I think toy manufacturers should be required to provide a suitable container with child-proof lock on every toy they make that has more than 3 pieces. I don't know how it is in the houses of other people who have children, but in our house we have bins and tubs and crates full of miscellaneous mismatched pieces from every toy the children have ever owned. This keeps the pieces off the floor, but is not very helpful when you have a bored 2 year old who is busy undecorating the Christmas tree because he can't find anything to play with.
For some strange reason, my children have a habit of not wanting to play with a certain toy until all of its pieces have been scattered to the four winds. Yesterday Connor found one of the half dozen wooden puzzle boards we have sitting around the house.....and one puzzle piece. (Note: it's one of the sort where you have individual pieces with a little knob, not the sort with actual fit-it-together pieces). So this morning, when I realized he was going to stand there and pull all the decorations off the tree if I didn't find him a diversion, I went on a puzzle piece finding mission. It took me about 45min. but I managed to scrape together 3 puzzle boards with at least 1/2 their pieces and presented them to him with a flourish. He was ecstatic.
Now, I've been trying to teach the children to put their toys away. Unfortunately, many of their toys-with-small-parts didn't have containers. I think I need to go find some sturdy reusable bags or some such so that they (and I) can toss everything that goes together in one bag, close it up and THEN put it in the bin and everything will stay together.
Am I the only mom who gets frustrated with this?
I mean, really. We own 2 complete sets of wooden blocks. My little guy loves blocks right now. He played with some at his grandparent's house. So where are ours? Well, here a block, there a block, everywhere a block block....
Christmas is coming. I think that this year I will find some seal-up-able containers for any toys-with-pieces so that at least the NEW toys get to stay a set for a while. I know, I know, I'm a little OCD. But guess what? When I present the children with a long lost finally reunited toy set......they PLAY with it and don't get bored and start fighting with each other. Charlotte always reacts like it's Christmas all over again when I find one of her long lost toys. She does that cute little giddy girl gasp and her eyes light up.
So, yeah, that's worth a little (or a lot) of sorting. My first New Year's resolution....
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Your mission, should you choose to accept it...
Lately, God has asked me to do a lot of kooky things. But, knowing me as well as He does, He usually filters them through my friend Dorothy, from whom I'll believe anything. D and I are in ministry together. We're a team, though we have no official designation. I'm the Elisha to her Elijah. If I have a title, it would have to be Dorothy's Right Arm. God gives her these wonderful mind-blowing ideas for cutting edge, experiential worship. She's the forest thinker. I, for some reason known only to God, have the ability to help her flesh these ideas out into the nuts and bolts needed to actually get it done. I'm the tree thinker, I'm good with details.
This week, my assignment is boxes - specifically, wrapping a bunch of empty boxes to use as fake "presents" for our upcoming Christmas drama set. Sometimes, it's a good thing to be a saver - I happened to have enough boxes lying around my house and didn't have to go out box hunting (similar to fox hunting, without the gun). See, God knows if He said, "this week I really need you to go forth and wrap some boxes" I would say, "Excuse me? What?"
In the year or so that D and I have served together in ministry at our current church I have found myself doing the following:
1. Making a life size mirror frame and being a mime "reflection" on stage.
2. Making a giant heart out of red cloth and pool noodles.
3. Spent an afternoon researching scent diffusers (and doing lots of "sniff" tests to weed out obnoxious or allergy provoking scents.)
4. Carting around big pieces of cardboard for our cardboard testimony service.
5. Measuring giant lengths of cloth using D's garage floor marked off as a measure and then cataloguing and wrapping them onto bolts.
6. Teetering precariously from the top of a 15 ft. ladder pinning various sorts of cloth all around the stage area.
7. Carrying all sorts of miscellaneous set design accoutrements in my purse and pockets - safety pins, tape, gaffers clips.
8. Spent an afternoon discussing the logistics of making bread in a bread machine and how to time it for communion.
9. Spent countless hours researching such things as stage light gels, stage flat foam, and flannel board figures.
10. Created a giant life-size flannel board for Easter service.
I'm sure I've forgotten some, but those are the most memorable ones that spring to mind. It's funny and amazing how God has found me a niche that only I can fill. I've always been a Jill-of-all-trades (or, as I like to put it, a Renaissance woman). Like my dad, I know a little bit about a lot of stuff, and I'm good at researching what I don't know. I'm not an artist, per se, but I have enough creative/artistic ability to manage in many different areas. I can draw some, paint some, sew some, craft some, fix some. I have a working knowledge of carpentry and have learned how to jeri-rig most anything (from the Fix It Master, my husband). And what I don't know how to do I can learn pretty quickly.
Who but God would have designed this crazy ministry position for me? We have an actual group; we call ourselves the pPod (because many of us are a "P" on the Myers-Briggs) but really my ministry is to be Dorothy's assistant/right arm/tree detail person/researcher. I'm sort of an adjunct part of the creative team, but not exactly.
I don't even really know what I'm doing. I'm making it up as I go along. But since Dorothy says she is too, I guess that's okay. I worry sometimes that what I'm doing is not significant (in the big picture). I mean, I'm not helping orphans in Russia or treating AIDS patients in Africa. But as I was driving along praying about this God whispered in my ear that perhaps I might encourage or open the door for God to speak to those who will. Hmmm. Food for thought.
In the meantime, I have some boxes to wrap.
This week, my assignment is boxes - specifically, wrapping a bunch of empty boxes to use as fake "presents" for our upcoming Christmas drama set. Sometimes, it's a good thing to be a saver - I happened to have enough boxes lying around my house and didn't have to go out box hunting (similar to fox hunting, without the gun). See, God knows if He said, "this week I really need you to go forth and wrap some boxes" I would say, "Excuse me? What?"
In the year or so that D and I have served together in ministry at our current church I have found myself doing the following:
1. Making a life size mirror frame and being a mime "reflection" on stage.
2. Making a giant heart out of red cloth and pool noodles.
3. Spent an afternoon researching scent diffusers (and doing lots of "sniff" tests to weed out obnoxious or allergy provoking scents.)
4. Carting around big pieces of cardboard for our cardboard testimony service.
5. Measuring giant lengths of cloth using D's garage floor marked off as a measure and then cataloguing and wrapping them onto bolts.
6. Teetering precariously from the top of a 15 ft. ladder pinning various sorts of cloth all around the stage area.
7. Carrying all sorts of miscellaneous set design accoutrements in my purse and pockets - safety pins, tape, gaffers clips.
8. Spent an afternoon discussing the logistics of making bread in a bread machine and how to time it for communion.
9. Spent countless hours researching such things as stage light gels, stage flat foam, and flannel board figures.
10. Created a giant life-size flannel board for Easter service.
I'm sure I've forgotten some, but those are the most memorable ones that spring to mind. It's funny and amazing how God has found me a niche that only I can fill. I've always been a Jill-of-all-trades (or, as I like to put it, a Renaissance woman). Like my dad, I know a little bit about a lot of stuff, and I'm good at researching what I don't know. I'm not an artist, per se, but I have enough creative/artistic ability to manage in many different areas. I can draw some, paint some, sew some, craft some, fix some. I have a working knowledge of carpentry and have learned how to jeri-rig most anything (from the Fix It Master, my husband). And what I don't know how to do I can learn pretty quickly.
Who but God would have designed this crazy ministry position for me? We have an actual group; we call ourselves the pPod (because many of us are a "P" on the Myers-Briggs) but really my ministry is to be Dorothy's assistant/right arm/tree detail person/researcher. I'm sort of an adjunct part of the creative team, but not exactly.
I don't even really know what I'm doing. I'm making it up as I go along. But since Dorothy says she is too, I guess that's okay. I worry sometimes that what I'm doing is not significant (in the big picture). I mean, I'm not helping orphans in Russia or treating AIDS patients in Africa. But as I was driving along praying about this God whispered in my ear that perhaps I might encourage or open the door for God to speak to those who will. Hmmm. Food for thought.
In the meantime, I have some boxes to wrap.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Things I never thought I'd hear myself say to my children
My baby son is 2. I just caught myself saying,
"Connor Morgan Smith, you put that heating register back on right now!!"
Sheesh....
(Whose crazy idea was it to just shove the silly thing into the hole in the floor without bolting it down, anyway?)
"Connor Morgan Smith, you put that heating register back on right now!!"
Sheesh....
(Whose crazy idea was it to just shove the silly thing into the hole in the floor without bolting it down, anyway?)
Friday, December 12, 2008
December mishmash
I've been telling my friends and family lately than I've only got 2 brain cells functioning right now, and sometimes one of them is sleeping. This is making it difficult to finish anything - a project, a task, a thought. Or a post. I've started and not finished half a dozen posts in the last week or so, and since I can't seem to write a few coherent paragraphs on any one topic I'm posting a mishmash of all the various topics that have buzzed around my brain this last week.
1. I've been preparing for #1 Son's birthday this week. I try really hard to make sure his mid-December birthday doesn't get swallowed up by Christmas or Christmas-ized (i.e. wrap his presents in Christmas paper or "combine" the 2 because it's easier). It kind of makes my world topsy-turvy trying to accomplish this but then, he's made my world topsy-turvy from the minute my water broke at 4:30 AM four and a half weeks before his due date. From the moment of his impending birth this child has defied and scrambled our expectations. Too smart for his own good (and ours!) he's a musical genius with the memory of an elephant, currently obsessed with fighting "baddies" on his video games and voraciously reads Calvin and Hobbs. He can remember an incident that happened 4 years ago in perfect detail, has perfect pitch and the ability to transpose music, but is unable to get himself ready for school without intervention. Parenting this child is like trying to fly an aircraft by trial and error. We crash and burn a lot.
2. My dad passed away four years ago this coming January. The last time I saw him was Christmas of 2004. I've been thinking about him a lot this year. It's funny the things you remember about someone after they're gone.
My dad loved Christmas, everything about it. But Christmas always brought on the one and only fight I ever remember my parents having. It was an annual fight. The Annual Christmas Tree Fight. All other times of the year, in all other situations, my folks may have disagreed or sniped at each other in vague mutters, but the Annual Christmas Tree Fight became legendary in our family. That's because my mom wanted the Christmas tree to be as Easy as Possible, while my dad wanted it to be as Traditional as Possible. Given her druthers, mom would have been perfectly satisfied with a little, even (gasp!) artificial table tree. Dad wanted the biggest, bushiest, Christmasy-looking tree that could possibly fit in our living room. Of course, I sided with Dad.
Daddy wanted to go to the nearest place, find the first tree that fit the bill no matter the cost, and go home, mission accomplished. Mom wanted to look over every tree, agonize, and bargain hunt. NOT a good combination. Especially when 3 out of 4 years our Christmas tree shopping day turned out to be the coldest, windiest day of the season (sometimes it snowed). So what usually happened was Daddy and I picked the "perfect" tree, Mom pronounced it "too expensive" or "too tall" or both, and then we all walked around looking for a "runner-up" but usually ended up coming back to the first one when Daddy complained that he was starting to freeze solid.
Then he would wrestle the huge tree into the trunk of the car, tie it down, and cautiously drive home. Once home, Mom would get to gloat silently (or not so) as Daddy swore at the tree that was too big to fit through the door, too big to fit in the tree stand, and nearly too tall for the ceiling. Ah, Christmas memories.....
Daddy and I would labor over putting the lights on just right, Mom and I would decorate it, and then we'd all congratulate ourselves on the beautiful tree that "we" had picked out.
3. My 5 year old daughter is currently obsessed with My Little Pony. She has begged for the big Pinkie Pie stuffed pony since summer. (Santa was smart and went shopping in September and hid it away.) I just found out that my friend D is using the two Pinkie Pie ponies she got for her granddaughters as props for our Christmas drama at church. Which Charlotte and I are in. You parents see what's coming don't you? Ay yi.....
Well, time for me to go and bake a birthday cake.
1. I've been preparing for #1 Son's birthday this week. I try really hard to make sure his mid-December birthday doesn't get swallowed up by Christmas or Christmas-ized (i.e. wrap his presents in Christmas paper or "combine" the 2 because it's easier). It kind of makes my world topsy-turvy trying to accomplish this but then, he's made my world topsy-turvy from the minute my water broke at 4:30 AM four and a half weeks before his due date. From the moment of his impending birth this child has defied and scrambled our expectations. Too smart for his own good (and ours!) he's a musical genius with the memory of an elephant, currently obsessed with fighting "baddies" on his video games and voraciously reads Calvin and Hobbs. He can remember an incident that happened 4 years ago in perfect detail, has perfect pitch and the ability to transpose music, but is unable to get himself ready for school without intervention. Parenting this child is like trying to fly an aircraft by trial and error. We crash and burn a lot.
2. My dad passed away four years ago this coming January. The last time I saw him was Christmas of 2004. I've been thinking about him a lot this year. It's funny the things you remember about someone after they're gone.
My dad loved Christmas, everything about it. But Christmas always brought on the one and only fight I ever remember my parents having. It was an annual fight. The Annual Christmas Tree Fight. All other times of the year, in all other situations, my folks may have disagreed or sniped at each other in vague mutters, but the Annual Christmas Tree Fight became legendary in our family. That's because my mom wanted the Christmas tree to be as Easy as Possible, while my dad wanted it to be as Traditional as Possible. Given her druthers, mom would have been perfectly satisfied with a little, even (gasp!) artificial table tree. Dad wanted the biggest, bushiest, Christmasy-looking tree that could possibly fit in our living room. Of course, I sided with Dad.
Daddy wanted to go to the nearest place, find the first tree that fit the bill no matter the cost, and go home, mission accomplished. Mom wanted to look over every tree, agonize, and bargain hunt. NOT a good combination. Especially when 3 out of 4 years our Christmas tree shopping day turned out to be the coldest, windiest day of the season (sometimes it snowed). So what usually happened was Daddy and I picked the "perfect" tree, Mom pronounced it "too expensive" or "too tall" or both, and then we all walked around looking for a "runner-up" but usually ended up coming back to the first one when Daddy complained that he was starting to freeze solid.
Then he would wrestle the huge tree into the trunk of the car, tie it down, and cautiously drive home. Once home, Mom would get to gloat silently (or not so) as Daddy swore at the tree that was too big to fit through the door, too big to fit in the tree stand, and nearly too tall for the ceiling. Ah, Christmas memories.....
Daddy and I would labor over putting the lights on just right, Mom and I would decorate it, and then we'd all congratulate ourselves on the beautiful tree that "we" had picked out.
3. My 5 year old daughter is currently obsessed with My Little Pony. She has begged for the big Pinkie Pie stuffed pony since summer. (Santa was smart and went shopping in September and hid it away.) I just found out that my friend D is using the two Pinkie Pie ponies she got for her granddaughters as props for our Christmas drama at church. Which Charlotte and I are in. You parents see what's coming don't you? Ay yi.....
Well, time for me to go and bake a birthday cake.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A funny thing happened on the way to Supertarget
I saw a sign that I wanted to send in to the guy who does the Crummy Church Signs website. Posted on the sign of one of Manassas' most prominent churches was the following:
SUNDAY
HUMILITY
8:30 and 11:00AM TRADITIONAL
9:30AM CONTEMPORARY
I kid you not.
I laughed hysterically to myself as I drove. I'm sure the drivers around me thought I'd flipped my lid.
But often I find God sends a lesson couched in a laugh. It occurred to me it might be worth pondering Traditional vs. Contemporary Humility. What do you think?
SUNDAY
HUMILITY
8:30 and 11:00AM TRADITIONAL
9:30AM CONTEMPORARY
I kid you not.
I laughed hysterically to myself as I drove. I'm sure the drivers around me thought I'd flipped my lid.
But often I find God sends a lesson couched in a laugh. It occurred to me it might be worth pondering Traditional vs. Contemporary Humility. What do you think?
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Ponderings and busywork
What an odd day it's been. First, I got up really early (like 5:30 am early) in the hope that maybe if I got ME up early I could manage to get the KIDS up early. It sort of worked , but not quite how I'd planned. Charlotte woke up with me (because she has this habit of sneaking into our bed after we're asleep, and no I suppose we shouldn't let her do it, but we're ASLEEP when it happens). Anyway, so I had to be in "mom mode" immediately, which I hadn't quite planned on. but we got her dressed, I fixed her a nice oatmeal breakfast, and she played happily till it was time to go out the door. Chris still had to be hoisted out of bed. This is the kid who's up at 7am on a Saturday, go figure. He gets ready with slightly less angst than usual and STILL manages to dawdle over breakfast even though he's got 30 minutes more time than he normally does. So all is looking pretty good, we all get in the car (yes, we take the car to the bus stop in winter because it at least keeps the baby out of the wind or rain - also corrals the older two). and Chris pitches a fit because today HIS bus arrives first instead of his sister's. Like I have control over the bus schedule - sheesh.
Had a normal morning once I got home - fed the cat, fed the boy, got caffeine fix, checked email and blogs, fed self. About 10:30am I realize that if I'm going to do the dreaded Walmart run I need to get ready so I toss myself through the shower (since I've decided it makes more sense to wait these days). It's nice to not have to rush, and the hot water helps soothe the muscles that work harder everyday to tote a growing toddler in, out, up, and down everything. So I get out, expecting to dash off and do my thing, but my body has other ideas. It says to me "Hey! We got up at 5:30 this morning and you only got 6 hours of sleep - we need a break!" Which normally I would ignore, toss more coffee down my gullet, and soldier on. But after the past two days of struggle with cranky kids and a winter concert and a Girl Scout investiture and extra errands I decided my body had the right of it today. Since the little boy was safely tucked up in his room with his toys, I snuggled back down into my flannel sheets and dozed.
