Vacuous Truths at the Dinner Table with My Preschooler

By Raphael - Stitched together from vatican.va, Public Domain,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4406048

I told Johnny that he should change one sentence that he wrote on his second-grade homework assignment. He had written,"The sun is the biggest star in the solar system." But the sun is the only star in the solar system, so that sentence doesn't mean much.

But of course, the original statement, in a mathematical sense, is true. It's not very helpful, but it's true. I mean, let's say the sun won first place in the sculpture category of the community art show. Even if it was the only entry in its category, it would still have won the contest.

Our dinner conversation that night went something like this:

Me: "Well, saying that the sun is the biggest start in the solar system is true—because it's the only star in the solar system—but it's kind of silly. I mean, what if my  teacher told me to write about my family, and I wrote, 'All of my husbands work at NASA, and Owen is my biggest husband'?"

Everyone laughs and laughs.

I go on, "And Rosemary [who is not married] could also say truthfully that all of her husbands work at NASA. That statement is mathematically true."

Owen questions this, but then has an "aha" moment when he realizes that you can say that all members of the empty set are *fill in the blank,* and the statement is always true. 

"Well, it's mathematically true, but not linguistically true," he says.

Four-year-old Ezekiel is quiet during the whole exchange. Finally, he says, "Daddy, daddy, I have a math problem. All of my macaroni and cheese has a cousin, and the cousin's name is  . . . Glasses!"

A question for my kids: What would you like to do about that?

Several years ago, when my first son was a toddler, I was at the playground with a few friends and their young children. One of the boys, who was about six years old, ran up to his mom and said something like, "I'm thirsty," or "The sun is in my eyes," or, "I'm hot." His mother's response impressed me.

She did not say, "Go get a drink of water from the water fountain," or, "Put on your hat," or, "Rest in the shade." Instead, she said, "What would you like to do about that?" Her tone was not sarcastic or off-putting. It was matter-of-fact with a nice undercurrent of warmth. Her son thought for half a minute and then figured out a solution to the problem.

When my son was old enough, I started asking him that same question. I want him to be independent and resourceful, and this is a small way that I can help him develop those traits. Here's an example of how I use the question: Yesterday, when we were walking home from school, he told me that he was thirsty. When I asked, "What would you like to do about that?" he remembered that he had a bottle in his backpack with water in it left over from lunch. The problem was solved, and more importantly I didn't have to solve it for him.

Of course, this question isn't appropriate for every situation. Sometimes my son needs me to give him an immediate solution (e.g. somebody's bleeding), sometimes I don't allow him complete autonomy (e.g. he's hungry, but he can't have a snack an hour before dinner), and sometimes he just needs a hug and a kiss. But there are times when this approach is effective, and it encourages him to figure out how to solve the problem himself.

Even if my son still needs my help with the problem, the question allows him to think about his options and what assistance he needs. It helps him to be more of a self-advocate and less of a whiner. And when the problem can't be solved immediately, my question helps him to process the situation and understand that I am not a magician who can teleport him home immediately or produce a treat out of thin air or make Daddy come back from work sooner.

Mothers in the scriptures: Looking beyond the stripling warriors.

Eve Naming the Birds (detail), William Blake

        
For Mormons, the classic Mother's Day scripture is Alma 56:47-48. These verses praise the mothers of the stripling warriors, an example of successful motherhood that has been referenced in countless sacrament meetings, lessons, and church publications.

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the background: In the Book of Mormon, a group of people found God and became pacifists, taking a solemn oath against violence. Years later, those men would have rather died than defend themselves against the invading army. But their young teenaged sons had never taken the oath of non-violence and so they went to battle to protect their families, trusting God to deliver them.

The young men believed that God would protect them because of the faith of their mothers, saying, "We do not doubt our mothers knew it."

Why does this particular passage of scripture get so much attention? These nameless women seem to represent our Mormon ideal of motherhood: As the behind-the-scenes force for good, they are powerful in their faith and beloved by their children. They inspire their sons to be courageous and righteous, and they inspire us to create a legacy of faith for our own families.

