We finally bought a new dining room set. It was about time, too, as anyone who's been to our home within the past few years could testify. Our old second hand table, bought almost ten years ago right after we moved to Michigan for law school, was in far from pristine condition. We'd bolted one of the legs in place a couple years ago, and another wobbly leg was in need of a bolt. A few years ago, Geoff sanded the table top, and it turned out quite nice... except that he only got halfway through sanding the leaf. Sometime between homeschooling two kids instead of one and Luke joining the family at the table, that leaf became a permanent fixture, giving our table top an odd three-tone effect - with specks and streaks of color left from not-so-washable- washable markers. The legs, wobbly and knobby, never were stripped or sanded or refinished or painted or... anything. And the chairs... the poor, poor chairs require glue and clamps on a regular basis. As you can imagine, I was more than glad when Geoff suggested a trip to Ikea, and I am quite eager to see how our new table, chairs, and curtains come together, especially once Geoff removes the several boxes of Cub Scout stuff that were moved onto the new table so he could disassemble and relocate the old table.
Still... there's a little part of me that's just a wee bit sad to say goodbye to the old table and is breathing a deep sigh of relief knowing our old table is only moving to a back room for a future as a bolted-together three-tone craft table. That table has served us remarkably well.
When we moved to Michigan, we gave away or sold most of our furniture, as we had very little worth the added expense of a moving truck. Instead, we crammed everything into a U-Haul trailer, packing as lightly and tightly as possible. Once in Michigan, settled into our apartment, we went in search of inexpensive used furniture. Enter the table. We picked it up in a dingy second hand store, along with its four accompanying chairs and two recliners, one of which still sits in our living room, a pea green 1970's eyesore that has long surpassed its life expectancy, yet still keeps rocking, and will probably survive to be a cherished family heirloom at the rate we're going. I think we spent about $125 for the lot. I don't remember being particularly impressed with the table. It was there. It was inexpensive. It would do.
That was, as I mentioned, nearly ten years ago. In the early years, the table hosted the countless games of Spades that were the highlight of our time in Michigan - well, except for having Andrew. Adding him to our family definitely was better than Spades. In more recent years, our old table has provided the literal foundation for the foundations of our children's social and academic education. It has welcomed our children into the world of dining at the big table, and at it, they have practiced using forks, spoons, knives. They have learned to scribble, draw, and write at this table. They have poured over math problems and poured out their milk. Markers have left a rainbow of short lines and pens have left a few valleys where my children's enthusiasm extended beyond their papers' edges. The old table boasts a "knot" that is actually a burn from the day pyromania almost got the better of Geoff and a small notch from the day someone couldn't resist testing out his new saw. (I can't explain his behavior toward this table. He is generally a rather conscientious steward of his belongings!) That funky old table bears the marks of a decade of life, and not just any life... our life. I cannot think of it without a touch of longing for all the times past that we have spent around it, laughing and completely unconcerned about any damage that might possibly come to the table. Because let's face it... you really couldn't hurt that thing!
So I was glad and a little charmed when Geoff, holding the legless tabletop up as he stood in a sea of cardboard a few feet from our newly assembled dining room table, remarked that it had been a good table and declared that its usefulness to our family shall continue. I'd hate to see it go, even though I know our memories would remain. Our second hand table has served us far longer and far better than I would have supposed. We bought it for an apartment, little imagining how very much life would occur around a simple table that "would do."
I look into our dining room tonight and wonder what wonderful memories will take shape around this new, untested table. I wonder what nicks and scratches will be etched, what lessons learned, what tears shed, what laughter shared. I envision the finished dining room (we're still waiting to find a rug and put the curtains up) and almost entertain the dream that our new table will always be as pretty as it is now. Then I realize that even as I appreciate the smooth wood, unmarred surfaces, and chairs upholstered in a fabric that makes me all happy and serene, these are not the things that make a dining room table beautiful. It is the life that surrounds a table that makes it precious. I have little doubt that our new table will soon bear the marks of family life and every hope that it will grow to be as emotionally dear as it is visually pleasing.