While I was lying there, I thought about how everyone talks about "resting in God". And not for the first time wondered if maybe that could sometimes be taken literally. Maybe it's kind of like what they tell you in the emergency airline instructions - you know, putting your own oxygen mask on before helping someone else? Maybe resting in God isn't only about the spiritual. Maybe it's okay if we rest our tired bodies and souls too. Maybe I don't have to operate at the breakneck pace some other moms I know do - I learned a while ago that I am not Supermom - nor do I want to be. Maybe it glorifies God more to be a happier healthier mommy who doesn't feel like she's on her last nerve, rather than a mommy who Gets It All Done.
Maybe it's okay to listen to the natural rhythms of my body - even when they don't make sense to anyone else. And really, if the Word became flesh to dwell among us - doesn't Jesus already know how tired and sore these frail bodies can get, since He spent so much time going around healing them?
Well, anyway - 20 minutes later I felt MUCH more ready to tackle Walmart during the Christmas season. And that's worth it right there.
Had a normal morning once I got home - fed the cat, fed the boy, got caffeine fix, checked email and blogs, fed self. About 10:30am I realize that if I'm going to do the dreaded Walmart run I need to get ready so I toss myself through the shower (since I've decided it makes more sense to wait these days). It's nice to not have to rush, and the hot water helps soothe the muscles that work harder everyday to tote a growing toddler in, out, up, and down everything. So I get out, expecting to dash off and do my thing, but my body has other ideas. It says to me "Hey! We got up at 5:30 this morning and you only got 6 hours of sleep - we need a break!" Which normally I would ignore, toss more coffee down my gullet, and soldier on. But after the past two days of struggle with cranky kids and a winter concert and a Girl Scout investiture and extra errands I decided my body had the right of it today. Since the little boy was safely tucked up in his room with his toys, I snuggled back down into my flannel sheets and dozed.
While I was lying there, I thought about how everyone talks about "resting in God". And not for the first time wondered if maybe that could sometimes be taken literally. Maybe it's kind of like what they tell you in the emergency airline instructions - you know, putting your own oxygen mask on before helping someone else? Maybe resting in God isn't only about the spiritual. Maybe it's okay if we rest our tired bodies and souls too. Maybe I don't have to operate at the breakneck pace some other moms I know do - I learned a while ago that I am not Supermom - nor do I want to be. Maybe it glorifies God more to be a happier healthier mommy who doesn't feel like she's on her last nerve, rather than a mommy who Gets It All Done.
Maybe it's okay to listen to the natural rhythms of my body - even when they don't make sense to anyone else. And really, if the Word became flesh to dwell among us - doesn't Jesus already know how tired and sore these frail bodies can get, since He spent so much time going around healing them?
Well, anyway - 20 minutes later I felt MUCH more ready to tackle Walmart during the Christmas season. And that's worth it right there.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
This wasn't covered in my Mom Manual....
There is a lot in the average day of the average mom that borders on the absurd. Those things and events which are completely out of our control which either make you want to laugh or cry (sometimes both).
No matter how a mom tries to plan her day, these absurd things insist on happening. While I was sitting at my keyboard typing up that last post and preparing to go run a few errands, I noticed it had suddenly become very quiet upstairs. Not quite daring to believe my little guy had actually given up and fallen asleep, I opened the door to check on him. Opening the door gently so as not to wake him, a couple inches across the floor the door goes "bonk" on something in its path. Hmm, Connor must have pushed the stool in front of the door again. I look down. And just around the corner of the door I see a tuft of blond hair. Oh.....dear. Connor didn't push an object in front of the door. He plunked HIMSELF in front of the door - and then fell asleep. This is not covered in any of the parenting books. I can't reach far enough around the door the roll him out of the way, and I hate to wake him up if he's that tired. Guess I'm not supposed to run errands today.
No matter how a mom tries to plan her day, these absurd things insist on happening. While I was sitting at my keyboard typing up that last post and preparing to go run a few errands, I noticed it had suddenly become very quiet upstairs. Not quite daring to believe my little guy had actually given up and fallen asleep, I opened the door to check on him. Opening the door gently so as not to wake him, a couple inches across the floor the door goes "bonk" on something in its path. Hmm, Connor must have pushed the stool in front of the door again. I look down. And just around the corner of the door I see a tuft of blond hair. Oh.....dear. Connor didn't push an object in front of the door. He plunked HIMSELF in front of the door - and then fell asleep. This is not covered in any of the parenting books. I can't reach far enough around the door the roll him out of the way, and I hate to wake him up if he's that tired. Guess I'm not supposed to run errands today.
In need of a change
There's got to be a better way. I just haven't figured it out yet.
I've got a few personal puzzles rambling around in my brain in need of a solution. This morning was awful, and something's got to give before I go crazy(er). I haven't any solution yet, but these are the main conundrums I've been pondering in the last week or two:
1. I need a new morning routine. The old one (before Charlotte was in kindergarten) just flat out does...not....work....anymore. I keep assuming if the kids get enough sleep they'll bounce out of bed and get ready for school with little or no prodding. Ha....ha. For the past 3 nights I've tried to make sure everyone was in bed early. Last night everyone but Brian was in bed by 9:30 - including me. Didn't. Make. One. Bit. Of difference. Grrrr. In fact, it was worse. I'm not sure what's behind it but Chris has taken a sudden turn of Stubborn on and I'm tired of having to oversee the putting on of EACH piece of clothing, the finishing of EVERY before school task. I don't know if the solution is his own personal schedule, a new alarm clock (that actually wakes him up), an earlier wake-up time, or a cattle prod but if I have one more send-off like this morning I'll be looking for that padded room sooner rather than later.
And, oh yeah - morning showers in the winter are less than pointless. After running around getting everyone ready and standing out in the frigid morning air for 20 minutes at the bus stop with a hood (or 2) clamped over my head I may as well not have bothered - 1/2 hour saved on morning routine.
2. Somehow, some way I am not going to fall into the Christmas Craziness trap. I'm not sure how, but there has got to be a way to simplify. I did start my shopping back in the fall, so I'm about half done. I'd also like to avoid the overspending thing. I always expect too much of myself in this department. Maybe this could be the year I concentrate on the traditions that are really meaningful to me and my family and skip the rest.....for real, this year.
3. I need at least a temporary solution to the cognitive dissonance I've been feeling over our church situation. I find I've really been missing many of the beautiful liturgical things that traditional churches do this time of year (Advent wreath lighting, classical Christmas music, Christmas pageants for the children, Christmas carols, etc.) And yet I know that after a few weeks in a traditional church I will feel bored, stuck, and busy. Maybe I should go get a Book of Common Prayer and dig out the hymnbooks and create my own Advent services for the family at home. One more thing for Mom to do, but maybe it will satisfy this spiritual itch that's been plaguing me.
4. My 3 children are very different from each other and have recently been showing me that they have 3 very different sets of needs. I need a new plan to balance this and I'm not sure what it is. My oldest, Chris, has a lot more homework as a 3rd grader and is getting more stubborn about doing it on his own. I spend more time prodding him along than I used to, which means less time with my other two.
Charlotte, in kindergarten, after a long day of holding in her huge energy supply, wants to bounce around and talk to anything that moves (and even anything that doesn't). Which drives the one trying to avoid the homework crazy.
Connor, the 2 year old, also has an abundant energy supply - but he prefers to use it to climb things. Since he's nosy too, many times he chooses to climb all over his brother to find out what he's doing, which also drives Chris crazy.
The hard thing with autism is it's nearly impossible to untangle what is normal 3rd grade behavior and what is the autism. How much does Chris have control over, and what is beyond his control? What do I do when none of the discipline I've used over the past few months puts a stop to his enormously bad attitude?
Anyway, I'm going to make a point to stop doing things mindlessly that no longer work, and work on trying to find something that does. I need to keep in mind that other people's expectations for family life, Christmas celebration, child management, and my spiritual life don't matter. Ultimately, I play to an audience of One. Maybe I can remember that this Christmas season...
I've got a few personal puzzles rambling around in my brain in need of a solution. This morning was awful, and something's got to give before I go crazy(er). I haven't any solution yet, but these are the main conundrums I've been pondering in the last week or two:
1. I need a new morning routine. The old one (before Charlotte was in kindergarten) just flat out does...not....work....anymore. I keep assuming if the kids get enough sleep they'll bounce out of bed and get ready for school with little or no prodding. Ha....ha. For the past 3 nights I've tried to make sure everyone was in bed early. Last night everyone but Brian was in bed by 9:30 - including me. Didn't. Make. One. Bit. Of difference. Grrrr. In fact, it was worse. I'm not sure what's behind it but Chris has taken a sudden turn of Stubborn on and I'm tired of having to oversee the putting on of EACH piece of clothing, the finishing of EVERY before school task. I don't know if the solution is his own personal schedule, a new alarm clock (that actually wakes him up), an earlier wake-up time, or a cattle prod but if I have one more send-off like this morning I'll be looking for that padded room sooner rather than later.
And, oh yeah - morning showers in the winter are less than pointless. After running around getting everyone ready and standing out in the frigid morning air for 20 minutes at the bus stop with a hood (or 2) clamped over my head I may as well not have bothered - 1/2 hour saved on morning routine.
2. Somehow, some way I am not going to fall into the Christmas Craziness trap. I'm not sure how, but there has got to be a way to simplify. I did start my shopping back in the fall, so I'm about half done. I'd also like to avoid the overspending thing. I always expect too much of myself in this department. Maybe this could be the year I concentrate on the traditions that are really meaningful to me and my family and skip the rest.....for real, this year.
3. I need at least a temporary solution to the cognitive dissonance I've been feeling over our church situation. I find I've really been missing many of the beautiful liturgical things that traditional churches do this time of year (Advent wreath lighting, classical Christmas music, Christmas pageants for the children, Christmas carols, etc.) And yet I know that after a few weeks in a traditional church I will feel bored, stuck, and busy. Maybe I should go get a Book of Common Prayer and dig out the hymnbooks and create my own Advent services for the family at home. One more thing for Mom to do, but maybe it will satisfy this spiritual itch that's been plaguing me.
4. My 3 children are very different from each other and have recently been showing me that they have 3 very different sets of needs. I need a new plan to balance this and I'm not sure what it is. My oldest, Chris, has a lot more homework as a 3rd grader and is getting more stubborn about doing it on his own. I spend more time prodding him along than I used to, which means less time with my other two.
Charlotte, in kindergarten, after a long day of holding in her huge energy supply, wants to bounce around and talk to anything that moves (and even anything that doesn't). Which drives the one trying to avoid the homework crazy.
Connor, the 2 year old, also has an abundant energy supply - but he prefers to use it to climb things. Since he's nosy too, many times he chooses to climb all over his brother to find out what he's doing, which also drives Chris crazy.
The hard thing with autism is it's nearly impossible to untangle what is normal 3rd grade behavior and what is the autism. How much does Chris have control over, and what is beyond his control? What do I do when none of the discipline I've used over the past few months puts a stop to his enormously bad attitude?
Anyway, I'm going to make a point to stop doing things mindlessly that no longer work, and work on trying to find something that does. I need to keep in mind that other people's expectations for family life, Christmas celebration, child management, and my spiritual life don't matter. Ultimately, I play to an audience of One. Maybe I can remember that this Christmas season...
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Lost in my own little world
There are days, in my life as a SAHM, when I feel like I don't even surface to the world at large. On those days, like today, I wouldn't notice if one of the world's continents slipped into the ocean (unless it happened to be the one I'm living on.) There are many days where my most frequent conversational partners are a 2 year old and a cat. Or me, myself, and I - but you know people look at you funny if you do that too often.
Even though I've been at this now for almost 9 years there are days where it still strikes me as strange that I am little more than a hermit (albeit in a house, not a cave). For most of my life I've been very much a part of the world at large. What with 13 years of school, 4 years of college, 7 years in retail, and 3 years in an office I had a need to know what transpired in the world each day. Well, at least insofar as it concerned my role.
Many of these days I feel like even God must be bored watching me. Today's agenda included getting 2 (still reluctant) children off to school, washing and changing bedding, feeding a toddler and a cat breakfast and lunch, catching up on email and blog, and preparing for the evening's activities.
Tonight's agenda includes picking up the 2 kids at the bus stop, fixing after school snacks, helping the oldest with homework, making a batch of brownies, making a quick supper for all of us and the cat, driving us all to daughter's Daisy Girl Scouts investiture ceremony, coming home to do bath and bedtime routine - and going to bed.
Most of my life, if it were a novel, would be too boring to read. I guess that's why I've had a hard time lately in my quiet times with God - I keep thinking God is bored with me too. I know that I need to get over this, but I haven't quite figured out how. Maybe I need to go dig out that book by Brother Lawrence called Practicing the Presence of God. After all, washing dishes in a monastery is not exactly material for Access Hollywood.
Even though I've been at this now for almost 9 years there are days where it still strikes me as strange that I am little more than a hermit (albeit in a house, not a cave). For most of my life I've been very much a part of the world at large. What with 13 years of school, 4 years of college, 7 years in retail, and 3 years in an office I had a need to know what transpired in the world each day. Well, at least insofar as it concerned my role.
Many of these days I feel like even God must be bored watching me. Today's agenda included getting 2 (still reluctant) children off to school, washing and changing bedding, feeding a toddler and a cat breakfast and lunch, catching up on email and blog, and preparing for the evening's activities.
Tonight's agenda includes picking up the 2 kids at the bus stop, fixing after school snacks, helping the oldest with homework, making a batch of brownies, making a quick supper for all of us and the cat, driving us all to daughter's Daisy Girl Scouts investiture ceremony, coming home to do bath and bedtime routine - and going to bed.
Most of my life, if it were a novel, would be too boring to read. I guess that's why I've had a hard time lately in my quiet times with God - I keep thinking God is bored with me too. I know that I need to get over this, but I haven't quite figured out how. Maybe I need to go dig out that book by Brother Lawrence called Practicing the Presence of God. After all, washing dishes in a monastery is not exactly material for Access Hollywood.
In search of a saner Christmas
So we got back from our Thanksgiving holiday visit and got to hit the ground running. Christopher's 3rd grade holiday concert was scheduled for last night. That's right - the very day after Thanksgiving break. It took quite of bit of planning, scheduling, and goading children to get us all there in time. We made it, and it was good. But it got me thinking about the whole Christmas season in general.
I confess that the bigger and glitzier the commercial end of Christmas gets every year, the more I feel like crawling into a hole and hiding. I never understood those people who schedule a holiday cruise or trip to the tropics until recently. I loved the Christmas season as a child. All the decorating, baking, singing, gift buying, present wrapping, church pageants, Christmas music - the whole nine yards - loved every minute of it.
I do still love it - but it's different now that I'm in charge of it. My mom had just me, and by the time I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, I helped her. I've got 3 kids and a kitty. Even though my oldest 2 are technically old enough to help (and have, some) it's still quite the 3 ring circus trying to concentrate on Christmas preparations and keep the toddler and the kitty out of everything.
Even if I do get all the physical Christmas preparation done, I find that I've been missing the heart preparations. I have very little time to sit and drink in the significance of Christmas - the fact that God chose to come to Earth, to live among us as a man, to be born of a simple Jewish peasant girl and grow up in humble circumstances, to sacrifice His life for me on a rugged Roman cross, and to triumph over the powers of evil by rising from the dead. Emmanuel, God with us.
Then too there is the fact that Christ was not born on December 25th. Historians and theologians have placed the actual birth of Christ sometime around September (around the time of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles and the Day of Atonement.) Which, symbolically, would make sense. Since Jesus knew that He would become the fulfillment of the Passover lamb by being crucified during the Passover, it makes sense that He would be born during the time the Jews celebrated the time of God's tabernacling (residing with) mankind.
Even though I know that the celebration of Christ's birth was moved to December 25th to try to draw in the pagans (who celebrated the winter solstice and the feast of Saturnalia around that time) I like the idea of celebrating the return of the light (sunlight) and the Light. I think we need to celebrate both. I find it very satisfying and I know I wouldn't make such a herculean effort without the force of tradition behind it.
But this year I would like to look deeper inside myself, deeper into the word of God, to rediscover the Word of God, who was in the beginning - for Whom everything was made, and without Whom nothing that has been made would have been made.
I confess that the bigger and glitzier the commercial end of Christmas gets every year, the more I feel like crawling into a hole and hiding. I never understood those people who schedule a holiday cruise or trip to the tropics until recently. I loved the Christmas season as a child. All the decorating, baking, singing, gift buying, present wrapping, church pageants, Christmas music - the whole nine yards - loved every minute of it.
I do still love it - but it's different now that I'm in charge of it. My mom had just me, and by the time I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, I helped her. I've got 3 kids and a kitty. Even though my oldest 2 are technically old enough to help (and have, some) it's still quite the 3 ring circus trying to concentrate on Christmas preparations and keep the toddler and the kitty out of everything.
Even if I do get all the physical Christmas preparation done, I find that I've been missing the heart preparations. I have very little time to sit and drink in the significance of Christmas - the fact that God chose to come to Earth, to live among us as a man, to be born of a simple Jewish peasant girl and grow up in humble circumstances, to sacrifice His life for me on a rugged Roman cross, and to triumph over the powers of evil by rising from the dead. Emmanuel, God with us.
Then too there is the fact that Christ was not born on December 25th. Historians and theologians have placed the actual birth of Christ sometime around September (around the time of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles and the Day of Atonement.) Which, symbolically, would make sense. Since Jesus knew that He would become the fulfillment of the Passover lamb by being crucified during the Passover, it makes sense that He would be born during the time the Jews celebrated the time of God's tabernacling (residing with) mankind.
Even though I know that the celebration of Christ's birth was moved to December 25th to try to draw in the pagans (who celebrated the winter solstice and the feast of Saturnalia around that time) I like the idea of celebrating the return of the light (sunlight) and the Light. I think we need to celebrate both. I find it very satisfying and I know I wouldn't make such a herculean effort without the force of tradition behind it.
