Mothers and Daughters

I'm not surprised that, after a total of eleven incidences of my children coming out of their rooms after the good-nights have all been said, I've been feeling a little bit irritated.
I know that I'm often irritated at all the little tasks that it takes to raise children that are still eight or younger. I get frustrated that they don't fall into line because they ought to know by now what I expect of them. I have been re-listening to April's conference addresses and I just finished listening to Elder Ballard's talk "Mothers and Daughters." He had been speaking about teaching by example, not just through words and then he said this:

"Teach your daughters to find joy in nurturing children."

You can probably already tell where this is leading, but to be honest, I do not find a lot of joy in the banal routines of young motherhood. I know this is mainly my fault, but I'll get to that in a minute. Elder Ballard's statement has shaken me up. In thinking how Ella observes my day to day mothering, what she sees, well, it makes me want to weep. I think of how I sigh like a martyr if I'm asked to leave my seat at the dinner table to retrieve one more thing from the fridge for the still-incapable child. I think of how often I show my disappointment as soon as I walk in their rooms, don't bother to show them that I'm happy to see them, because I'm too occupied by the blindness caused by my critical self.

What kind of mother am I raising?

I don't know if I never was a child myself. I don't know how to connect with my children. I'm caught in my own cyclical web of guilt and selfishness, which is:

If I spend time with my children, whether playing or teaching, then they are going to want more of my time and then I am going to have to tell them 'no' and then I'll feel guilty about that and may even resent them for either the time stolen from me or for the self-inflicted guilt, so...I don't spend time with my children and then I feel guilty...
My favorite poet, William Butler Yeats wrote a poem entitled Never Give All the Heart. It's a beautiful and sad poem (what other kind is there?), but I see that this is what I do. I protect myself, trying to preserve "ME" in the formaldihyde of intellectual self-indulgence, holding portions of my heart back from my children, my husband and my God.

What kind of mother am I raising?

He continues: "If the mothers are thrifty, so are their daughters. If the mothers are modest, so are the girls. If the mothers wear flip-flops and other casual clothing to sacrament meeting, so do their daughters. Mothers, your example is extremely important to your daughters—even if they don’t acknowledge it."

I'm not sure I deserve my beautiful daughter. I have never been a girl's girl. Growing up, my best and truest friends, ones I have never felt uncomfortable with, have been boys. This continued, in essence, until I was a missionary. Sometimes, I look at Ella and wonder how I'm ever going to be to her all I feel like my mother is to me. My mother has a gaggle of girlfriends and they rely on each other in ways that I cannot fathom. She seems gives her all to everyone.

Sometimes, I wonder if I've missed the best window of opportunity with Ella (I've even written poems about it). I am ridiculously envious of her love for her dad. She will often leave my lap and my arms just to follow him about the house.

Now Ella's dad frequently reminds me that Heavenly Father can help me with anything righteous thing I need help with. Elder Ballard helped turn the spotlight on the problem and I'm going to try to have faith that Heavenly Father can help me see the actions I need to take to raise a righteous mother in Zion, despite my being so often crippled by the world, that I can find joy in my posterity. Cameron also tells me that when faced with mistakes you repent and move on and should not continue with self-castigation.

So here goes...