get this right

The younger lass rifled through a filing cabinet with some of my piano scores and found a spiral-bound booklet of the repertoire assigned to me my senior year of college. She slapped it up on the music desk and toddled off to do something else.

As I walked past the piano I caught sight of the score she had left open, and I stopped to thumb through the pages. It was the "working copy" where my piano professor and I noted all sorts of things related to the piece and its performance: fingerings, pedaling, dynamics, harmonic analysis, and phrasing, among other things like this note I scribbled:

 

get this right.

as in: quit making this same mistake here.  You know it's coming.  It's tripped you up enough times to merit a note in the score *and* a highlighter, so fix it already.  Don't make it again.

How many times in a day do I make the same mistakes or allow myself to edge too close to that line where I can't help but bungle a situation that presents itself over and over again -- one I've had the opportunity to address and learn from and traverse successfully going forward?  For whatever reason, I still make some of  the same mistakes.  

My dad says I use my music degree every day, even those days when I don't touch a piano.  Maybe this is what he means.  And thank the good Lord for his infinite mercy in forgiving those mistakes, even though I make them time and again.  Isn't that what Easter, which we are at last celebrating, is all about -- forgiveness of sins and everlasting life?

I don't operate under the delusion that I am perfect or will always handle every situation perfectly, but I would like to eliminate some of those oft-made mistakes by considering the factors that contribute to my making them and doing what needs to be done to set up a better outcome.  

Here's what I hope I did get right today:  I hope I made good use of the time God gave me this day to show his love and mercy to those around me.  I hope in those moments when I felt like I might lose my patience or withdraw from interaction in the face of some drama that I was able to recognize them inwardly and overcome them either by expressing those emotions in a healthy and respectful way or by waiting a minute to let them blow over.   I hope to have shown my bambini that Mama does make mistakes sometimes, as we all do, and that when I do I try my best to make amends, tend to the hurt I may have caused, and move on.

We do our best, says my Grannie, and that's all we can do.  Part of that is built on learning from our mistakes -- God willing, before warranting a highlighter's notice.

small world

On a recent trip to Super Target for yet another prescription (when I was still ailing with that wretched sinus infection -- I ended up with several) and various other sundries, I had all three bambini along.  Generally speaking, the bambini are pretty good on shopping trips.  They have their moments -- but don't we all?

On this particular trip, the lads were in the "brother cart" -- one of those with an attachment that allows for two children to sit.  The lads think these carts are great fun.  I tend to crash into things trying to maneuver the behemoths around the store.  But, thought I, if it's one way of making the experience at the store more pleasant for them, pretending as they do that it's a firetruck or some such vehicle, I'll give it a go.

As it turned out, the charm of the brother cart wore off before we were finished in the store, and the situation was deteriorating.  I realized with great consternation that one of the things left on my list was on an aisle I'd already been down twice before on this trip.  As I made my way back there and turned the corner, it became apparent that there was someone standing right in front of that which would complete my list.  Then I heard, "Bonnie?"

It was our longtime family friend, the mother of the family with whom we'd so often do Thanksgiving and Easter and family birthdays and innumerable everyday get-togethers (her daughter is the one who'd receive "the Bonnie Box.").   She lives an hour away in my small hometown and has known me practically my entire life.  She happened to be in "the big city" (such as it is) gathering provisions for a trip to visit family several states away.

Running into someone I know isn't that unusual.  Running into someone from my hometown isn't unheard of, but it doesn't happen very often.  Running into someone who is practically family, in this case, was a Godsend.  We conversed briefly, but she -- the mother of four herself and now grandmother of six -- could see that the window was closing, so to speak.  We acknowledged this.  "I'm going to give you a hug anyway," she said, and did.  We said our farewells, and the brother cart trudged on.

The encouragement and renewal in her hug stayed with me the rest of the day -- and beyond.  Sometimes one just needs a hug.  Coming from a maternal-type figure like she is to me, so much the better.

mercy

Just as I was about to go to bed last night, my elder lad appeared at the bathroom door needing my assistance (he had awoken after having been asleep for a couple of hours already).  When I might have been inclined to gently insist that he do the things that needed to be done by himself (as he is at times inclined to let me do them for him if I am willing), I sensed that he really needed his mama's help.  And something told me to tell him simply, "I love you."  This changed the entire dynamic between us, as he had come into the bathroom in a very ill humor, and afterward seemed relieved. Together we took care of business, he crawled back into his bed, and fell fast asleep.

Contrast this scene with the one that played out upon our arrival home this morning from a fun outing.  Everyone was hungry, tired, cranky -- and edgy.  Each of us snarked at the other until we were at last seated for lunch (which took some convincing).  Soon a smile emerged from someone's face, and then laughter.

How I wish I'd handled the second situation more like the first.  I wish I'd focused on the task at hand of getting lunch on the table, instead of getting caught up in the drama that was unfolding.  In so doing, I would've shown today what I showed last night:

mercy.

I just read this interesting post about a mother's works of mercy day in and day out, and it really resonated with me.  There is a major difference in my handling of the two situations: in the former I was able to be merciful, recognizing and responding to the need underneath the snarly exterior instead of reacting more negatively.

I really get upset with myself when I give into the weakness toward irritability and snappishness like I did at lunch time, but I realize that being merciful with myself (without excusing the poor behavior) is necessary in order to model mercy for my children, which is really the lesson I want them to learn. I also want to help them learn to recognize when they are feeling tired, hungry, cranky, or a combination of such things, and how to help themselves by tending to their needs without lashing out at other people (such as picking on one's sibling or speaking rudely to one's mother).

I wish them to learn mercy, both by experiencing it from us, and in extending it to each other and those around them.  Such a thing is best learned by observation and experience, as we all well know in our own experiences of Christ's infinite mercy and the mercy we've received at the hands of others. 

When I don't meet my expectations, I can all too easily dwell on my slip-up.  Ultimately this only serves to distract me from taking care of my children.  The best I can do is to apologize for my mistake, make amends, seek forgiveness, recognize what contributed to my mistake so as to prevent it happening in the future, and move on.

In my quest for everyday sanctity, I have to be merciful with myself.  Maybe my children will see the steps I take (especially if I spell them out and am consistent about them), and God willing learn from my mistakes without having to make their own. At least I hope so.

When it comes to my expectations for my children, I have to remind myself that they are in fact children and that they will occasionally mess up.  This is (usually) nothing personal against me.  It's just a fact of childhood.  We all make mistakes, after all.  Our mistakes do affect others, so when we make them we must take steps to make things right as much as we are able.  And when we have been wronged, we are called to extend mercy and forgiveness.  I hope to equip my bambini with the tools to meet their needs without harming other people.  In our fallen world, I know this won't always work out.

This work of motherhood is humbling.  Mama's mistakes are plainly there for her children to see.  I hope how I handle my handling of my mistakes will be of use to them when they must own up to theirs, and I hope they will dispense mercy with each other as freely as they do their laughter and forgiveness.