But this year I would like to look deeper inside myself, deeper into the word of God, to rediscover the Word of God, who was in the beginning - for Whom everything was made, and without Whom nothing that has been made would have been made.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Pre-holiday rant
I'm going on strike this time next year. I swear I am. In the past 48 hours I have sorted 100 pounds of laundry, washed and dried 7 loads of it, folded and put away 3 of the loads, run up and down both sets of steps in my house about 50 times a day, chased my toddler and the kitten out of every conceivable place in the house, and done all my normal mom duties with the children. It's 3pm. I've only just had lunch (1 pb&j sandwich).
In the next 24 hours I need to do the last load of laundry, fold and put away 5 finished ones, pack 4 suitcases, spend 2 hours going to my allergist to get my monthly shot (1/2hr. to get ready, 20 min. drive, 20 min. there, 20 min. home), get the cat's stuff ready to drop him off at the kennel, and do all my normal mom stuff for the kids.
Every. Muscle. In. My body. Hurts.
And I still have a 5-? hour drive with 3 children to look forward to. Don't get me wrong, I love visiting our families in PA. I just wish there was some way to get up there without this marathon beforehand.
So right now you're asking well, why did you wait so long to do laundry? I didn't - 8 loads is a normal amount for the 5 of us for a week. It's just that normally I have all week to do it in. But to go on a week long trip I need 2 weeks worth of clean laundry for all of us so that we have something to wear in the few days before and the few days after as well.
So next year. I think I'll go on strike. I'll still do the normal laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking. But I'll tell my husband if he wants to go visiting then he can do the extra laundry and the packing. They can go, I'll stay home. I'm going to go to the library, stock up on some good novels, buy some easy to fix food, and spend the holiday being thankful for relaxing at home.
Next year, I swear that I will. Really.....
In the next 24 hours I need to do the last load of laundry, fold and put away 5 finished ones, pack 4 suitcases, spend 2 hours going to my allergist to get my monthly shot (1/2hr. to get ready, 20 min. drive, 20 min. there, 20 min. home), get the cat's stuff ready to drop him off at the kennel, and do all my normal mom stuff for the kids.
Every. Muscle. In. My body. Hurts.
And I still have a 5-? hour drive with 3 children to look forward to. Don't get me wrong, I love visiting our families in PA. I just wish there was some way to get up there without this marathon beforehand.
So right now you're asking well, why did you wait so long to do laundry? I didn't - 8 loads is a normal amount for the 5 of us for a week. It's just that normally I have all week to do it in. But to go on a week long trip I need 2 weeks worth of clean laundry for all of us so that we have something to wear in the few days before and the few days after as well.
So next year. I think I'll go on strike. I'll still do the normal laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking. But I'll tell my husband if he wants to go visiting then he can do the extra laundry and the packing. They can go, I'll stay home. I'm going to go to the library, stock up on some good novels, buy some easy to fix food, and spend the holiday being thankful for relaxing at home.
Next year, I swear that I will. Really.....
Monday, November 24, 2008
Just to make sure you're paying attention
Yes, I changed my template...again. Variety being the spice of life and all that. Plus I get bored easily. Don't be surprised if it continues to change every so often as I learn to manipulate different elements. Maybe someday I'll get ambitious and investigate creating my own - which would be fun but time consuming.
When my own words fail
Sometimes somebody else's words express how I'm feeling far better than I can. Sometimes God leads me to those words at the strangest times in the oddest ways.
"Midway along the journey of our life
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
for I had wandered off from the straight path.
How hard it is to tell what it was like,
this wood of wilderness, savage and stubborn
(the thought of it brings back all my old fears),
a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer.
But if I would show the good that came of it
I must talk about things other than the good.
How I entered there I cannot truly say,
I had become so sleepy at the moment
when I first strayed, leaving the path of truth;"
For those of you, like I, who did not read this in high school, those are the opening words of Dante's Inferno. I was at the library on Saturday, with my 5 year old daughter in tow (because she pulled a drama queen face and begged to come with me). I was trying to hurry, because I knew she would stay put at the children's activity table for only so long. After refilling my quota of novels for the week, on a whim I wandered over to the poetry section. I found the Rumi book I went for, and then my eyes landed on Dante. Lately I've had a desire to read some of the classics we, for whatever reason, were not required to read in high school. I grabbed the book along with the rest of my stack and dashed back to where Charlotte was happily working a puzzle. I figured I could peruse my books for a few minutes while she played.
Being curious, I opened up the Dante, and read those opening words. And nearly slid through the floor in shock. A 13th century poet had just given me an existential punch in the gut. Wow. Well, it's good to know that my spiritual angst is not just a product of the times I live in, but a product of the human condition.
I've been coming to the gradual realization that I am tired of being a "human do-ing" and want to be a "human be-ing" again. The past couple weekends I've been on a forced hiatus from church. Due mostly to illness in the family, company, and general worn out-ed-ness, we haven't been in church the past few Sundays. Yesterday I came to the startling realization that I felt much calmer and more at peace with myself and my family than I have in months. I began thinking about what that said about my church experience in particular and American Christianity in general.
I got to spend a hour or so reading my Bible and praying/meditating in private, then relaxed with my family. After dinner I was able to get started on some laundry so as to not be behind all week in holiday preparations. What a lovely, relaxed day it was.
It made me start to wonder if many American Christians aren't going about the whole concept of "church" the wrong way. Why is it, no matter what church you belong to, no matter which denomination you find yourself in - as soon as you offer up your gifts and talents to serve the body of Christ, you find yourself stressed out and overcommitted? Where did we lose the concept of balance? How can we "be still and know" that He is God when we're not even allowed to be still? Why does it seem the church is just as guilty of this as the world we claim to be separate from? Why is so much extra "stuff" laid on top of Jesus' simple command to "Come, follow Me"?
In those rare moments when I am alone with just my own thoughts and God, I keep thinking, "Is this all there is?" Is all there is being permanently stuck in fast forward being busy for the Kingdom? What happened to "Come unto Me all who are weary and I will give you rest"?
And most disturbing of all, why does it seem that I am the only one who is bothered by this? Why am I the only who is tired of all the pomp and circumstance that the modern church has become?
I want to be like Mary, and simply go sit at Jesus' feet - and listen.
"Midway along the journey of our life
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
for I had wandered off from the straight path.
How hard it is to tell what it was like,
this wood of wilderness, savage and stubborn
(the thought of it brings back all my old fears),
a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer.
But if I would show the good that came of it
I must talk about things other than the good.
How I entered there I cannot truly say,
I had become so sleepy at the moment
when I first strayed, leaving the path of truth;"
For those of you, like I, who did not read this in high school, those are the opening words of Dante's Inferno. I was at the library on Saturday, with my 5 year old daughter in tow (because she pulled a drama queen face and begged to come with me). I was trying to hurry, because I knew she would stay put at the children's activity table for only so long. After refilling my quota of novels for the week, on a whim I wandered over to the poetry section. I found the Rumi book I went for, and then my eyes landed on Dante. Lately I've had a desire to read some of the classics we, for whatever reason, were not required to read in high school. I grabbed the book along with the rest of my stack and dashed back to where Charlotte was happily working a puzzle. I figured I could peruse my books for a few minutes while she played.
Being curious, I opened up the Dante, and read those opening words. And nearly slid through the floor in shock. A 13th century poet had just given me an existential punch in the gut. Wow. Well, it's good to know that my spiritual angst is not just a product of the times I live in, but a product of the human condition.
I've been coming to the gradual realization that I am tired of being a "human do-ing" and want to be a "human be-ing" again. The past couple weekends I've been on a forced hiatus from church. Due mostly to illness in the family, company, and general worn out-ed-ness, we haven't been in church the past few Sundays. Yesterday I came to the startling realization that I felt much calmer and more at peace with myself and my family than I have in months. I began thinking about what that said about my church experience in particular and American Christianity in general.
I got to spend a hour or so reading my Bible and praying/meditating in private, then relaxed with my family. After dinner I was able to get started on some laundry so as to not be behind all week in holiday preparations. What a lovely, relaxed day it was.
It made me start to wonder if many American Christians aren't going about the whole concept of "church" the wrong way. Why is it, no matter what church you belong to, no matter which denomination you find yourself in - as soon as you offer up your gifts and talents to serve the body of Christ, you find yourself stressed out and overcommitted? Where did we lose the concept of balance? How can we "be still and know" that He is God when we're not even allowed to be still? Why does it seem the church is just as guilty of this as the world we claim to be separate from? Why is so much extra "stuff" laid on top of Jesus' simple command to "Come, follow Me"?
In those rare moments when I am alone with just my own thoughts and God, I keep thinking, "Is this all there is?" Is all there is being permanently stuck in fast forward being busy for the Kingdom? What happened to "Come unto Me all who are weary and I will give you rest"?
And most disturbing of all, why does it seem that I am the only one who is bothered by this? Why am I the only who is tired of all the pomp and circumstance that the modern church has become?
I want to be like Mary, and simply go sit at Jesus' feet - and listen.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Fallible Friday follies
Ha. Bet you thought I forgot to post today. Nope, just got sidetracked. Friday is the day I meet with my prayer group moms. By the time I get home it's lunchtime and (maybe, possibly) naptime for little Boo (which today it was, yippee!)
This one'll be a little stream-of-consciousness cause that's the kind of day/week I've had.
So with every good intention I sat down to type after lunch.....and my kitty crawled into my lap trolling for scritches. Well... any of you who has an animal that does this can guess what happened next. Yep, I succumbed to SKOL syndrome (Sleeping Kitty On Lap) and suddenly found I could not keep my eyes open. Cats are God's way of telling us to give up and go take a nap. So I did.
So. Then after picking the kids up at the bus stop I decided to ply them with treats to stop them from fighting (Friday after-school meltdowns are the WORST). I wanted to try out what sounded like a yummy and simple recipe that my friend gave me this morning. All you do is take one box of devil's food cake mix and 1 can of solid pack pumpkin, mix together, put in muffin trays, bake for 350 deg. for 15-18 minutes. Voila! Yummy chocolate muffins with a nutritious surprise.
I should have know that it sounded too easy.
First, I couldn't remember what size can pumpkin when I was in the store, so I bought the big one (29 oz size). Well, it was supposed to be the small one (14 oz. size), so I decided to do a double batch. Ha. Ha. By the time I got 2 cake mixes and 1 large can of pumpkin in my mixing bowl it was all I could do to mix it without overflowing the bowl. It didn't help that the batter is the consistency of thick icing. I probably should have dug out the mixer but I was stubborn and didn't want to clean it. Between a fork and a spatula I managed to mix it. Whew! There's a workout for ya.
Got the thick stuff into the muffin tins and put it in to bake. And bake. And bake. You're supposed to turn the temp. down to 325 deg. if you use a dark tin, which I do. Well.....try more like 20-25 minutes in my oven.
Okay, finally they are done. Well, they smell good - hope they taste good. Waiting....waiting.....waiting. Give one to each child (not the baby, he'd bounce) and one for me. And the verdict is....
Mmmm. Different - good different. Less like muffins or cake and more like molten chocolate cake consistency (for you bakers, a very soft, fine crumb)- yummy! But more treat or dessert than breakfast (my friend makes hers for brunch - ummm, maybe not unless it's WITH something else - unless I want to train the children as trapeze artists by having them swing from the curtain rods.)
Sigh of relief. I'm supposed to make up a batch for us to put in the teachers' break room for a pre-Thanksgiving treat. It's good to know the recipe works and is tasty.
This one'll be a little stream-of-consciousness cause that's the kind of day/week I've had.
So with every good intention I sat down to type after lunch.....and my kitty crawled into my lap trolling for scritches. Well... any of you who has an animal that does this can guess what happened next. Yep, I succumbed to SKOL syndrome (Sleeping Kitty On Lap) and suddenly found I could not keep my eyes open. Cats are God's way of telling us to give up and go take a nap. So I did.
So. Then after picking the kids up at the bus stop I decided to ply them with treats to stop them from fighting (Friday after-school meltdowns are the WORST). I wanted to try out what sounded like a yummy and simple recipe that my friend gave me this morning. All you do is take one box of devil's food cake mix and 1 can of solid pack pumpkin, mix together, put in muffin trays, bake for 350 deg. for 15-18 minutes. Voila! Yummy chocolate muffins with a nutritious surprise.
I should have know that it sounded too easy.
First, I couldn't remember what size can pumpkin when I was in the store, so I bought the big one (29 oz size). Well, it was supposed to be the small one (14 oz. size), so I decided to do a double batch. Ha. Ha. By the time I got 2 cake mixes and 1 large can of pumpkin in my mixing bowl it was all I could do to mix it without overflowing the bowl. It didn't help that the batter is the consistency of thick icing. I probably should have dug out the mixer but I was stubborn and didn't want to clean it. Between a fork and a spatula I managed to mix it. Whew! There's a workout for ya.
Got the thick stuff into the muffin tins and put it in to bake. And bake. And bake. You're supposed to turn the temp. down to 325 deg. if you use a dark tin, which I do. Well.....try more like 20-25 minutes in my oven.
Okay, finally they are done. Well, they smell good - hope they taste good. Waiting....waiting.....waiting. Give one to each child (not the baby, he'd bounce) and one for me. And the verdict is....
Mmmm. Different - good different. Less like muffins or cake and more like molten chocolate cake consistency (for you bakers, a very soft, fine crumb)- yummy! But more treat or dessert than breakfast (my friend makes hers for brunch - ummm, maybe not unless it's WITH something else - unless I want to train the children as trapeze artists by having them swing from the curtain rods.)
Sigh of relief. I'm supposed to make up a batch for us to put in the teachers' break room for a pre-Thanksgiving treat. It's good to know the recipe works and is tasty.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Why do they bother to make toys for boys?
Otherwise known as Help! I Need an Instruction Manual.
Sometimes I think that parenthood is God's inside joke on His children. It's the only thing that explains why all my kids are very much like and yet nothing at all like myself and my husband (well, that and Mendelian genetics, but still).
You would think, by the time I got to the third child, I might have an inkling of what I was doing - right? Wrong!
So, #1 Son comes along and we follow all the parenting and pediatrician's advice - 3 1/2 years later we find out that the reason very little of it worked is because he has autism. Ahhh, of course - now all those unexplained tantrums/obsessions/pickiness/not-wanting-to-sleep etc. make sense. Okay, got it. Shift gears. Read up on autism, evaluate strategy, adapt. (And keep on adapting as it turns out, but that's another story, never mind, anyway....)
Next, Dear Daughter comes along. Definitely not autistic, thank goodness. Rather, social butterfly. Extrovert in the extreme. Where did this child come from again? Gotta love those Mendelian genetics - recessive genes, gotta be. With the non-stop energy of a kangaroo - for a while we called her Tigger. She has two speeds - fast forward and asleep - nothing in between. And oh, the drama....
Now then, #2 Son comes along. With trepidation we wait to see if autism makes an appearance again. No? Okay, great. So, boy raising strategy minus autism adaptation. Er, yeah. Well, maybe?
Huh. This one defies the parenting books, the pediatrician's advice, and all our knowledge and experience gained with his brother and sister. An extrovert like his sister, he wants to follow me around everywhere I go. But, like his brother - fascinated with how everything works. So he follows me around and wreaks havoc everywhere he goes. Whereas Chris would play with the light switches for hours at a time, Connor wants to take apart anything he can get his hands on. And - he can get his hands on most anything he wants to. He's got his sister's strength and agility combined with his brother's amazing capacity for figuring things out. This is a dangerous combination in a 2 year old. He can climb anything, escape anything, take anything apart, and has unlimited energy (he really doesn't nap anymore). I'd love to create a giant, toddler size hamster ball to put him in and let him bash around the house awhile without being able to hurt himself.
You see, he doesn't want toys anymore. I've tried every bait and switch in the book. It distracts him for 30 seconds and then he's back trying to play with the entertainment system, or the dish cupboard, or the refrigerator, or the CD rack, or the computer. I used to just put things up, but I'm running out of UP. Besides, I can't move the equipment.
I keep hoping he will pass through this phase quickly, or else a padded room will be required. For him or for me remains to be seen.....
Sometimes I think that parenthood is God's inside joke on His children. It's the only thing that explains why all my kids are very much like and yet nothing at all like myself and my husband (well, that and Mendelian genetics, but still).
You would think, by the time I got to the third child, I might have an inkling of what I was doing - right? Wrong!
So, #1 Son comes along and we follow all the parenting and pediatrician's advice - 3 1/2 years later we find out that the reason very little of it worked is because he has autism. Ahhh, of course - now all those unexplained tantrums/obsessions/pickiness/not-wanting-to-sleep etc. make sense. Okay, got it. Shift gears. Read up on autism, evaluate strategy, adapt. (And keep on adapting as it turns out, but that's another story, never mind, anyway....)
Next, Dear Daughter comes along. Definitely not autistic, thank goodness. Rather, social butterfly. Extrovert in the extreme. Where did this child come from again? Gotta love those Mendelian genetics - recessive genes, gotta be. With the non-stop energy of a kangaroo - for a while we called her Tigger. She has two speeds - fast forward and asleep - nothing in between. And oh, the drama....
Now then, #2 Son comes along. With trepidation we wait to see if autism makes an appearance again. No? Okay, great. So, boy raising strategy minus autism adaptation. Er, yeah. Well, maybe?
Huh. This one defies the parenting books, the pediatrician's advice, and all our knowledge and experience gained with his brother and sister. An extrovert like his sister, he wants to follow me around everywhere I go. But, like his brother - fascinated with how everything works. So he follows me around and wreaks havoc everywhere he goes. Whereas Chris would play with the light switches for hours at a time, Connor wants to take apart anything he can get his hands on. And - he can get his hands on most anything he wants to. He's got his sister's strength and agility combined with his brother's amazing capacity for figuring things out. This is a dangerous combination in a 2 year old. He can climb anything, escape anything, take anything apart, and has unlimited energy (he really doesn't nap anymore). I'd love to create a giant, toddler size hamster ball to put him in and let him bash around the house awhile without being able to hurt himself.
