MY MOTHER IS ALWAYS RIGHT

There is a truth in my life that I tried to deny for many years. It is this – my mother is ALWAYS right. There’s no use denying. She knows it. I know it. My dad and my husband both know it. She’s just always right. Her rightness is not limited to certain areas of expertise. It’s a wide-reaching “rightness” that can be both awe-inspiring and intensely irritating.

When I was pregnant – all three times – my husband and I chose not to find out the gender of our babies. Naturally, there was guessing and each time I had strong instincts. All three times I was wrong. All three times my mother was right. And all three times she was smug about her rightness. You can see how this could be irritating J

There is one thing I’m glad she was right about. It was the way she taught me not to worry about what other people have. Not to focus on the stuff of life. Not to care if someone has more than I do, because someone always will.

As my little beans are out in the world more and more and seeing for themselves that some people have more than we do and many people have less, I have been spending a lot of time thinking about how my parents taught me not to care, not to focus on the stuff. Because yes, Professor Bean has gone to a friend’s house and seen that friend has access to much “cooler” electronics than we have. Sunshine Bean has seen that a friend has a dress-up chest that is every little girl’s dream.

My children are very blessed. All of their little needs, and many of their little wants, are met. My husband and I are grateful to have the ability to meet them. However, our family’s priorities mean that there are some wants that will go unmet. Some of their friends will no doubt have those same wants and they will be met.

When I was a kid, my needs and many of my wants were met. However, several of my friends came from families whose lifestyles were more luxurious than ours. Many of my friends had more “things” than I did. And truly, I didn’t care. I was happy and secure with what I had. I still am. I still don’t care.

I know that this contentment I feel is due to my mother. Upon reflection, I realized the answer I was seeking was simple. I didn’t care because my mom didn’t care. You would never hear her talking enviously about a neighbor buying a fancy car or having designer clothes or an expensive purse. It’s not that she didn’t notice, but the “stuff” didn’t matter to her. And by her example, it didn’t mean much to me.

I am unbelievably content in my own life. There are things about myself I strive to improve upon, but my life is rich and full of love. It is my greatest hope that I can be as right as my mom was. That I can teach my three precious beans by my example how to “not care” about the stuff.