differently through. There are many pieces taken in of what you have given, but each individual blocks out or allows in different portions of that love and energy you have exerted or expressed.

Having five children, and even my husband of over three decades, has proven this to me as if I were to think of this as a science application.

Think of those quick-response codes, hence, QR codes, as each of us having our very own set up individual entry system. On your end, you are giving your all. On the receiving end, each individual code is allowing only what can transmit past the parts not blocked. 

While sister over there is jumping for joy to see what’s on the table to eat, you’re wondering how come you don’t feel the same. 

While you are extremely happy to hear another lullaby, you wonder why the other sibling has asked to hear no more. 

We each have different entry codes, subject to our make-up of what language we interpret to be our kind of love. 

The exertion of a mother to give love runs into some form of manipulated behaviors. What we may think and perceive as love may merely be a sense of service to please or appease another.

That misinterpretation can lead to mixed messages of so many kinds, one child from another.

Nonetheless, you give of yourself what you know to be love. Your love is a mustard seed. Each of your children just don’t know it yet and perhaps may never. 

You must keeping sowing until the end of your time. The more sown, the more to propagate and thus, prosper. And so, you give with persistence and tenacity so that the habit is never broken, whether received with gratitude or not.

You simply have to continue planting, sowing goodness. What will come from your hard works will be fruitful in time. 

Your works shall not become the imprecated tree. 

What children don’t see, you must see inside. There, all is beautiful. All is fruitfully abundant.

Having just finished a Halloween party, I laugh again to myself to think that what lasted to almost four hours this time (the invitation to state from 4:30-6 pm with a follow-up trick-or-treating around the neighborhood), was all worth the countless mental and physical preparation to make happen.

Seeing all the kids laughing with parents around having a good time, I felt spirits were right this year to pull off another good Halloween.

Were all planned years this seemingly successful? No.

There was this one year where I had just had our two youngest to complete our family. I was determined to host yet another Halloween gathering where, in my mind, all would turn out just as festive as usual. 

When everyone came in, all I recall to do was sit down with other parents as kids just hung around. To get to that party was my finish line. I just hadn’t realized it at that moment until I actually got to it.

I literally flopped down on the carpet with other parents and just started having conversations with others.

Having fixated myself on caring for our two youngest at home, thinking to repeat the stay-at-home role I had done for our older three, I had ignored how starting and momentarily, stopping, my career as a teacher and, to add, maintaining the commitments and demands of raising high school and college children, I was at loss with my true stance. 

All I could do was just surrender onto that carpet.

When a parent made a comment for me to hear, “Is this all they are going to do?” I found my cue to get up and finish with some games before calling the party to an end, happily sending off my husband to walk around the neighborhood to trick-or-treat with other parents and children while I found my favorite time of being alone, in my own silence, waiting for trick-or-treaters to come to our door.

I had given that Halloween my all; all that I had at that time, that is. No good scores for this party host that year. I held up my own low score to judge my own self that evening. No help needed there. 

Playing house your way only works to your satisfaction when you get to control where everyone goes, what everyone does, what they say and how each say anything, at your command. 

And, when you feel to be done, you simply stop playing, pause to do other things before conjuring up another thought to go back to the house and play again.

I had no real dollhouse to play with growing up.

My home was my dollhouse. Except, real homes require real work. Certainly to note, you are no giant looking in. While in your mind you think at first you get to make the calls, in real life, people move under their own directions, speak their own minds, say however they want to say it, and most of all, the “playing” never stops.

To be in a game of real play, you find the best way to have any sense of control is to just be one step ahead of everybody else (playing along with you, not for you) in hopes to be prepared for the unanticipated. 

You learn time and time again, the unanticipated come. And, they keep coming.

We are not just talking about kids walking in at different times with different attitudes about how you planned for the evening to go. When not just your own children are surrounding you, but parents and their own children, you quickly realize you put yourself in a situation where while you just wanted everyone to come in, giggling and laughing, happy to be part of the hoped joy in the room, all are waiting for you to provide them that happiness and joy supposedly read between the lines of the invitation.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. This would have been my sensory options had I chosen to panic. But, instead, I rejoiced.

When both your husband and you are simply trying to continue life as is, you tell yourself, ‘Just another Halloween party.’

So, you ignore how you feel on the inside. The quicker you realize no one cares how you feel as a host just as long as you fulfill your duties of everyone’s needs to be entertained, the better you get at not taking anything personal.