You see, he doesn't want toys anymore. I've tried every bait and switch in the book. It distracts him for 30 seconds and then he's back trying to play with the entertainment system, or the dish cupboard, or the refrigerator, or the CD rack, or the computer. I used to just put things up, but I'm running out of UP. Besides, I can't move the equipment.
I keep hoping he will pass through this phase quickly, or else a padded room will be required. For him or for me remains to be seen.....
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
An experiment
I'd like to try a little experiment and see how it goes. You may have noticed I've been a bit lax in posting lately. It's not for lack of ideas or want of writing. It's just that the "sensible" part of me says that blogging is an extra, not a necessary in my life. Only I've noticed over the past few weeks that I've had this almost constant mental friction - a spiritual itch, a soul deep angst - overlaying everything I do and think.
I've been pondering this and I think I've reached a conclusion. I wonder if my angst is nothing more or less than the frustrated Muse within. All my life I've had (and needed) some sort of artistic outlet. For most of my life, the main outlet was singing or playing an instrument. but right now the circumstances of my life work against the idea of being in some sort of ensemble. I have noticed also that the weeks that I have been able to blog a lot (sounds like a new knight at the round table - Sir Blogs a Lot) that I haven't had that constant mental itch in the back of my head.
So - here's the experiment. I'm going to make a point to post on this blog every weekday (for starters at least; weekend posts are always erratic because a lot depends on my church activity schedule.) I'm going to attempt to put a gag on the Editor who likes to sit on my shoulder. I'll try to not worry about whether my ideas are too silly or not profound enough to print. And we'll see what comes of it.
Incidentally, I will pick up my Life of Beth series again, but I think I'll need to do shorter chapters. The ones I've been posting have each taken an hour or more, and that's part of what 's been standing in my way.
So - look for me here tomorrow, who knows what the Muse will have to say for herself...
I've been pondering this and I think I've reached a conclusion. I wonder if my angst is nothing more or less than the frustrated Muse within. All my life I've had (and needed) some sort of artistic outlet. For most of my life, the main outlet was singing or playing an instrument. but right now the circumstances of my life work against the idea of being in some sort of ensemble. I have noticed also that the weeks that I have been able to blog a lot (sounds like a new knight at the round table - Sir Blogs a Lot) that I haven't had that constant mental itch in the back of my head.
So - here's the experiment. I'm going to make a point to post on this blog every weekday (for starters at least; weekend posts are always erratic because a lot depends on my church activity schedule.) I'm going to attempt to put a gag on the Editor who likes to sit on my shoulder. I'll try to not worry about whether my ideas are too silly or not profound enough to print. And we'll see what comes of it.
Incidentally, I will pick up my Life of Beth series again, but I think I'll need to do shorter chapters. The ones I've been posting have each taken an hour or more, and that's part of what 's been standing in my way.
So - look for me here tomorrow, who knows what the Muse will have to say for herself...
Wandering mind Wednesday
A lot of the bloggers I regularly read do a "Wordless Wednesday". Which I like, but I am hopelessly slow with photos and links. But I always have a lot of random ideas pinging around in my brain that don't necessarily go together. So here's a few thoughts that have ambled into my head over the past few days...
1. Why do they call the part of the US that I live in a temperate zone when it has some of the most IN-temperate weather I can imagine? Last week I was digging out our shorts and t-shirts again because it was in the 70's. Today, wearing a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans and socks, sitting inside my heated house, my fingers are still so cold I can barely type these words - it's coming up on noon my thermometer reads 35 degrees F.
2. Why is it that the same children who bounce out of bed at 7am on a Saturday remain unconscious lumps until I shovel them out of bed kicking and screaming on a school day?
3. Yesterday while bringing in the trash cans I bent down to pick up what I thought was a piece of discarded plastic that got blown out of someone's can - turns out it was a small plastic rosary. I have no way of knowing whose it is and I'm not Catholic. Do I keep it? Throw it out? Is that sacreligious? My daughter thought it made a cool necklace. Is that sacreligious too?
4. I used to read mostly non-fiction. Lately I've been devouring novels like there's no tomorrow. Is there a reason for this? What does that say about me?
5. When I go to church, listen to a Christian radio station, or read a book about the Christian journey, I hear a lot about being a good witness, letting my light shine, being a good example for others, etc. But the reality of my daily life is that for 6 days of the week, my sphere of influence is 4 people (1 husband, 3 children) and 1 small cat. That's it. Yes, I try to be nice to the store clerks (specially since I was one once). I try to drive my car so's not to be a hypocrite in light of the Jesus fish on the back of it. I try to be courteous to telemarketers. I am involved at church, but that's just 1 day out of 7. But for the most part, my day to day life with its triumphs and struggles is only lived out in front of those 4 people. Period. Is that okay with God? Should I be looking to add to my already overcrowded schedule? And how, exactly does one practice the presence of God while sorting laundry?
6. Being a SAHM requires me to live on the craziest schedule. Short bursts of frantic activity followed by countless hours of tedium. One day I have so many appointments and errands I'm hardly home. The next day I'm trying to dig the house out from where I threw everything from the day(s) before. I think the only people with a LESS predictable schedule than I have are doctors and first responders (firefighters, EMT's, police officers).
Anyway, those are my random musings for today....
1. Why do they call the part of the US that I live in a temperate zone when it has some of the most IN-temperate weather I can imagine? Last week I was digging out our shorts and t-shirts again because it was in the 70's. Today, wearing a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans and socks, sitting inside my heated house, my fingers are still so cold I can barely type these words - it's coming up on noon my thermometer reads 35 degrees F.
2. Why is it that the same children who bounce out of bed at 7am on a Saturday remain unconscious lumps until I shovel them out of bed kicking and screaming on a school day?
3. Yesterday while bringing in the trash cans I bent down to pick up what I thought was a piece of discarded plastic that got blown out of someone's can - turns out it was a small plastic rosary. I have no way of knowing whose it is and I'm not Catholic. Do I keep it? Throw it out? Is that sacreligious? My daughter thought it made a cool necklace. Is that sacreligious too?
4. I used to read mostly non-fiction. Lately I've been devouring novels like there's no tomorrow. Is there a reason for this? What does that say about me?
5. When I go to church, listen to a Christian radio station, or read a book about the Christian journey, I hear a lot about being a good witness, letting my light shine, being a good example for others, etc. But the reality of my daily life is that for 6 days of the week, my sphere of influence is 4 people (1 husband, 3 children) and 1 small cat. That's it. Yes, I try to be nice to the store clerks (specially since I was one once). I try to drive my car so's not to be a hypocrite in light of the Jesus fish on the back of it. I try to be courteous to telemarketers. I am involved at church, but that's just 1 day out of 7. But for the most part, my day to day life with its triumphs and struggles is only lived out in front of those 4 people. Period. Is that okay with God? Should I be looking to add to my already overcrowded schedule? And how, exactly does one practice the presence of God while sorting laundry?
6. Being a SAHM requires me to live on the craziest schedule. Short bursts of frantic activity followed by countless hours of tedium. One day I have so many appointments and errands I'm hardly home. The next day I'm trying to dig the house out from where I threw everything from the day(s) before. I think the only people with a LESS predictable schedule than I have are doctors and first responders (firefighters, EMT's, police officers).
Anyway, those are my random musings for today....
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The flip side to yesterday's post
I read a disturbing quote on CNN.com today referring to President-elect Obama.
By Stuart Rothenberg, "They don't think he's merely going to be president. They think he's been elected savior." And it showed an artist's rendering of Barack Obama in a Superman costume.
Oooooo-kay. Now THIS I have a problem with. As I said yesterday, I am hopeful about the effect of Barack Obama's election on our country and our relations with the world. He seems like a good man and a good politician. I hope time will prove him to be both. But he is a man. Just a man - a mere mortal like the rest of us. He is not a savior. Those of us who call ourselves Christians already have a Savior - Jesus Christ. Who incidentally warned his followers time and time again about putting our trust in anyone but Him.
Psalm 118:8, 9 "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes." Or presidents, I might add. No matter how powerful and charismatic they are.
I would be as happy as anyone if our new President can help fix our economic mess, unify our country, and improve foreign relations. But whether he can or can't, I already have a Savior.
1 John 5:21 "Dear children, keep yourselves from idols."
By Stuart Rothenberg, "They don't think he's merely going to be president. They think he's been elected savior." And it showed an artist's rendering of Barack Obama in a Superman costume.
Oooooo-kay. Now THIS I have a problem with. As I said yesterday, I am hopeful about the effect of Barack Obama's election on our country and our relations with the world. He seems like a good man and a good politician. I hope time will prove him to be both. But he is a man. Just a man - a mere mortal like the rest of us. He is not a savior. Those of us who call ourselves Christians already have a Savior - Jesus Christ. Who incidentally warned his followers time and time again about putting our trust in anyone but Him.
Psalm 118:8, 9 "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes." Or presidents, I might add. No matter how powerful and charismatic they are.
I would be as happy as anyone if our new President can help fix our economic mess, unify our country, and improve foreign relations. But whether he can or can't, I already have a Savior.
1 John 5:21 "Dear children, keep yourselves from idols."
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Proud to be an American today
Today is a historical day. A momentous day. A day that I am proud to be an American.
I have two confessions to make:
1. I voted for McCain.
2. I secretly hoped Obama would win.
Okay, now that I've shocked EVERYBODY, let me explain.
I usually avoid talking politics. That whole non-confrontational thing. My husband and I have a very interesting situation come election times. I was raised by conservative Republicans. He was raised by fairly liberal Democrats. The two of us meet somewhere in the middle - liberal Republicans, or conservative Democrats - Moderates, if you will (though we seem to be a dying breed.) However, we agreed, that so as not to cancel out each other's votes, but present a united front - we would decide together who we would vote for during a Presidential election.
We have had many, MANY discussions over the past year or so - issues, platforms, voting records, the whole nine yards. Neither candidate completely satisfied our consciences. But we refused to throw away our votes - we wanted to cast them for one of the candidates who could actually win.
We didn't agree with the Democrats, morally. We didn't agree with how the Republicans have run the country, practically. We didn't like Obama's inexperience. We didn't like McCain's temper. We wondered why the Republican party insisted on coming up with an "old white man " candidate.....again. We wondered if Obama would flub up foreign policy. We wondered if it was wise to have a man who'd undergone torture to have his finger on the red button.
Over, and over, and over we hashed it out.
Last night I watched the election results in utter fascination. It was like watching a giant, historical chess game being played out. And when the official announcement was made.... I got chills down my spine. This was history being made, before my eyes.
As big (or bigger) than when Americans got to watch the moon landing. Which since I was a baby at the time, is really only a history lesson for me.
There were a lot of things about this election that I liked. I liked that both candidates were rather more gracious than candidates have been in the past. I liked that Obama was humble winner. I liked that McCain was a gracious loser. I loved seeing my country gather up enthusiasm for the voting process itself. The apathy which has held many in it's grip has concerned me a lot.
And so now, once again, America has made history. The sacrifices, prayers, and tears of so many before us, both famous and unknown, have made this possible. I like this story. It is, if nothing else, a quintessentially American story. You'd be hard pressed to write a story this good. Truth is stranger than fiction. The underdog comes from behind and wins the day. There's something very satisfying about that, if you're an American. Our country was founded by the underdogs with a dream.
I want to believe in this story. I like this junior Senator from Illinois with his charisma and charm, his political savvy and speaking skills. I want to believe that he can deliver on his promises. I want to believe in the hope that he engenders, for our nation, for our future. I want to believe that he can re-unite our fractured country, help us to pull ourselves back up by our bootstraps, and restore our reputation among the nations of the world.
Some said they were surprised he seemed so sober in his acceptance speech. I think it speaks well of him. He knows that not just a nation, but the world, will be watching his every move. A heavy burden for one man to bear. I pray God grants him wisdom. I pray our nation grants him patience.
For though as a Christian, I know this nation is not my final home, I pray our new President can lead us into making it a better place to live in the meantime - a nation again with liberty and justice for all.
I have two confessions to make:
1. I voted for McCain.
2. I secretly hoped Obama would win.
Okay, now that I've shocked EVERYBODY, let me explain.
I usually avoid talking politics. That whole non-confrontational thing. My husband and I have a very interesting situation come election times. I was raised by conservative Republicans. He was raised by fairly liberal Democrats. The two of us meet somewhere in the middle - liberal Republicans, or conservative Democrats - Moderates, if you will (though we seem to be a dying breed.) However, we agreed, that so as not to cancel out each other's votes, but present a united front - we would decide together who we would vote for during a Presidential election.
We have had many, MANY discussions over the past year or so - issues, platforms, voting records, the whole nine yards. Neither candidate completely satisfied our consciences. But we refused to throw away our votes - we wanted to cast them for one of the candidates who could actually win.
We didn't agree with the Democrats, morally. We didn't agree with how the Republicans have run the country, practically. We didn't like Obama's inexperience. We didn't like McCain's temper. We wondered why the Republican party insisted on coming up with an "old white man " candidate.....again. We wondered if Obama would flub up foreign policy. We wondered if it was wise to have a man who'd undergone torture to have his finger on the red button.
Over, and over, and over we hashed it out.
Last night I watched the election results in utter fascination. It was like watching a giant, historical chess game being played out. And when the official announcement was made.... I got chills down my spine. This was history being made, before my eyes.
As big (or bigger) than when Americans got to watch the moon landing. Which since I was a baby at the time, is really only a history lesson for me.
There were a lot of things about this election that I liked. I liked that both candidates were rather more gracious than candidates have been in the past. I liked that Obama was humble winner. I liked that McCain was a gracious loser. I loved seeing my country gather up enthusiasm for the voting process itself. The apathy which has held many in it's grip has concerned me a lot.
And so now, once again, America has made history. The sacrifices, prayers, and tears of so many before us, both famous and unknown, have made this possible. I like this story. It is, if nothing else, a quintessentially American story. You'd be hard pressed to write a story this good. Truth is stranger than fiction. The underdog comes from behind and wins the day. There's something very satisfying about that, if you're an American. Our country was founded by the underdogs with a dream.
I want to believe in this story. I like this junior Senator from Illinois with his charisma and charm, his political savvy and speaking skills. I want to believe that he can deliver on his promises. I want to believe in the hope that he engenders, for our nation, for our future. I want to believe that he can re-unite our fractured country, help us to pull ourselves back up by our bootstraps, and restore our reputation among the nations of the world.
Some said they were surprised he seemed so sober in his acceptance speech. I think it speaks well of him. He knows that not just a nation, but the world, will be watching his every move. A heavy burden for one man to bear. I pray God grants him wisdom. I pray our nation grants him patience.
For though as a Christian, I know this nation is not my final home, I pray our new President can lead us into making it a better place to live in the meantime - a nation again with liberty and justice for all.
Friday, October 31, 2008
This is the air I breathe.....literally
There's a popular worship song a lot of you may have heard of and/or sung lately - it's called Breathe (written by Michael W. Smith?), and it starts out:
This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence, living in me
At 4:30am this morning I was reminded just how literally dependent I am on God for everything, even my next breath. At 4:30 this morning I woke up having an asthma attack. (Thank you nasty fall cold.) Lest you think this is a regular occurrence, the last time I remember this happening was the first time it happened - I was 12 years old.
It was a very sobering reminder that although for the most part my asthma is well managed and rarely causes me even discomfort let alone danger, I am living with a condition that could potentially kill me. We are all dependent on God for everything, including our next breath. I just have reason to be more acutely aware of it from time to time.
After I stopped panicking and very sensibly went downstairs to grab my inhaler - I lay in bed for a while wide awake, waiting for the pressure in my lungs to ease. I remembered a teaching I'd recently heard - on John 10:10 - "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full"
The person giving the teaching suggested that sometimes this may work itself out in a literal way - Satan would like us dead, if he could manage it, that we might no longer trouble him. Many times we as Christians think of this verse as more metaphorical (well of course, Satan wants to steal my peace of mind, kill my joy, and destroy my witness - thereby rendering me ineffective in the kingdom). And that is still true. But I know there have been times in my life (at least a good handful) where God has snatched my life (or my children's lives) out of the jaws of danger. As a tiny 2 week old baby, in the hospital with a lung infection from a milk allergy - as a 12 year old with severe bronchitis needing to be rushed to the hospital to be put in a oxygen tent - as a young working woman having my little economy car smashed into by a huge pickup truck running the red light - in pre-term labor with my first child and the cord was wrapped around his neck - as a young mother being rushed to the hospital because allergies overwhelmed my body and brought on a severe asthma attack.
And those are just the times I KNOW about. How many other countless times has God rescued me, my husband, or children from UNSEEN danger?
It's an awesome, incomprehensible thought that Satan considers little 'ole cream puff me an
Enemy of the State who needs to be done away with.
This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence, living in me
At 4:30am this morning I was reminded just how literally dependent I am on God for everything, even my next breath. At 4:30 this morning I woke up having an asthma attack. (Thank you nasty fall cold.) Lest you think this is a regular occurrence, the last time I remember this happening was the first time it happened - I was 12 years old.
It was a very sobering reminder that although for the most part my asthma is well managed and rarely causes me even discomfort let alone danger, I am living with a condition that could potentially kill me. We are all dependent on God for everything, including our next breath. I just have reason to be more acutely aware of it from time to time.
