What Color is Your Mom’s Beating Stick?

My mother-in-law wants so very badly for me to be happy.

She’s a sweet Southern woman who shows her love in the most unexpected ways. For instance, she gives hugs. And says things like, “I love you.”

This is quite different than the motherly affection my brothers and I grew up with. “DUMPSTER BABY,” our mom, who is called either Earl, Devil Woman, Mooder, or MeeMaw, would shout, “Is my dinner ready yet? Don’t make me get out the beating stick. I’ve joined a new gang and had to repaint it. If I have to beat you before the paint dries, so help you, you WILL regret it.”

But my mother-in-law? She’s in no gangs. She doesn’t even have a beating stick.

She does, however, have a fierce yearning for her children to visit regularly. And, when we visit, she likes to feed us well.

She has reliable recipes. Go-to’s that have been perfected over the years. Then, sometimes, she’ll try out new things. 

When she serves something new, she wants honest feedback. She wants to know which dishes delight us and which shouldn’t make it on the regular rotation.

My mother-in-law’s intention while cooking isn’t to become a master chef. She’s not trying to publish a cookbook. She’s not attached to anyone raving about her skills. Rather, she’s interested in delighting the child who’s eating the dish. To accomplish that goal, she needs honest feedback.

Sam’s favorite dish is different than Ry’s favorite dish, which is different than Darden’s favorite dish. Natalie has different favorites than I do. 

That doesn’t upset my mother-in-law. She doesn’t become enraged that we have different preferences. Instead, she actively solicits them.

This manner of going through the world is top of mind for me because I recognize that I’m a human who occasionally has weird preferences.

For instance, I’m staying at an awe-inspiringly lovely seaside hotel in Vietnam for a few days and, as an unemployed expat wife, every hour of my day is open. If I wanted to spend my mornings in the ocean, then my afternoons by the pool and my evenings at the spa – no problem. The world is my oyster.

Yet, here I am, sitting at the restaurant, sipping coffee and laptoping away.

Not because I have to. There is no internal or external accountability in place. If I don’t write or publish, a coach isn’t going to scold me. I’m not going to scold myself.

I’m doing it because this is how I prefer to spend my mornings. I like doing my morning musings more than I like floating in the ocean, or chatting with fellow hotel guests, or sleeping in.

If we were on a Copeland family vacation (can we please start coming to places like this for vacation?), I wouldn’t expect us to gather as a family and laptop away. “Okay, lads, 7:30 at the restaurant? I can’t wait to read your essays!”

That wouldn’t be fun for anyone else. Darden and Natalie, who have young children, would probably prefer to sleep in, delighted that Gran and Granddad are happy to take Hunter and Hazel for an early morning swim. Gran and Granddad, by the way, would prefer nothing more.

Ry would likely opt to go for a run and Sam would alternate between joining her and enjoying a leisurely breakfast while reading the news.

Then, when we gathered for lunch, we’d each be in a blissful state of “wow, what a perfect morning.”

But, in order to be in that state when we gather, there’s an essential step: we must first voice our preferences.

For me to have uninterrupted writing time in the morning, I have to tell people that I want uninterrupted writing time in the morning.

For Natalie and Darden to have the chance to sleep in, they have to let Gran and Granddad know they’re welcome to come in and take the kids. Better yet, why don’t the kids just stay in your room?

And, for whatever reason, I feel like so many of us hesitate to voice these preferences. We know what we want, but we don’t speak up.

Yet, the people who love us most…they often want nothing more than to hear the truth. “I love you and I want you to be happy,” my mother-in-law is saying when she asks how I liked the salmon. “Do you want more of this in the future or would you prefer something different?”

I don’t cook, so I will never ask you which dish you prefer, though I’m happy to learn your takeout preferences. What I’ll delight in is this: I want to learn how you prefer to spend your precious, precious time.

So tell me – when we gather for lunch (or dinner or dessert), what would make you show up in a “wow, what a perfect morning” cloud of bliss? I’m not just asking idly, I really want to know. Because, without that essential information, I’ll be forced to assume that your perfect morning looks just like mine. And I’ll see you at the restaurant at 7:30, ready to write some essays. 

Wishing you your perfect morning,

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