But what can we learn from other mothers in the scriptures? We have many stories in the scriptures of women bearing, raising, and influencing their children. Some are substantial narratives, and some are only brief glimpses.

In the New Testament, Timothy was influenced by his mother Eunice and grandmother Lois, both Christian converts praised by Paul for their "unfeigned faith."

In the Old Testament, Naomi, bereft of children and husband, had such a close bond with her daughter-in-law Ruth that their relationship was immortalized in these poetic words, from Ruth 1:16.

Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

Eunice, Lois, Naomi, and the mothers of the stripling warriors are inspiring examples of successful mothers. But we also find women in the scriptures whose experiences with motherhood were complicated, painful, even tragic.

There is Sariah, the first woman mentioned in the Book of Mormon. Sariah, who was overwhelmed with anxiety for her sons when their return from Jerusalem was delayed. Sariah, whose older sons repeatedly tried to kill their brother. She had two more children in the wilderness when she was old enough to be a grandmother. Later, she was so devestated by her sons' abuse of their brother that she fell ill and was not able to care for her youngest children.

There is Eve, the "mother of all living." At her first son's birth, her words expressed the universal sense of awe at holding a new child, a new person: "I have gotten a man from the Lord." As an adult, that son murdered his brother.

There's Rebecca, whose twin boys were rivals, even in the womb. Rebecca, who was inspired to help her younger son trick his father and cheat his older brother out of the birthright that would have been his.

There's Hagar, Abraham's concubine, who was banished from the home with her child after Sarah (Abraham's first wife) bore a son in her old age. Hagar, who wandered in the desert with her son until they ran out of food and water. She could not bear to watch her son die and left him to take his last breaths alone, or so she thought, before an angel saved them both.

There's Leah, married to a man who loved her sister Rachel, whose saving grace was that she was able to bear children, even when her sister was barren. But her sons sold their half-brother into slavery, and lived lives full of moral and sexual scandal.

There's Rachel, who was able to have two children after years of infertility, but died giving birth to her second son. There's Bilhah, Rachel's handmaid, who was given to Jacob as a concubine in order to bear children upon Rachel's knees, children that Rachel would count as her own.

There's Hannah, who brought her son to serve at the temple as soon as he was weaned. There's Jochebed, who put her son Moses in a basket into the river to save his life. There's Elizabeth, who gave birth to John the Baptist in her old age and then had to raise her son as a widow after her husband was murdered.

There is Mary, mother of the Lord. We read about the annunciation, her pregnancy, and the miraculous virgin birth. We see her again as Jesus turned the water into wine at Cana, and later at the crucifixion. But the only glimpse we have into Mary's experience actually parenting her son in his boyhood is the story of Mary and her husband mistakenly leaving him behind at Jerusalem.

The family had gone to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. When they started home, Mary and Joseph did not realize that their son had stayed behind until they had already traveled a day's journey. It took them three days to find him. He was "in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions."

And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.

And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business? 

And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Luke 2:48-50

This passage contains the only words of the young Jesus recorded in the Bible. And in this moment, mother and son seemed to be talking past each other. Mary had seen an angel, she was raising the Son of God, and yet she did not fully understand her child or his remarkable mission. As a mother myself, having experienced the miracle of giving birth and the frustrating realities of parenthood, this story is particularly poignant for me.

In the scriptures, we see mothers suffering through infertility, mothers who are widowed or abandoned, mothers who witness rivalry and violence between their sons, mothers who lose their children through death or separation. Mothers in the scriptures were sometimes confused, they were sometimes depressed, they sometimes feared for their children's lives. They inspired their children, but they also failed them. They raised prophets, but they also raised scoundrels and murderers.

This is the complicated picture of motherhood that I see in the scriptures. This is what helps me get past the idealized expectations that we mothers in Zion sometimes have for ourselves. Motherhood is glorious, but it is also painful. Success in the home is mixed with failure; joy is mixed with sorrow.