After I stopped panicking and very sensibly went downstairs to grab my inhaler - I lay in bed for a while wide awake, waiting for the pressure in my lungs to ease. I remembered a teaching I'd recently heard - on John 10:10 - "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full"
The person giving the teaching suggested that sometimes this may work itself out in a literal way - Satan would like us dead, if he could manage it, that we might no longer trouble him. Many times we as Christians think of this verse as more metaphorical (well of course, Satan wants to steal my peace of mind, kill my joy, and destroy my witness - thereby rendering me ineffective in the kingdom). And that is still true. But I know there have been times in my life (at least a good handful) where God has snatched my life (or my children's lives) out of the jaws of danger. As a tiny 2 week old baby, in the hospital with a lung infection from a milk allergy - as a 12 year old with severe bronchitis needing to be rushed to the hospital to be put in a oxygen tent - as a young working woman having my little economy car smashed into by a huge pickup truck running the red light - in pre-term labor with my first child and the cord was wrapped around his neck - as a young mother being rushed to the hospital because allergies overwhelmed my body and brought on a severe asthma attack.
And those are just the times I KNOW about. How many other countless times has God rescued me, my husband, or children from UNSEEN danger?
It's an awesome, incomprehensible thought that Satan considers little 'ole cream puff me an
Enemy of the State who needs to be done away with.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
God's small surprises
Last night, at the end of a very long and busy 5 days crammed full of things-to-do, I sat at the computer drinking some tea and researching random things on Google. Yes, this is one way eggheads like me relax. There's always at least half a dozen questions swirling through my brain on any given day, and sometimes I like to just sit down and satisfy my curiosity.
Well, the first time anyone meets our kitten, Simba, the first thing they remark on is his large paws. I thought it was cute and kind of unique but EVERYONE who meets him always says the same thing, "Wow, look at those BIG PAWS!" Simba has what's known as polydactyly - he's a 6 toed cat. After hearing maybe a dozen or more people (everyone from the vet's staff, to the Jehovah's Witness ladies who rang the bell one day) say this first thing, I decided to research it some more.
What I learned was fascinating, and an amazing bit of synchronicity....
Ordinary house cats have 18 toes - 5 on each front paw, 4 on each back paw (that was a revelation right there, I had no idea it was different). Polydactyl cats have extra toes, up to 7 on their front paws and 6 on their back ones, with many variations in between. It's a genetic mutation, but not usually a harmful one, just unusual. Out of curiosity I examined Simba's feet more closely - turns out he has 3 paws with 6 toes, and 1 with 5 - (I keep re-counting the ones on that back foot but I keep coming up with 5).
Polydactyl cats are known variously as Hemingway cats, mitten cats, boxer cats, thumb cats, and 6 finger cats. They called Simba a Hemingway cat the first time I took him to the vet - I'd vaguely heard of the term, but never considered what was meant by it. Evidently Hemingway was very fond of cats, and his first cat, given to him by a sailor, was a polydactyl cat (guess those extra toes come in handy on deck).
So, if you've been reading my post lately you know that I've been missing my dad a lot this month, as I always do around this time of year, because his birthday was in October. And because he was from Wales (South Wales, specifically), the Welsh are Celts, and originally All Hallow's Eve was part of Samhain, an important Celtic festival. Everywhere I turn in October I have reminders of him. And now, it seems, I have a year-long reminder of him.
Because I learned that polydactyl cats are also called Cardi-cats. Seems that Cardiganshire, South Wales is home to an overabundance of many-toed cats, so much so that they have taken on the name of their birthplace.
God saw fit to send me a Welsh cat - how cool is that?
Well, the first time anyone meets our kitten, Simba, the first thing they remark on is his large paws. I thought it was cute and kind of unique but EVERYONE who meets him always says the same thing, "Wow, look at those BIG PAWS!" Simba has what's known as polydactyly - he's a 6 toed cat. After hearing maybe a dozen or more people (everyone from the vet's staff, to the Jehovah's Witness ladies who rang the bell one day) say this first thing, I decided to research it some more.
What I learned was fascinating, and an amazing bit of synchronicity....
Ordinary house cats have 18 toes - 5 on each front paw, 4 on each back paw (that was a revelation right there, I had no idea it was different). Polydactyl cats have extra toes, up to 7 on their front paws and 6 on their back ones, with many variations in between. It's a genetic mutation, but not usually a harmful one, just unusual. Out of curiosity I examined Simba's feet more closely - turns out he has 3 paws with 6 toes, and 1 with 5 - (I keep re-counting the ones on that back foot but I keep coming up with 5).
Polydactyl cats are known variously as Hemingway cats, mitten cats, boxer cats, thumb cats, and 6 finger cats. They called Simba a Hemingway cat the first time I took him to the vet - I'd vaguely heard of the term, but never considered what was meant by it. Evidently Hemingway was very fond of cats, and his first cat, given to him by a sailor, was a polydactyl cat (guess those extra toes come in handy on deck).
So, if you've been reading my post lately you know that I've been missing my dad a lot this month, as I always do around this time of year, because his birthday was in October. And because he was from Wales (South Wales, specifically), the Welsh are Celts, and originally All Hallow's Eve was part of Samhain, an important Celtic festival. Everywhere I turn in October I have reminders of him. And now, it seems, I have a year-long reminder of him.
Because I learned that polydactyl cats are also called Cardi-cats. Seems that Cardiganshire, South Wales is home to an overabundance of many-toed cats, so much so that they have taken on the name of their birthplace.
God saw fit to send me a Welsh cat - how cool is that?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Be still and know....still?
I am having one of those weeks where my to-do list is so long I have no idea how I'm going to get it all done. Every time I turn around I remember one more thing I forgot to put on it. I'm multitasking in ways I usually don't even try to (in fact, I'm squeezing this posting in while I munch breakfast before I dash off to take the cat to the vet).
In the middle of all this craziness I wonder.....what is God thinking while I'm down here running around like a chicken with no head? "Be still and know that I am God" is one of my favorite verses, and one that God has been impressing on me and my friend D lately as really important. Only, what about those days when being still is absolutely impossible? Those days where, though I have not actively overcommitted myself - still I have been handed an impossible schedule by the circumstances around me. What then?
Where can I go or what can I do to center down and commune with God-who-is-within-me when it's absolutely all I can do just to get it all DONE? Those days where I feel like the Mommy Machine. Please hold, your task will be accomplished in the order it was received.
Aaaaaaagh!
Some days I really hate our modern, busy, suburban lifestyle. How do you all handle this sort of craziness?
In the middle of all this craziness I wonder.....what is God thinking while I'm down here running around like a chicken with no head? "Be still and know that I am God" is one of my favorite verses, and one that God has been impressing on me and my friend D lately as really important. Only, what about those days when being still is absolutely impossible? Those days where, though I have not actively overcommitted myself - still I have been handed an impossible schedule by the circumstances around me. What then?
Where can I go or what can I do to center down and commune with God-who-is-within-me when it's absolutely all I can do just to get it all DONE? Those days where I feel like the Mommy Machine. Please hold, your task will be accomplished in the order it was received.
Aaaaaaagh!
Some days I really hate our modern, busy, suburban lifestyle. How do you all handle this sort of craziness?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Night owls unite!
I am so NOT a morning person.
People who are larks (morning people) probably think I'm just lazy. No, not lazy, sleep deprived. And I'm tired (no pun intended) of being discriminated against. In every other area of life and society we work very hard to stamp out discrimination wherever it rears its ugly head. So why is it that morning people got to decide how society should be run? Obviously before the discovery of electricity and the invention of the light bulb, there was a practical reason for it. And in an agrarian society getting up early serves a useful purpose. Of course, they went to bed shortly after supper. I could get up early too if I was allowed to do that.
If I had my druthers, I would go to bed at 1am and get up at 9am. Meetings would not be scheduled before noon. The workday would be 11am to 7pm. (I worked exactly that schedule one winter in a department store and it was great except I couldn't get my errands done because all the other businesses worked an 8-5 day.)
My normal weekday starts at 7am. It really should start at 6am so I don't have to rush around, but 7 is the best I can do. This gives me an hour and 15 minutes to get myself showered and dressed, 2 children dressed and fed, 1 child dressed/bundled up w/ breakfast snack in hand, 2 lunches made, 2 backpacks packed, and all of us out to the bus stop in time. Oh, and did I mention that the KIDS are not morning people either? It's genetic, it seems.
It seems not to matter when they, or I get to bed - the season, the weather, daylight savings time or not. We are not larks, we are night owls. Incidentally, their grandparents are night owls too. It's quite normal when we are visiting that we will stay up and talk till midnight or later, and then everyone gets up at a nice reasonable 8:30 or 9am the next day.
When I was in college this was a very useful thing. I got to socialize with my friends, and did my work after they were asleep (and it was quiet, no distractions). An afternoon nap between my last class and dinner and I was raring to go again.
But schools run on a lark's schedule. Brian is a teacher, and 2 of the kids are in school. By Friday morning, we all feel like we could sleep for 12 hours straight.
I think us night owls need to stage a revolt. For one week ( a month even better) let's run everything on OUR body clock's schedule for a change. See how all you larks do staying up till midnight, and how many cups of coffee it takes to keep you functioning. Hmmm? Bet you'll be singing us owls a different tune then...
People who are larks (morning people) probably think I'm just lazy. No, not lazy, sleep deprived. And I'm tired (no pun intended) of being discriminated against. In every other area of life and society we work very hard to stamp out discrimination wherever it rears its ugly head. So why is it that morning people got to decide how society should be run? Obviously before the discovery of electricity and the invention of the light bulb, there was a practical reason for it. And in an agrarian society getting up early serves a useful purpose. Of course, they went to bed shortly after supper. I could get up early too if I was allowed to do that.
If I had my druthers, I would go to bed at 1am and get up at 9am. Meetings would not be scheduled before noon. The workday would be 11am to 7pm. (I worked exactly that schedule one winter in a department store and it was great except I couldn't get my errands done because all the other businesses worked an 8-5 day.)
My normal weekday starts at 7am. It really should start at 6am so I don't have to rush around, but 7 is the best I can do. This gives me an hour and 15 minutes to get myself showered and dressed, 2 children dressed and fed, 1 child dressed/bundled up w/ breakfast snack in hand, 2 lunches made, 2 backpacks packed, and all of us out to the bus stop in time. Oh, and did I mention that the KIDS are not morning people either? It's genetic, it seems.
It seems not to matter when they, or I get to bed - the season, the weather, daylight savings time or not. We are not larks, we are night owls. Incidentally, their grandparents are night owls too. It's quite normal when we are visiting that we will stay up and talk till midnight or later, and then everyone gets up at a nice reasonable 8:30 or 9am the next day.
When I was in college this was a very useful thing. I got to socialize with my friends, and did my work after they were asleep (and it was quiet, no distractions). An afternoon nap between my last class and dinner and I was raring to go again.
But schools run on a lark's schedule. Brian is a teacher, and 2 of the kids are in school. By Friday morning, we all feel like we could sleep for 12 hours straight.
I think us night owls need to stage a revolt. For one week ( a month even better) let's run everything on OUR body clock's schedule for a change. See how all you larks do staying up till midnight, and how many cups of coffee it takes to keep you functioning. Hmmm? Bet you'll be singing us owls a different tune then...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
October musings
I almost didn't write this post. The ideas contained in it are a part of that very deepest part of myself - the ones I don't usually share because I'm afraid people will run away screaming (or, at the very least, brand me a heretic.)
Every October, I become a little bit pagan.
Come again? I thought you were a Christian. Well, I am. I think it has something to do with my heritage and the fact that I've always felt somewhat displaced in my time. Many people who've met me have referred to me as an "old soul". I've read all kinds of stuff about genetic memory and such. Whatever the reason, I think it's that this time of year - October, fall, Halloween - speaks to that part of my heritage which I rarely think about on a conscious level.
My dad was Welsh, born in Wales and emigrated to America when he was 4 years old. I'm 1/4 Scottish on my mom's side. Both the Welsh and the Scots are Celtic peoples. And the Celts had a different, more mystical and magical way of looking at the world. Even the ones who were Christians.
American Christians may celebrate or pointedly ignore the celebration of Halloween. Regardless of which they choose, they are not really celebrating or ignoring the real festival. The real festival was All Hallow's Eve - originally a festival of remembrance for the dead, the end of the old year and the harvest, and the beginning of the new year and winter. It was part of the festival of Samhain (pronounces Sow' en) - one of the 4 great festivals of the Celtic year. the Celts believed that Samhain, and All Hallow's Eve in particular, were a time when the veil between the living and the dead, the "real" world and the world of the spirits - was thin.
I suppose it could all be in my imagination, but you know what? I believe there may be some truth to it. That there is something truly significant about this time of year - that it should be a time of reverence and remembrance. Perhaps it's no coincidence that fall is also the culmination of the Jewish year - the Feast of Tabernacles, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement). Maybe it's just me, but I've always felt like fall was the start of the new year, not January.
Anyway, I've been feeling the pull of this season even more since my dad died 3 years ago. A very deep part of me *wants* there to be a time when we all remember our loved ones who have gone on before us. Yes, I know the church has All Saints Day, but even there they lean more towards remembering the "official" saints. Of course, it doesn't help that my dad's birthday was in October, and my mom's still is. But it feels like more than just missing him because we would have celebrated his birthday. A very deep part of me (that refuses to be squelched or ignored any longer) feels like it would be perfectly appropriate to build a big bonfire and dance around it under the stars, thanking God for a good year, saying prayers for the year ahead, remembering my loved ones and praying for protection from evil spirits.
Call me crazy, but every October since my dad passed away, I feel his presence near in a way that doesn't happen at any other time. I feel a need to mark the time of All Hallow's Eve, not just with dressing up my kids for trick-or-treating, but to mark it as a day of remembrance for my loved ones gone on before. And at this time of year only, I feel that gossamer thread that connects me to the many generations before me - I feel it, like a living breathing entity. And I wonder about their lives. Were they noblemen or peasants, farmers or tradesmen, rich or poor, pagan or Christian, Druid or priest?
And I dig out all my Celtic music to listen to at this time of year. I like it at any time, but in October when I listen to it I feel that connection with my ancestors. Though they had no iPods, no electric instruments, no synthesizers - but only whatever instruments could be made by hand (mostly stringed instruments and drums) they would have marked this time of the year with songs and dances. I turn the music up, and the drumbeat echoes through my heart, it pounds in my blood, and my feet take up the steps as though guided by an ancient knowledge.
I dance for joy in thanks to God, I dance to remember those who have gone before.
I want to dance under the stars.
Every October, I become a little bit pagan.
Come again? I thought you were a Christian. Well, I am. I think it has something to do with my heritage and the fact that I've always felt somewhat displaced in my time. Many people who've met me have referred to me as an "old soul". I've read all kinds of stuff about genetic memory and such. Whatever the reason, I think it's that this time of year - October, fall, Halloween - speaks to that part of my heritage which I rarely think about on a conscious level.
My dad was Welsh, born in Wales and emigrated to America when he was 4 years old. I'm 1/4 Scottish on my mom's side. Both the Welsh and the Scots are Celtic peoples. And the Celts had a different, more mystical and magical way of looking at the world. Even the ones who were Christians.
American Christians may celebrate or pointedly ignore the celebration of Halloween. Regardless of which they choose, they are not really celebrating or ignoring the real festival. The real festival was All Hallow's Eve - originally a festival of remembrance for the dead, the end of the old year and the harvest, and the beginning of the new year and winter. It was part of the festival of Samhain (pronounces Sow' en) - one of the 4 great festivals of the Celtic year. the Celts believed that Samhain, and All Hallow's Eve in particular, were a time when the veil between the living and the dead, the "real" world and the world of the spirits - was thin.
I suppose it could all be in my imagination, but you know what? I believe there may be some truth to it. That there is something truly significant about this time of year - that it should be a time of reverence and remembrance. Perhaps it's no coincidence that fall is also the culmination of the Jewish year - the Feast of Tabernacles, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement). Maybe it's just me, but I've always felt like fall was the start of the new year, not January.
Anyway, I've been feeling the pull of this season even more since my dad died 3 years ago. A very deep part of me *wants* there to be a time when we all remember our loved ones who have gone on before us. Yes, I know the church has All Saints Day, but even there they lean more towards remembering the "official" saints. Of course, it doesn't help that my dad's birthday was in October, and my mom's still is. But it feels like more than just missing him because we would have celebrated his birthday. A very deep part of me (that refuses to be squelched or ignored any longer) feels like it would be perfectly appropriate to build a big bonfire and dance around it under the stars, thanking God for a good year, saying prayers for the year ahead, remembering my loved ones and praying for protection from evil spirits.
Call me crazy, but every October since my dad passed away, I feel his presence near in a way that doesn't happen at any other time. I feel a need to mark the time of All Hallow's Eve, not just with dressing up my kids for trick-or-treating, but to mark it as a day of remembrance for my loved ones gone on before. And at this time of year only, I feel that gossamer thread that connects me to the many generations before me - I feel it, like a living breathing entity. And I wonder about their lives. Were they noblemen or peasants, farmers or tradesmen, rich or poor, pagan or Christian, Druid or priest?
And I dig out all my Celtic music to listen to at this time of year. I like it at any time, but in October when I listen to it I feel that connection with my ancestors. Though they had no iPods, no electric instruments, no synthesizers - but only whatever instruments could be made by hand (mostly stringed instruments and drums) they would have marked this time of the year with songs and dances. I turn the music up, and the drumbeat echoes through my heart, it pounds in my blood, and my feet take up the steps as though guided by an ancient knowledge.
I dance for joy in thanks to God, I dance to remember those who have gone before.
I want to dance under the stars.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Prayer answered and an amusing observation
I'd been trying to ignore my worry over Simba's first vet visit. Though he seemed healthy, I know that feline HIV and feline leukemia are silent, deadly killers of cats of all ages. I was secretly scared out of my socks that my kids' first pet experience would be a lesson in loss.