You invited people over. Make their time worthwhile. That’s the unspoken agreement. 

Hosts of a party are not just in charge of food and entertainment, but the level of effort to get everyone to be enjoying themselves is being scored, portrayed by the faces of adults and children not just looking at you, but also talking about you.

That year? Honestly? I didn’t care. The party was for me to say I kept the race going for my youngest two as I had done year after year for our older three.

That was all. 

While I got up and managed with my husband to entertain best to finish to the invitation’s time end before trick-or-treating, I thought to myself, “You are all welcome. No offense taken.”

This year, I had inflatables out starting the first day of October, decorations done the night before, and happily worked the week before to make all the goodies to my joyful exhalation before the late afternoon arrived for all to arrive.

Here come the unanticipated ready to test your will and strength.

Our two youngest boys, who planned to lead some games, were silenced upon the very first guest being female classmates and their family. I got the cue and took over by greeting and chatting with all as I gave praise to one of the older children following in to lead a game. 

Although I had played music in the background, the hearing of some chatting and laughter lifted up the air from silence in the room otherwise to some level of positive energy.

Only one more hour to go. 

Fight. Flight. Freeze. This would have been my sensory options had I chosen to panic. But, instead, I rejoiced.

I continued to greet parents and their children while reminding them to eat as much as they would like (honestly, my best of knowing how to greet people). 

It was time to tag team. I brought in my husband to finish off.

My heart warmed as I watched my husband lead the major game of charades he had volunteered to prepare and take charge. I was proud of myself to just happily agree to let him take over the main  part this year.

The foods I quickly picked up before the party and spread out on the table with serving plates and bowls I had already placed out ahead of time, added completion to the remaining caramel pretzels, chocolate dipped Oreos, and baked sweet and salty snacks that managed to survive from me hiding them from my husband and children for several days.

It was past 8 o’clock in the evening on a school day and some children were still in our home waiting for some parents and older siblings (the smart ones who leave to take a break that my husband and I were always too afraid to do) to pick them up.

There were candy spread out all over the kitchen and family room floor, kids checking their candy while trading with one another. 

As former students of mine came by to give me cheerful greetings whether trick-or-treating or picking up younger siblings, I ignored the part of my body that knew I had a staff meeting early the next morning to follow with a full day of school and five classes to give an assessment to, what will mostly be candy-fed middle school students.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. This would have been my sensory options had I chosen to panic. But, instead, I rejoiced.

In my witch outfit this year (I am the fairy, to Wonder Woman, to Mrs. Incredible, to name a few, depending on what I muster to put on before everyone’s arrival), I continued to watch as my youngest two children busily exchanged candies with their friends. 

They were loud, completely in their realm of what the evening energy had gathered to supplement them. 

As I sat there, taking in the moment, I took note of the greatest bonus to my evening- watching one of my former students, a junior in high school this year, who seemed to be the happiest of all, helping his little brother with all the others to check out all their candy treats. Hearing him giggling and laughing, completely free of any friends his age to judge the moment- the ageless joy of a child. Priceless to witness.

My body would have to wait to crash after school would be over the next day. The joyful night would not be over until all of our youngest two children’s friends would be picked up. 

One by one, they were off to their own cars, back safely to their own homes.

That Halloween event they just implanted into their memory bank, my husband and I helped to make happen.

This Halloween was one of our better ones. No doubt.

Could we have done better? Always. Have we done less. Certainly. Did we try with all that we had each time? Undoubtedly.

We committed. We persevered. We finished. Again.

Several days ago I had run into the mom with her two sons, the oldest, my former student, the junior. She told me that had been their very first Halloween party and they both had so much fun.

The returning memory of the loudest giggles and laughters from one almost young adult gave me no surprise. 

In addition to all the gratitude I had already felt, my greatest reward to add to the latest Halloween party was that moment. 

Our two youngest were standing next to me when she had spoken those words. Without anything to add but my greatest thanks, as I walked our youngest two to my car, I felt both of my youngest boys’ sense of appreciation for all the Halloween parties they have had, aside from other eventful gatherings.

Mom and Dad may not be greatest at hosting all parties for each of our children, but what I hope to have taught our children over and over again is, It’s not always about you. 

What you do, who you do it for, is so much bigger than you. 

The message of your works- so much greater than you first thought to understand.