Since we adopted our new kitty on a Saturday, I knew that his first vet visit would have to wait until (I thought) Tuesday, because of the holiday. Before we brought him home, they suggested we buy some Advantage flea control and apply it because all shelter animals could possibly have fleas. They were not sure, however, if he was old enough. Well, with all the scares about babies and toddlers being accidentally overdosed on cold meds, I certainly didn't want to accidentally overdose my kitten - whose behavior I don't know well enough to know when it's not normal. So I held off on it. But Monday morning I was brushing him, and I saw it....AAAACK! A spot that moved - oh, no - he did have fleas!
Rather panicked now, over both the house and the cat, I called the vet's office hoping maybe they had some sort of emergency hotline (hey, the pediatrician does so it was worth a check.) To my utter relief, a real person answered the phone, and they were open, and I could bring him in that afternoon.
I took him in, hoping for the best news, mentally preparing for the worst. And guess what? Amazingly, though he was in the shelter for 4 days and who knows where before that, he's healthy! All his tests were clean, all his little internal organs healthy. Those few pesky fleas were the only thing wrong. (Thank you, God.)
BIG sigh of relief! He got his flea treatment, and last night Chris and Charlotte got to be fascinated and amused while we gave the cat a good flea combing. Oh, what a happy cat he was! At one point, while combing his tummy, he went so boneless with pleasure he would let me move his legs all around to reach everywhere and didn't once try to claw us.
What was hysterical was last night, while I was simultaneously trying to wash all our bedding and Brian was vacuuming AND we were trying to get dinner on - the 2 oldest were whining about being hungry and the little one was underfoot crying..... but the CAT had used the litterbox, fed himSELF, and was now snoozing contentedly underneath the computer desk.
And I was worried that the cat would be too much trouble....hmmmm.
Since we adopted our new kitty on a Saturday, I knew that his first vet visit would have to wait until (I thought) Tuesday, because of the holiday. Before we brought him home, they suggested we buy some Advantage flea control and apply it because all shelter animals could possibly have fleas. They were not sure, however, if he was old enough. Well, with all the scares about babies and toddlers being accidentally overdosed on cold meds, I certainly didn't want to accidentally overdose my kitten - whose behavior I don't know well enough to know when it's not normal. So I held off on it. But Monday morning I was brushing him, and I saw it....AAAACK! A spot that moved - oh, no - he did have fleas!
Rather panicked now, over both the house and the cat, I called the vet's office hoping maybe they had some sort of emergency hotline (hey, the pediatrician does so it was worth a check.) To my utter relief, a real person answered the phone, and they were open, and I could bring him in that afternoon.
I took him in, hoping for the best news, mentally preparing for the worst. And guess what? Amazingly, though he was in the shelter for 4 days and who knows where before that, he's healthy! All his tests were clean, all his little internal organs healthy. Those few pesky fleas were the only thing wrong. (Thank you, God.)
BIG sigh of relief! He got his flea treatment, and last night Chris and Charlotte got to be fascinated and amused while we gave the cat a good flea combing. Oh, what a happy cat he was! At one point, while combing his tummy, he went so boneless with pleasure he would let me move his legs all around to reach everywhere and didn't once try to claw us.
What was hysterical was last night, while I was simultaneously trying to wash all our bedding and Brian was vacuuming AND we were trying to get dinner on - the 2 oldest were whining about being hungry and the little one was underfoot crying..... but the CAT had used the litterbox, fed himSELF, and was now snoozing contentedly underneath the computer desk.
And I was worried that the cat would be too much trouble....hmmmm.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Our latest addition
Well....
I've finally gone and done it. Despite any misgivings and the fact that I'm probably 9 kinds of crazy for adding one more thing to the mix that is the insanity of my life, on Saturday we went to the Prince William Animal Shelter and adopted this little cutie.
My 5 year old daughter has been begging for a kitten for about a year now. Never having been allowed to indulge my desire for a furry creature when I was little, I really wanted to let her have the experience - but not maybe just yet. I wasn't sure I was ready to have one more living thing needing my (always distractable) attention.
But Saturday morning I woke up with the overwhelming feeling that there was a kitty cat at the shelter waiting for us to come get him or her. I piled the oldest two into the car and we raced against time to get down to the shelter before they closed (I'd spent the morning waiting for Brian to finish dealing with taking the car for inspection and figuring out how/if it would pass - long story, but it left us with only 15 minutes to look at the animals). Somehow I knew that "our cat" would know us. And I was right.
When we went into the cat room we were immediately drawn to this little guy. He was in a bottom corner cage, and as soon as we started looking interested in him, he started pouncing and playing with his bedding as if to say "Oh, pick me! Pick me! Look how cute I am - love me, love me pet me pet me take me home!" He was purring like a little outboard motor the whole time we were holding him and passing him around - which the lady at the shelter told us was a good sign that he would do well in our busy household.
Looking into his beautiful baby blues I just couldn't even think about leaving without him. Our cat had found us. He's 8 weeks old, and has an unusual feature - he's a six toed cat. Each of his paws has six toes. It gives him these adorable giant paws that look too big for him.
So.... we've been spending the weekend getting accustomed to each other. We spent the whole first day trying to figure out what his name should be. (If you have a cat, you know that you don't name a cat, you discover it's name.) The kids couldn't agree - Chris wanted Sneaker (cause he's sneaky) and Charlotte wanted Simba. Our new kitty's "official" name then, is Simba Sneaker Smith. But we call him Simba, or Kitty, or Cat, or a dozen other endearments and he's okay with that.
After a long afternoon of playing with an oh-so-excited little girl, Simba curled up to sleep inside Charlotte's little pop-up play tent, all snuggled up with the stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets. In fact, we couldn't find him for a while - he looked like one of the stuffed animals!
I'll have to call the vet on Tuesday to set up his first checkup, and the mom in me is slightly apprehensive of what we'll learn. I pray Simba is as healthy as he seems, and that he can live to be an old patriarch cat with us. This is a big leap of faith for me. I'm trusting that God led us to a cat that can be with us for a long time. But if for some reason it leads to a object lesson for my children on dealing with life, and death, well... it will be hard, but we'll get through it.
I wasn't sure how Simba would take to us - us novice cat owners (or staff, as cats prefer). I was just as perplexed what to do when he woke up at 5am meowing at our bedroom door, as I have been when my children have woken up crying for no reason I could figure out. We let him in, to see what he would do, and after getting some love and scritches from both of us he did the most amazing thing. He ran his paws through my hair, to make himself a little nest, and snuggled up purring right behind my head. I couldn't quite sleep, but I couldn't bear to move him. I felt so loved, that he trusted me that much, the first night he was home.
As one of my favorite author's SARK has said, "Cats are angels with fur."
Indeed.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Underneath the mask
My friend D and I had an enlightening conversation today. We have those kind a lot. In addition to being my friend, she's my spiritual mentor, sounding board, encourager, and mirror. Only instead of reflecting back to me what the world sees, she somehow manages to reflect back to me my true self. The one that's been hiding under this mask I erected so long ago. The one I sometimes wonder if I've forgotten how to be.
So, while I've been going about the rest of my day I've been trying to remember those things that have always been a part of me (the good, the bad, and the silly). Here's what I've remembered so far (organized in no particular order.....)
1. I love books. I love to read. I would choose reading a book over most any other leisure activity and have spent many happy hours lost in a book. If I have an addiction, it's books - love to read them, collect them, talk about them, borrow and share them.
2. Following that train of thought, I love to learn. I am a brain, an intellectual, and I revel in it. I soak up information like a sponge soaks up water, and I have a very good memory for all sorts of (many times unrelated) subjects, facts, trivia, and useful data.
3. I am, however, a very big scatterbrain. It would seem I have so much information stored up there in my head that I am constantly losing and misplacing it. (My palm pilot is not a status symbol, it is a necessity - I used to keep forgetting my calendar)
4. I am right brained. I'm very creative, great at brainstorming - putting together all the bibs and bobs of information in my head in new and unique ways to come up with solutions. Just please don't ask me to balance the checkbook or organize a file system.
5. My creative, disorganized right-brainedness makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything in a logical fashion. I usually end up doing things as they occur to me, otherwise I get distracted. I've cleaned closets and done laundry at midnight if it suited my schedule.
6. I am a night owl. I can pretend to be a lark (early riser) if necessary, but I am not one naturally. I do not get up any earlier than I have to. I don't care what the Proverbs 31 woman does. I think better at night, always have.
7. I have terrible sense of direction. It's gotten better (out of necessity) and now I am able to read a map if I get lost. But I still get lost very easily, and please don't tell me give me any compass directions unless you happen to be holding a compass. I drive by landmarks and road signs.
8. I like comfortable clothing. When I spend my days chasing after children, cleaning messes, running errands, and doing housework I like to be comfortable. You will usually find me clean, presentable, and (often) matching - but I do not have an effortless sense of style. The only way I can look "put together" is if I bought it together, to wear together as an outfit.
9. I like color in my world. I like to wear bright or pastel colored clothing. I like color in my house - I don't like plain white (or cream, or eggshell) walls. I don't like "neutral" clothing (black, white, navy, beige) All those "classic" clothes that they (that nebulous "they") keep telling a woman to stock her closet with. I like broomstick skirts and peasant blouses, ruffles, frills, and lace. I like girly clothes. When I dress up, I like to really dress up.
10. I prefer going barefoot (whenever possible) over the most stylish shoes you can buy. Flip flops are my friends. In the winter, the shoes are the first thing to go the minute I walk in the door. I don't care if they're Manolo Blahniks - if they hurt my feet, I won't wear 'em.
11. I like to play my music loud, sing at the top of my lungs, and dance when I'm happy.
12. I don't mind doing hard work, but I hate being bored. I was a secretary for 3 years - it was the worst job I ever had because after I'd learned all my tasks, I was bored. This makes housework a challenge. My iPod is my friend.
13. I love to cook and bake, but please don't ask me to plan/time/manage a big holiday meal. I haven't the foggiest clue how to have everything ready all at the same time and before everyone is grumpy with hunger.
14. I have a very goofy sense of humor, and when I really get going I get fits of the giggles.
15. It takes me a long time to master any new physical skills - roller skating, riding a bicycle, driving a car. But once I learn them, I'm usually pretty good (except for when my natural klutziness kicks in)
16. I'm not naturally graceful. I have to work really hard to do anything gracefully. When I'm running around multitasking I'll inevitably drop something, knock something over, or walk into something. And since I'm fair-skinned and bruise easily people are always saying "What did you do to yourself?" And I never remember "Oh, walked into something again, I suppose...."
17. I'm a great renaissance woman. Since I learn easily I know all sorts of skills in all sorts of areas - I know a little bit about a lot. I'm not a sous chef, but I can make a lot of tasty soups casseroles, and stir fries. I'm not a professional baker, but I can make a very tasty chocolate cake or chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I have enough of a green thumb to keep my houseplants alive (and plant a garden, if I ever get around to it). I can sew some, cross-stitch, do needlepoint and latch-hook. I'm a decent photographer and modest scrapbooker. I've done all sorts of artsy-crafty things and can draw some and paint some. I'm not a virtuoso, but I'm a good singer and have played various instruments at different points in my life. I'm not a carpenter but I can manage a hammer, saw, and screwdriver (with some good directions).
18. I am not mechanically inclined. If I can't figure it out intuitively, I can't do it. Please do not ask me to fix my car, the computer, the plumbing, or any appliance. That is my husband's gift, and he does it admirably.
Those were some of the things running around my head this evening... one last one for tonight..
19. I like sleep. I can keep myself awake past my sleepy-point if I have to, or take care of a child in the middle of the night. But I can no longer manage on 5 hours of sleep a night like I did during all 4 years of college. I need 8 hours worth, preferably all in a row.
G' night...
So, while I've been going about the rest of my day I've been trying to remember those things that have always been a part of me (the good, the bad, and the silly). Here's what I've remembered so far (organized in no particular order.....)
1. I love books. I love to read. I would choose reading a book over most any other leisure activity and have spent many happy hours lost in a book. If I have an addiction, it's books - love to read them, collect them, talk about them, borrow and share them.
2. Following that train of thought, I love to learn. I am a brain, an intellectual, and I revel in it. I soak up information like a sponge soaks up water, and I have a very good memory for all sorts of (many times unrelated) subjects, facts, trivia, and useful data.
3. I am, however, a very big scatterbrain. It would seem I have so much information stored up there in my head that I am constantly losing and misplacing it. (My palm pilot is not a status symbol, it is a necessity - I used to keep forgetting my calendar)
4. I am right brained. I'm very creative, great at brainstorming - putting together all the bibs and bobs of information in my head in new and unique ways to come up with solutions. Just please don't ask me to balance the checkbook or organize a file system.
5. My creative, disorganized right-brainedness makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything in a logical fashion. I usually end up doing things as they occur to me, otherwise I get distracted. I've cleaned closets and done laundry at midnight if it suited my schedule.
6. I am a night owl. I can pretend to be a lark (early riser) if necessary, but I am not one naturally. I do not get up any earlier than I have to. I don't care what the Proverbs 31 woman does. I think better at night, always have.
7. I have terrible sense of direction. It's gotten better (out of necessity) and now I am able to read a map if I get lost. But I still get lost very easily, and please don't tell me give me any compass directions unless you happen to be holding a compass. I drive by landmarks and road signs.
8. I like comfortable clothing. When I spend my days chasing after children, cleaning messes, running errands, and doing housework I like to be comfortable. You will usually find me clean, presentable, and (often) matching - but I do not have an effortless sense of style. The only way I can look "put together" is if I bought it together, to wear together as an outfit.
9. I like color in my world. I like to wear bright or pastel colored clothing. I like color in my house - I don't like plain white (or cream, or eggshell) walls. I don't like "neutral" clothing (black, white, navy, beige) All those "classic" clothes that they (that nebulous "they") keep telling a woman to stock her closet with. I like broomstick skirts and peasant blouses, ruffles, frills, and lace. I like girly clothes. When I dress up, I like to really dress up.
10. I prefer going barefoot (whenever possible) over the most stylish shoes you can buy. Flip flops are my friends. In the winter, the shoes are the first thing to go the minute I walk in the door. I don't care if they're Manolo Blahniks - if they hurt my feet, I won't wear 'em.
11. I like to play my music loud, sing at the top of my lungs, and dance when I'm happy.
12. I don't mind doing hard work, but I hate being bored. I was a secretary for 3 years - it was the worst job I ever had because after I'd learned all my tasks, I was bored. This makes housework a challenge. My iPod is my friend.
13. I love to cook and bake, but please don't ask me to plan/time/manage a big holiday meal. I haven't the foggiest clue how to have everything ready all at the same time and before everyone is grumpy with hunger.
14. I have a very goofy sense of humor, and when I really get going I get fits of the giggles.
15. It takes me a long time to master any new physical skills - roller skating, riding a bicycle, driving a car. But once I learn them, I'm usually pretty good (except for when my natural klutziness kicks in)
16. I'm not naturally graceful. I have to work really hard to do anything gracefully. When I'm running around multitasking I'll inevitably drop something, knock something over, or walk into something. And since I'm fair-skinned and bruise easily people are always saying "What did you do to yourself?" And I never remember "Oh, walked into something again, I suppose...."
17. I'm a great renaissance woman. Since I learn easily I know all sorts of skills in all sorts of areas - I know a little bit about a lot. I'm not a sous chef, but I can make a lot of tasty soups casseroles, and stir fries. I'm not a professional baker, but I can make a very tasty chocolate cake or chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I have enough of a green thumb to keep my houseplants alive (and plant a garden, if I ever get around to it). I can sew some, cross-stitch, do needlepoint and latch-hook. I'm a decent photographer and modest scrapbooker. I've done all sorts of artsy-crafty things and can draw some and paint some. I'm not a virtuoso, but I'm a good singer and have played various instruments at different points in my life. I'm not a carpenter but I can manage a hammer, saw, and screwdriver (with some good directions).
18. I am not mechanically inclined. If I can't figure it out intuitively, I can't do it. Please do not ask me to fix my car, the computer, the plumbing, or any appliance. That is my husband's gift, and he does it admirably.
Those were some of the things running around my head this evening... one last one for tonight..
19. I like sleep. I can keep myself awake past my sleepy-point if I have to, or take care of a child in the middle of the night. But I can no longer manage on 5 hours of sleep a night like I did during all 4 years of college. I need 8 hours worth, preferably all in a row.
G' night...
Friday, October 3, 2008
Did Houdini's mother feel like this?
I'm so tired.
I could fall asleep right now with my head down on the keyboard.
Every mother of young children gets tired like this sometimes. But not every mother of young children has a 2 year old son who could be the reincarnation of Houdini. Or maybe he's a monkey in the disguise of a boy. I don't know.
I've been trying to figure out why no matter when I go to bed, by suppertime I'm ready to sleep for 10 hours. I've been trying to figure out why even though I'm no longer nursing, I've been craving, buying, and consuming every carb I can get my hands on.
A few minutes ago, I finally figured it out. Little monkey boy had gone upstairs, and was suddenly Too Quiet. So I did the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs to see what he was up to. He was up to the top of his brother's nightstand, holding a toy alarm clock and jumping with glee!
It was at this point I realized I've been doing the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs probably up to 50 times a day. That doesn't include all the various reaching, grabbing, carrying, and rescuing from various precarious situations that take place without dashing up the stairs. You know, the garbage can rescue, the fragile item rescue, the what's in your mouth rescue, the precarious climb rescue, etc., etc.
And now, possibly as of today, I can no longer contain him..... anywhere. He can, if he chooses, climb out of his crib. That makes his arsenal complete. He was already able to climb out of his high chair, wiggle out of his stroller (yes, with the seatbelt on), climb over the baby gate (lest you think I hadn't tried that), and escape his playpen. He can (and will) climb anything he can can a toe hold on - all the chairs, all the beds, the back of the couch, the hutch, the bookshelf, the toilet, the sink, the windowsill. He hasn't tried to climb the entertainment center yet, but it's only a matter of time.
And he can take apart most anything he sets his mind to. I found him sucking on a battery once, not because we leave them lying around, but because we recently had several power outages and he managed to figure out how to take the flashlight *apart* to get to them. He has figured out how to take a socket protector out of the wall, how to open a closed door, how to unlatch the window. Fortunately he has not figured out how to open the childproof locks on the dangerous things - at least, not yet.
This child is the very epitome of don't leave your child unattended for even a second. While I've been in the very same room with him I've had to remove an amazing array of things from his mouth. In addition to the battery, I've removed play doh, assorted old food, coins, beads, stickers, small lincoln logs, game pieces, marbles, rocks! (we were camping), dirt, sand, soap, old coffee grounds he scrounged from the garbage, and innumerable bits and pieces of various things he's bitten off with his sharp little teeth. Once he nearly gave me a heart attack when he managed to put an old PUSH PIN that some ding-a-ling left lying around by our bus stop in his mouth! Lest you think I'm careless, to the best of my knowledge the only thing he actually *swallowed* was a few bits from a red fringed mylar balloon that fringed off all over the house. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry over the red glittery poop!
Sooooo.....needless to say, I'm using a lot of extra energy on all that sprinting around the house to keep him out of harm's way. Maybe he'll grow up to be an engineer, or a physicist, or a stunt man.
In the meantime, I've been wondering if I could invent and patent a human sized hamster ball. I think it would go over great for other parents of little Houdini's, don't you?
I could fall asleep right now with my head down on the keyboard.
Every mother of young children gets tired like this sometimes. But not every mother of young children has a 2 year old son who could be the reincarnation of Houdini. Or maybe he's a monkey in the disguise of a boy. I don't know.
I've been trying to figure out why no matter when I go to bed, by suppertime I'm ready to sleep for 10 hours. I've been trying to figure out why even though I'm no longer nursing, I've been craving, buying, and consuming every carb I can get my hands on.
A few minutes ago, I finally figured it out. Little monkey boy had gone upstairs, and was suddenly Too Quiet. So I did the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs to see what he was up to. He was up to the top of his brother's nightstand, holding a toy alarm clock and jumping with glee!
It was at this point I realized I've been doing the 3 second dash up our 2 flights of stairs probably up to 50 times a day. That doesn't include all the various reaching, grabbing, carrying, and rescuing from various precarious situations that take place without dashing up the stairs. You know, the garbage can rescue, the fragile item rescue, the what's in your mouth rescue, the precarious climb rescue, etc., etc.
And now, possibly as of today, I can no longer contain him..... anywhere. He can, if he chooses, climb out of his crib. That makes his arsenal complete. He was already able to climb out of his high chair, wiggle out of his stroller (yes, with the seatbelt on), climb over the baby gate (lest you think I hadn't tried that), and escape his playpen. He can (and will) climb anything he can can a toe hold on - all the chairs, all the beds, the back of the couch, the hutch, the bookshelf, the toilet, the sink, the windowsill. He hasn't tried to climb the entertainment center yet, but it's only a matter of time.
And he can take apart most anything he sets his mind to. I found him sucking on a battery once, not because we leave them lying around, but because we recently had several power outages and he managed to figure out how to take the flashlight *apart* to get to them. He has figured out how to take a socket protector out of the wall, how to open a closed door, how to unlatch the window. Fortunately he has not figured out how to open the childproof locks on the dangerous things - at least, not yet.
This child is the very epitome of don't leave your child unattended for even a second. While I've been in the very same room with him I've had to remove an amazing array of things from his mouth. In addition to the battery, I've removed play doh, assorted old food, coins, beads, stickers, small lincoln logs, game pieces, marbles, rocks! (we were camping), dirt, sand, soap, old coffee grounds he scrounged from the garbage, and innumerable bits and pieces of various things he's bitten off with his sharp little teeth. Once he nearly gave me a heart attack when he managed to put an old PUSH PIN that some ding-a-ling left lying around by our bus stop in his mouth! Lest you think I'm careless, to the best of my knowledge the only thing he actually *swallowed* was a few bits from a red fringed mylar balloon that fringed off all over the house. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry over the red glittery poop!
Sooooo.....needless to say, I'm using a lot of extra energy on all that sprinting around the house to keep him out of harm's way. Maybe he'll grow up to be an engineer, or a physicist, or a stunt man.
In the meantime, I've been wondering if I could invent and patent a human sized hamster ball. I think it would go over great for other parents of little Houdini's, don't you?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Well, I really should....
....do an awful lot of things, but right now I just don't feel like it.
I should:
1. Go to the grocery store and pick up a bunch of dinner stuff for the week, but I do have one emergency backup meal left in the house.
2. Drive over to the post office and mail the property tax payments (a lovely little thing we have in VA, one on each car), but the lady I called today said as long as they're postmarked by the 6th, I'm good - and it's so much easier for hubby to take it on his way to work.
3. Write an e-mail to my son's teacher unravelling the mystery of why he thought it would be a good idea to start mixing containers of paint together during her explanation of the day's project (understanding the mind of a child with autism is a constant challenge).
4. Do about a bazillion loads of laundry (well, it feels that way).
5. Unload and reload the dishwasher so I don't have to do it while trying to simultaneously help my son with his homework, keep his sister from bugging him, and keeping his little brother from "helping" me.
6. Work on sorting the summer clothes out of the kids' dressers so I don't have to keep jamming the clothes they're actually wearing in on top of the shorts and stuff.
But the sky just darkened, and a storm is rolling in, and my energy just drained out onto the floor, and I have to go to the bus stop in an hour to pick up the kids and maybe it's okay for mommy to take a break.
I should:
1. Go to the grocery store and pick up a bunch of dinner stuff for the week, but I do have one emergency backup meal left in the house.
2. Drive over to the post office and mail the property tax payments (a lovely little thing we have in VA, one on each car), but the lady I called today said as long as they're postmarked by the 6th, I'm good - and it's so much easier for hubby to take it on his way to work.
3. Write an e-mail to my son's teacher unravelling the mystery of why he thought it would be a good idea to start mixing containers of paint together during her explanation of the day's project (understanding the mind of a child with autism is a constant challenge).
4. Do about a bazillion loads of laundry (well, it feels that way).
5. Unload and reload the dishwasher so I don't have to do it while trying to simultaneously help my son with his homework, keep his sister from bugging him, and keeping his little brother from "helping" me.
6. Work on sorting the summer clothes out of the kids' dressers so I don't have to keep jamming the clothes they're actually wearing in on top of the shorts and stuff.
But the sky just darkened, and a storm is rolling in, and my energy just drained out onto the floor, and I have to go to the bus stop in an hour to pick up the kids and maybe it's okay for mommy to take a break.
Toothpicks and tissue paper
Or, I could post on something else entirely...told you I had a lot of ideas bouncing around up there.
So. Our church does not have its own building. We are (as of this summer) a completely mobile church. We hold our Sunday worship service in a middle school auditorium, with all the pros and cons that entails. (Pros - we *have* a place to worship, it has seats and a stage and a large parking lot......Cons - the seats are bolted to the floor, the stage is the only place for the band to set up, and we are no longer allowed to store all our equipment, and so rely on an ancient truck to move it all every weekend)
All that to say - here is what our stage design crew did this weekend.
(Note, I'm terrible at links, so look for the post titled "The reality behind the scenes")
Anyway - the basic idea was that there would be a giant red heart on the back stage curtain, and during just the right moment of one of the worship songs, the curtain would open to reveal a white chiffon cross draped on the back wall (strategically lit). Well, we spent a good part of the previous Friday evening pinning the heart together out of (guess what?) hula hoops, pool noodles, and fabric - don't laugh too hard, it worked didn't it? Then we spent the next entire Friday evening sorting, measuring, and rolling all our cloth onto bolts for easy reference for upcoming worship designs. Late to bed and up early Saturday morning to set everything up on the stage - hang the white chiffon from the back wall, get the red heart pinned to the curtain, find and set up the lights that were to shine on the chiffon cross. (And figure out how to work gaffer clips, and not poke our fingers with safety pins.)
Well, somewhere in the middle of all *this* madness, we learned that both the truck and the stage crew were locked into the compound where the truck is parked. Seems that a solar powered code box was malfunctioning and kept re-setting the passcode because of it being an overcast day. And while we were waiting for that to be sorted out, the producer informs us that the MediaShout program has crashed and the the tech team will be loading the screen elements (song lyrics and such) manually.
Oh, and about 50 people (many of them leaders) from our congregation were at a retreat that weekend.
So....with the band wondering when their equipment would arrive and all of our nerves fraying we managed to finally finish our setup.
Sunday morning - we arrive at 7:30 AM to learn that more chaos has ensued. The band is having equipment problems due to a shortened setup time, the tech guy who was supposed to help up with our lights hadn't shown up yet (turned out his alarm clock didn't go off), the pastor told us he was going to have to preach on a wing and a prayer - he'd been at the retreat for part of the weekend. The time he'd allotted for prep time was spent nursing his bride (they've been married 12 weeks) through a horrid flu.
All that to say this..... it is obvious to anyone, humanly speaking - we were woefully unprepared. But this leadership team is a group of powerful prayer warriors. We prayed before our pre-service, and prayed during it for the main service. And during that prayer, our pastor reminded us that even if the computer shut down, the lights went off, the band's instruments wouldn't play and the worship leader had to stand on stage leading worship with a flashlight in her hand - God would still show up, and we would still worship Him.
And we knew it to be true.
While I was praying during worship, that those who came would be touched by the Holy Spirit, God spoke to my heart....toothpicks and tissue paper.
"What? God, was that you? What?"
Basically God reminded me that everything we create, for worship or otherwise, it's all toothpicks and tissue paper if He's not in it. Everything, every work of our frail human hands, is toothpicks and tissue paper compared to what God has done.
Wow.
Incidentally, it was one of the most Spirit-led worship services we've ever had....funny how God works sometimes.
So. Our church does not have its own building. We are (as of this summer) a completely mobile church. We hold our Sunday worship service in a middle school auditorium, with all the pros and cons that entails. (Pros - we *have* a place to worship, it has seats and a stage and a large parking lot......Cons - the seats are bolted to the floor, the stage is the only place for the band to set up, and we are no longer allowed to store all our equipment, and so rely on an ancient truck to move it all every weekend)
All that to say - here is what our stage design crew did this weekend.
(Note, I'm terrible at links, so look for the post titled "The reality behind the scenes")
Anyway - the basic idea was that there would be a giant red heart on the back stage curtain, and during just the right moment of one of the worship songs, the curtain would open to reveal a white chiffon cross draped on the back wall (strategically lit). Well, we spent a good part of the previous Friday evening pinning the heart together out of (guess what?) hula hoops, pool noodles, and fabric - don't laugh too hard, it worked didn't it? Then we spent the next entire Friday evening sorting, measuring, and rolling all our cloth onto bolts for easy reference for upcoming worship designs. Late to bed and up early Saturday morning to set everything up on the stage - hang the white chiffon from the back wall, get the red heart pinned to the curtain, find and set up the lights that were to shine on the chiffon cross. (And figure out how to work gaffer clips, and not poke our fingers with safety pins.)
Well, somewhere in the middle of all *this* madness, we learned that both the truck and the stage crew were locked into the compound where the truck is parked. Seems that a solar powered code box was malfunctioning and kept re-setting the passcode because of it being an overcast day. And while we were waiting for that to be sorted out, the producer informs us that the MediaShout program has crashed and the the tech team will be loading the screen elements (song lyrics and such) manually.
Oh, and about 50 people (many of them leaders) from our congregation were at a retreat that weekend.
So....with the band wondering when their equipment would arrive and all of our nerves fraying we managed to finally finish our setup.
Sunday morning - we arrive at 7:30 AM to learn that more chaos has ensued. The band is having equipment problems due to a shortened setup time, the tech guy who was supposed to help up with our lights hadn't shown up yet (turned out his alarm clock didn't go off), the pastor told us he was going to have to preach on a wing and a prayer - he'd been at the retreat for part of the weekend. The time he'd allotted for prep time was spent nursing his bride (they've been married 12 weeks) through a horrid flu.
All that to say this..... it is obvious to anyone, humanly speaking - we were woefully unprepared. But this leadership team is a group of powerful prayer warriors. We prayed before our pre-service, and prayed during it for the main service. And during that prayer, our pastor reminded us that even if the computer shut down, the lights went off, the band's instruments wouldn't play and the worship leader had to stand on stage leading worship with a flashlight in her hand - God would still show up, and we would still worship Him.
And we knew it to be true.
While I was praying during worship, that those who came would be touched by the Holy Spirit, God spoke to my heart....toothpicks and tissue paper.
"What? God, was that you? What?"
Basically God reminded me that everything we create, for worship or otherwise, it's all toothpicks and tissue paper if He's not in it. Everything, every work of our frail human hands, is toothpicks and tissue paper compared to what God has done.
Wow.
Incidentally, it was one of the most Spirit-led worship services we've ever had....funny how God works sometimes.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Opened a can of worms
Now I've gone and done it. I just committed the unpardonable sin of our modern age. I Corrected Somebody Else's Child. I will have to deal with the fallout when and if it comes. But I will stand by my actions.
For those of you who know me, you know that this is a Really Big Thing. I hate confrontation, in all forms. But today I'd had enough...
In the afternoon, our school bus stop is really crowded. Anywhere up to a dozen middle school age children are waiting there for their little brothers and sisters (who ride the same bus as my daughter). Like most kids this age they posture, gossip, rag on each other and generally cause all sorts of mischief. Some of the mischief is stupid, but mostly harmless. There are usually up to a dozen parents waiting in and around the bus stop as well. Even though some of them have rolled their eyes and given the kids exasperated looks, none has said anything thus far.
Today, as I got to the corner (with my 2 year old in his stroller) one of the boys (I think of him as the Instigator) was beating up one of the other boys. Before I could say anything, the other boy broke away and stalked off. He's a good kid when he's not with Instigator, he used to hang out with my kids on the playground. Instigator is still looking to pick a fight, but the other kids are ignoring him. So I figure I'll mind my business. But I watch them...
A few minutes later, Instigator starts picking on a much smaller boy, punching him and knocking him into the fence. At this point, I snap. I don't care if his folks come after me. This is ridiculous. In my best parental yell I shout "That's enough!" at them. They stop, looking stunned. Instigator says "We were just playing". And I say, "Well, it didn't look that way to me."
The kids go on about their business. Nobody but me and God knows how badly I'm shaking inside. I hope that I won't have anymore confrontations with Instigator (or his family!). I will pray that God will send this boy someone who can relate to him and love him. I know that he's just crying out for attention, any attention. But I won't stand by and let him get it by beating up other people's children.
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
Edmund Burke
Heaven help me and my big mouth...
For those of you who know me, you know that this is a Really Big Thing. I hate confrontation, in all forms. But today I'd had enough...
In the afternoon, our school bus stop is really crowded. Anywhere up to a dozen middle school age children are waiting there for their little brothers and sisters (who ride the same bus as my daughter). Like most kids this age they posture, gossip, rag on each other and generally cause all sorts of mischief. Some of the mischief is stupid, but mostly harmless. There are usually up to a dozen parents waiting in and around the bus stop as well. Even though some of them have rolled their eyes and given the kids exasperated looks, none has said anything thus far.
Today, as I got to the corner (with my 2 year old in his stroller) one of the boys (I think of him as the Instigator) was beating up one of the other boys. Before I could say anything, the other boy broke away and stalked off. He's a good kid when he's not with Instigator, he used to hang out with my kids on the playground. Instigator is still looking to pick a fight, but the other kids are ignoring him. So I figure I'll mind my business. But I watch them...
A few minutes later, Instigator starts picking on a much smaller boy, punching him and knocking him into the fence. At this point, I snap. I don't care if his folks come after me. This is ridiculous. In my best parental yell I shout "That's enough!" at them. They stop, looking stunned. Instigator says "We were just playing". And I say, "Well, it didn't look that way to me."
The kids go on about their business. Nobody but me and God knows how badly I'm shaking inside. I hope that I won't have anymore confrontations with Instigator (or his family!). I will pray that God will send this boy someone who can relate to him and love him. I know that he's just crying out for attention, any attention. But I won't stand by and let him get it by beating up other people's children.
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
Edmund Burke
Heaven help me and my big mouth...
Some things I've been pondering...
Wow. It's been a long time since I posted. The funny thing is, I've had *lots* of blog posts swirling around in my head, but not the uninterrupted time or the brain power to actually type them up. Okay, so partly to remind myself, and partly to let y'all know that I've had lots of cool topics I've been chewing on the last week or so - here's a list. In no particular order, I have been pondering....
1. The interesting trend I've noticed in churches all over America - where it appears to me that God is calling His true church out of the "church proper" to come farther up and farther in, to seek His face, to reconnect with each other and our brothers and sisters across the world - using as many different, creative means as possible (especially blogging and the internet).
2. The fact that several mainstream fiction writers I've lately been reading (whose stories have supernatural elements) speak to my heart more than many Christian authors.
3. Whether the American church has completely missed the point of the gospel and is just running around looking busy.
4. Is America coming under God's judgment for setting Him aside in pursuit of the Almighty Dollar, or is this just our economy experiencing its own self-correction? (Please, no hate mail - but surely I'm not the only Christian in America who's wondered this)
5. Why does my daily life never seem to measure up to what I read about in my Bible about the early church? Have I missed something, and if so, how do I find it?
6. How do I balance caring for my children's souls, and caring for the environment (the house) they live in - especially when it seems there's barely enough time for one, let alone both, of those pursuits?
So now I'll just flip a coin and pick one of those to expound on...
1. The interesting trend I've noticed in churches all over America - where it appears to me that God is calling His true church out of the "church proper" to come farther up and farther in, to seek His face, to reconnect with each other and our brothers and sisters across the world - using as many different, creative means as possible (especially blogging and the internet).
2. The fact that several mainstream fiction writers I've lately been reading (whose stories have supernatural elements) speak to my heart more than many Christian authors.
3. Whether the American church has completely missed the point of the gospel and is just running around looking busy.
4. Is America coming under God's judgment for setting Him aside in pursuit of the Almighty Dollar, or is this just our economy experiencing its own self-correction? (Please, no hate mail - but surely I'm not the only Christian in America who's wondered this)
5. Why does my daily life never seem to measure up to what I read about in my Bible about the early church? Have I missed something, and if so, how do I find it?
6. How do I balance caring for my children's souls, and caring for the environment (the house) they live in - especially when it seems there's barely enough time for one, let alone both, of those pursuits?
So now I'll just flip a coin and pick one of those to expound on...
Monday, September 22, 2008
A lesson from God
It's been a long week. I've spent a good part of it praying and processing some hard truths that God has been showing me. I've been feeling lost and alone. For some reason I seem to keep tripping over the same problem over and over again.
I want to find my true calling, my niche, the place where who I am and what I do happens to be the place that is the center of God's will for my life. Only, God's apparent idea of my niche and mine seem to be residing on two separate planets.
See, in my envisioned niche, I have a church close to my home, that functions as my extended family, where I can plant myself and my children and stay there happily forever. It's not a perfect church (since churches are made of people, no church is) but it functions as a reasonably healthy body and provides grounding for me and my family. Out of such grounding I would be able to exercise my gifts, serve my community, share the gospel with others, and give my kids a good solid Christian foundation. I would always have a safe place to fall.
The church where God has currently planted me is a reasonably healthy church, with good programs for my kids, etc. - but it is a 45 minute drive (one way) away. That doesn't sound too bad until you try to get involved. Toss in a few ministries, a small group, and some fellowship time and you're logging a lot of miles in the car. And the kids aren't old enough for youth group yet. Since God has called me to spend more time with Him and less time spreading myself thin - that leaves me mostly isolated from my church during the week. As a stay-at-home mom of 3 small children with a husband who works many 14 hour days (he's a music teacher, comes with the territory) I get very lonely and discouraged. Especially when it seems that the spiritual atmosphere around me has gotten weird.
This weekend I had a hankering to re-watch the Lord of the Rings (yes, all 9 or 10 hours of it!). and while I was watching, God spoke to my heart. Some years ago, God revealed to me who He sees me as - my role in His eyes, that uses the gifts He has given me. I am His "warrior-princess". Ok, stop laughing - this was God's idea, not mine. When He revealed this to me I was like, "Yeah, right....nice joke, God...now tell me the real answer." Silence.
O-kaaaay. "You sure about this one, God?" I am the world's biggest cream puff. I am 5 foot 2, hate confrontations, and generally am the sort of person who would not say "boo" to a goose. I have never wielded a weapon of any sort and would be likely more dangerous to myself than anyone else if I tried. I hate being yelled at and if someone honks their horn at me in traffic it takes 15 or 20 minutes for me to calm down. Not really your usual "warrior" sort of material.
So for the past few weeks I've been attempting to just live a "normal" life. Which in my case means trying to ignore the spiritual currents that are always swirling all around me (that only others with the gift of discernment would recognize) and focusing on the "seen" world and thinking I am "safe" in my little world, my home, my neighborhood. I mean, obviously I am overestimating my importance to think I can somehow have an effect on the spiritual climate around me, right? Some sort of pre-schizophrenic delusion to think that I of all people should be important enough to God's plan that Satan would send his minions to attack me personally.
Mmm-hmmm. As C.S. Lewis once purported in The Screwtape Letters, Satan's favorite trick is for Christians to either credit him with too much or too little. You know, either we think every flat tire and headcold is from him, or we figure we're not important enough for him to bother with. How crazy of me to think that the spiritual climate around me is worsening, that something seriously sinister in taking place in small, subtle ways in the churches in my city, in the schools, in the neighborhoods. Nothing in the "seen" world has changed.
So why then have I become uneasy standing with the neighborhood teenagers at the bus stop while waiting for my kids? Why do I feel like I am being watched when I take my son to the playground at the end of my street? Why has every church my family set foot in in this city over an 8 month period (when we were church hunting) had some strange undercurrent running through it? Surely I'm becoming paranoid....
But my heart and God's Spirit within recognize what I've been studiously trying to ignore. The battle grows fierce, and the hour grows late, and even many Christians have been lulled into complacency.
Back to The Lord of the Rings..... as I watched, God whispered to my heart that, whether I want to believe it or not - even if I refuse to acknowledge it, I have been pitched into a fierce battle every bit as real the one Frodo and Sam and all the rest were unwillingly flung into. I fight to prove my true heritage in Christ every bit as much as Aragorn fought and thus proved himself worthy of reclaiming his rightful throne. It is no secret that J.R.R. Tolkien was a Christian, and that there is a great deal of Christian symbolism in the story. But what really struck me this time around was how often they fought alone, or outnumbered, how often they were discouraged and fell into despair, how many times the evil threatened to overwhelm them, how they could never let their guard down for a minute, and how each of them despaired even of life before their task was completed. And for Frodo, how he was irrevocably changed, forever separated from his "normal" life by the whole experience.
I look around me and I see other people, other Christians, leading their happy-fluffy-praise-God-Jesus-is-my-friend lives. Singing their songs, and giving their service, and quietly going about their days. The unseen world is safely hidden away from their eyes - they can take what they see at face value. Meanwhile I stand in the gap - literally as well as figuratively - poised with one foot in the "seen" world, one foot in the "unseen". Never really safe, even sleeping in my spiritual armor (how's that again? remember the nightmares? 'nuff said.)
I tried to ignore it this week and got clobbered spiritually - oppressed, depressed, cranky, discouraged, weary. I had forgotten what the apostle Peter wrote (1Peter 5:8) "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour." For those of us God has given the gift of discernment, those words are not just a theoretical warning, but a harsh daily (many times hourly) reality.
For reasons known only to God, He has chosen me to be a spiritual warrior, to do battle in the unseen realms - for my church, for my family, for my friends, my neighbors, my city. I am to be the vigilant one, ready to do battle at a moment's notice. A very few people in my world understand what this reality is like from the inside out. Trying to put my experiences into words makes me sound like I should be committed. If you read Frank Peretti's "This Present Darkness" that would be the closest I could give you by way of an illustration. Thankfully God has thus far spared me from seeing this world with my physical eyes - frankly I think I'd be just as terrified to see an angel as a demon - there's a reason the first thing all those angels in the Bible said was "Fear not!"
I can really identify with Frodo Baggins when he says to Gandalf "I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened." But Gandalf replies, "So do all who come to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us."
So, whether anyone else thinks I'm crazy or not, I'll be busy arming myself with some good worship music, study time in the Word, prayer against the spiritual forces of wickedness in high places, and conversation with those who will understand.
If anyone needs me, I'll be busy sharpening my sword....
p.s. that would be my *spiritual* sword (knowledge of God's Word) just so no one misunderstands
I want to find my true calling, my niche, the place where who I am and what I do happens to be the place that is the center of God's will for my life. Only, God's apparent idea of my niche and mine seem to be residing on two separate planets.
See, in my envisioned niche, I have a church close to my home, that functions as my extended family, where I can plant myself and my children and stay there happily forever. It's not a perfect church (since churches are made of people, no church is) but it functions as a reasonably healthy body and provides grounding for me and my family. Out of such grounding I would be able to exercise my gifts, serve my community, share the gospel with others, and give my kids a good solid Christian foundation. I would always have a safe place to fall.
The church where God has currently planted me is a reasonably healthy church, with good programs for my kids, etc. - but it is a 45 minute drive (one way) away. That doesn't sound too bad until you try to get involved. Toss in a few ministries, a small group, and some fellowship time and you're logging a lot of miles in the car. And the kids aren't old enough for youth group yet. Since God has called me to spend more time with Him and less time spreading myself thin - that leaves me mostly isolated from my church during the week. As a stay-at-home mom of 3 small children with a husband who works many 14 hour days (he's a music teacher, comes with the territory) I get very lonely and discouraged. Especially when it seems that the spiritual atmosphere around me has gotten weird.
This weekend I had a hankering to re-watch the Lord of the Rings (yes, all 9 or 10 hours of it!). and while I was watching, God spoke to my heart. Some years ago, God revealed to me who He sees me as - my role in His eyes, that uses the gifts He has given me. I am His "warrior-princess". Ok, stop laughing - this was God's idea, not mine. When He revealed this to me I was like, "Yeah, right....nice joke, God...now tell me the real answer." Silence.
O-kaaaay. "You sure about this one, God?" I am the world's biggest cream puff. I am 5 foot 2, hate confrontations, and generally am the sort of person who would not say "boo" to a goose. I have never wielded a weapon of any sort and would be likely more dangerous to myself than anyone else if I tried. I hate being yelled at and if someone honks their horn at me in traffic it takes 15 or 20 minutes for me to calm down. Not really your usual "warrior" sort of material.
So for the past few weeks I've been attempting to just live a "normal" life. Which in my case means trying to ignore the spiritual currents that are always swirling all around me (that only others with the gift of discernment would recognize) and focusing on the "seen" world and thinking I am "safe" in my little world, my home, my neighborhood. I mean, obviously I am overestimating my importance to think I can somehow have an effect on the spiritual climate around me, right? Some sort of pre-schizophrenic delusion to think that I of all people should be important enough to God's plan that Satan would send his minions to attack me personally.
Mmm-hmmm. As C.S. Lewis once purported in The Screwtape Letters, Satan's favorite trick is for Christians to either credit him with too much or too little. You know, either we think every flat tire and headcold is from him, or we figure we're not important enough for him to bother with. How crazy of me to think that the spiritual climate around me is worsening, that something seriously sinister in taking place in small, subtle ways in the churches in my city, in the schools, in the neighborhoods. Nothing in the "seen" world has changed.
So why then have I become uneasy standing with the neighborhood teenagers at the bus stop while waiting for my kids? Why do I feel like I am being watched when I take my son to the playground at the end of my street? Why has every church my family set foot in in this city over an 8 month period (when we were church hunting) had some strange undercurrent running through it? Surely I'm becoming paranoid....
But my heart and God's Spirit within recognize what I've been studiously trying to ignore. The battle grows fierce, and the hour grows late, and even many Christians have been lulled into complacency.
Back to The Lord of the Rings..... as I watched, God whispered to my heart that, whether I want to believe it or not - even if I refuse to acknowledge it, I have been pitched into a fierce battle every bit as real the one Frodo and Sam and all the rest were unwillingly flung into. I fight to prove my true heritage in Christ every bit as much as Aragorn fought and thus proved himself worthy of reclaiming his rightful throne. It is no secret that J.R.R. Tolkien was a Christian, and that there is a great deal of Christian symbolism in the story. But what really struck me this time around was how often they fought alone, or outnumbered, how often they were discouraged and fell into despair, how many times the evil threatened to overwhelm them, how they could never let their guard down for a minute, and how each of them despaired even of life before their task was completed. And for Frodo, how he was irrevocably changed, forever separated from his "normal" life by the whole experience.
I look around me and I see other people, other Christians, leading their happy-fluffy-praise-God-Jesus-is-my-friend lives. Singing their songs, and giving their service, and quietly going about their days. The unseen world is safely hidden away from their eyes - they can take what they see at face value. Meanwhile I stand in the gap - literally as well as figuratively - poised with one foot in the "seen" world, one foot in the "unseen". Never really safe, even sleeping in my spiritual armor (how's that again? remember the nightmares? 'nuff said.)
I tried to ignore it this week and got clobbered spiritually - oppressed, depressed, cranky, discouraged, weary. I had forgotten what the apostle Peter wrote (1Peter 5:8) "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour." For those of us God has given the gift of discernment, those words are not just a theoretical warning, but a harsh daily (many times hourly) reality.
For reasons known only to God, He has chosen me to be a spiritual warrior, to do battle in the unseen realms - for my church, for my family, for my friends, my neighbors, my city. I am to be the vigilant one, ready to do battle at a moment's notice. A very few people in my world understand what this reality is like from the inside out. Trying to put my experiences into words makes me sound like I should be committed. If you read Frank Peretti's "This Present Darkness" that would be the closest I could give you by way of an illustration. Thankfully God has thus far spared me from seeing this world with my physical eyes - frankly I think I'd be just as terrified to see an angel as a demon - there's a reason the first thing all those angels in the Bible said was "Fear not!"
I can really identify with Frodo Baggins when he says to Gandalf "I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened." But Gandalf replies, "So do all who come to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us."
So, whether anyone else thinks I'm crazy or not, I'll be busy arming myself with some good worship music, study time in the Word, prayer against the spiritual forces of wickedness in high places, and conversation with those who will understand.
If anyone needs me, I'll be busy sharpening my sword....
p.s. that would be my *spiritual* sword (knowledge of God's Word) just so no one misunderstands
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Questions running through my head...
What do you do when the path you thought God was leading you on suddenly leaves you feeling overwhelmed and confused?
What do you do when the choices you made in following this path you believed to be of God are having consequences on your family you never could have foreseen?
What do you do when staying on this path feels wrong, and so does leaving?
What do you do when you thought you were right at the center of God's will and all you feel is emptiness?
What do you do when you try to talk about the problem with other people, only all those other people have a vested interest in your decision?
What do you do when this problem is not one the Bible speaks directly on?
What do you do when making a decision on the matter and waiting to make a decision could both have negative and far-reaching consequences for your children?
What do you do when there is no really good solution to the problem?
What do you do when you recognize that all these uncomfortable questions and feelings could be Satan trying to distract and discourage you?
What do you do when feel like a part of your soul must be sacrificed either way?
What do you do when don't know what to do?
What do you do when the choices you made in following this path you believed to be of God are having consequences on your family you never could have foreseen?
What do you do when staying on this path feels wrong, and so does leaving?
What do you do when you thought you were right at the center of God's will and all you feel is emptiness?
What do you do when you try to talk about the problem with other people, only all those other people have a vested interest in your decision?
What do you do when this problem is not one the Bible speaks directly on?
What do you do when making a decision on the matter and waiting to make a decision could both have negative and far-reaching consequences for your children?
What do you do when there is no really good solution to the problem?
What do you do when you recognize that all these uncomfortable questions and feelings could be Satan trying to distract and discourage you?
What do you do when feel like a part of your soul must be sacrificed either way?
What do you do when don't know what to do?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Life of Beth=:) (Chapter 10 - 10th Grade)
In the 10th grade, God finally threw me a lifeline in the form of 3 new girls who moved to our school district. One was Jill, a very smart, extroverted, unashamed geek. Which is to say she actually preferred hanging out with smart people who spoke intelligently. Our small town school was not kind to kids who hadn't grown up with everybody else, so when I saw her floundering a bit, I befriended her. Or she befriended me - anyway, the end result was we became good friends and confidantes and remained so for the rest of high school and college. I was in her wedding, and the only reason I haven't spoken to her in years is that we lost touch when she was moving across the country right at the time I was planning my wedding. (Jill, if you stumble across this, email me - I miss you).
The other two girls were Barbara and Marsha - sisters, two years apart. Barb was my age, Marsha younger. Both very tall (they got nicknamed the Twin Towers, which were still standing at that time). Both musically inclined, so I got to know them both in band and chorus, as well as from sitting near Barb in homeroom.
Here's where the spiritual lifeline comes in - both Barb and Marsha were openly, radically unashamed of their Christian faith. They lived it out loud, they spoke with people about it, and they introduced me to Christian rock music. That may sound funny and trivial, but it was a HUGE thing in my life. These girls were the very first people my age who lived out a vibrant, tangible Christian faith.
It may sound dumb, but the first time Barb played a Petra song for me (popular 80's Christian rock band) it was like a light bulb went off in my head. There's rock music for Christians! Holy cow! (sorry, no pun intended). Music that sung about faith and lifted you up and was fun to listen to.
I became good friends with both of them and their folks, and they started inviting me to some of their youth group events. At those events I met a whole GROUP of kids our age who were on fire for Christ! Who had everyday discussions about what it means to be born again. Truly, it was a revelation for me, who had struggled along in my faith seemingly in a vacuum for the previous 7 years.
My life did not change overnight. I was still awkward and shy and a band geek. But finally, hallelujah, finally! I had friends my age who understood my struggle and who could encourage me as sisters in Christ.
The other two girls were Barbara and Marsha - sisters, two years apart. Barb was my age, Marsha younger. Both very tall (they got nicknamed the Twin Towers, which were still standing at that time). Both musically inclined, so I got to know them both in band and chorus, as well as from sitting near Barb in homeroom.
Here's where the spiritual lifeline comes in - both Barb and Marsha were openly, radically unashamed of their Christian faith. They lived it out loud, they spoke with people about it, and they introduced me to Christian rock music. That may sound funny and trivial, but it was a HUGE thing in my life. These girls were the very first people my age who lived out a vibrant, tangible Christian faith.
It may sound dumb, but the first time Barb played a Petra song for me (popular 80's Christian rock band) it was like a light bulb went off in my head. There's rock music for Christians! Holy cow! (sorry, no pun intended). Music that sung about faith and lifted you up and was fun to listen to.
I became good friends with both of them and their folks, and they started inviting me to some of their youth group events. At those events I met a whole GROUP of kids our age who were on fire for Christ! Who had everyday discussions about what it means to be born again. Truly, it was a revelation for me, who had struggled along in my faith seemingly in a vacuum for the previous 7 years.
My life did not change overnight. I was still awkward and shy and a band geek. But finally, hallelujah, finally! I had friends my age who understood my struggle and who could encourage me as sisters in Christ.
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