I guess that means I can't complain about the boxes of Cub Scout stuff that are already sitting on my new table, huh? :)
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Four L's for the Graceful Survival of Motherhood
This is becoming quite an awkward post. It began after a discussion about the idea that mothers need to get away from their children. As a breast-feeding, co-sleeping, baby-wearing, home-schooling mother, you don't have to be a genius to figure out that I'm no fan of the "Get Away From the Children Before They Eat You" mentality. I have my moments, but for the most part, yeah... I have issues with that mindset. But as I began to write about why I don't agree with that mentality, I realized that there are millions of wonderful mothers who love their children as dearly as I love mine, but who happen to have greater need of space, solitude, and yes, shopping. While I attempted to be considerate of those mothers and fully intended to bring the post around to why a mother does need to carve out time for herself and how that time and space should be such as suits her personality and parenting philosophies, as well as the values and needs of her family instead of imposed upon her by society and by acquaintances who are more distressed than she is by the fact that she's grocery shopping with four children... well, it was just ugly.
So I began a second post in which I proposed four L's for surviving motherhood. The L's are fine, and you'll read them soon enough, but they revealed a major dilemma of writing something to be posted for all the world to stumble upon. There is a danger in this format of appearing desperate for either compassion or compliments, sometimes both at the same time. I'm afraid this is somewhat unavoidable, given the nature of the topic, and so I proceed with an assurance and a disclaimer, hoping that this will be the final rewrite of this difficult to birth post and that you won't all rise up to smack the insufferable out of me.
The assurance is that, though I have at various times felt pitifully overwhelmed and have not endured motherhood's trials with much grace at all, I am alive and well and trust that I will continue to survive the stresses of motherhood, hopefully with ever-increasing grace. The disclaimer is that I am not in the clear. The thoughts I share are things I am only beginning to learn. I know that I have barely begun parenting, that greater trials lie ahead, and that I am sure to crash to the ground in a rotten mess from time to time. I do not write this post in the hopes of garnering pity or admiration, but first and foremost to remind myself to be aware of the emotional pitfalls of motherhood and prepared to meet them face on, and secondly, to offer consolation and help to other mothers who have been at their limits, who are at their limits now, or who will someday be at their limits.
Without further delay... The Four L's.
1. Know your LIMITS. Everybody has them, and they vary greatly. Some people know before they even begin to try to conceive that their offspring will jar all of their mental, emotional, and spiritual resources from the moment of conception. Others stroll blissfully through the first several years of motherhood, speaking in calm, singsong tones as they point out all the flower petals and ant colonies and puppy-dog-shaped clouds along the way. Wherever you fall on the spectrum, rest assured that you do have limits. Figure out what your limits are and what happens when circumstances push you to the edge of those limits or beyond. Are there things that rush you unexpectedly over the edge, bringing you to a point best described as a meltdown - when you are completely overwhelmed by all the pressures of life as a wife and mother and everything else you have to be and do and you just can't take it anymore? What do you look like when you have reached that point? More importantly, what do you look like right before you reach that point? Learn the warning signs of an impending meltdown and train yourself to slow down, step back, and proceed with caution at the earliest warning signs. The sooner you identify what appears to be the fast-approaching edge of sanity, the more time you will have to keep yourself from falling over the edge - or to prepare yourself to go down with the least amount of pain. Do not continue headlong over the cliffs of insanity. (All my Princess Bride fans, say, "Inconceivable!")
If you need help identifying your limits, I recommend, for about the ten millionth time, Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. As it teaches you to guide your children through their tumultuous emotions, it will teach you to guide yourself through your own inner tumults. As an added bonus, if you are able to keep the ones who often drive you to your limits from reaching their limits, you will likely find that they don't drive you to your limits as often or as quickly.
2. Identify your LIFESAVERS. I don't know a lot about descending sheer cliffs, but I do know that those who are genuinely concerned about reaching the bottom alive and well do two things. First, they dress appropriately for the task and show up with the tools necessary to prevent a sudden plunge. They wear special shoes and gloves and a belt full of tools whose names and uses are beyond my knowledge. Secondly, they strap on a helmet and make sure their lifeline is secure before they step of the edge. Should they lose their footing, that rope will save them a very gory death and that helmet will protect them from many of the bumps along the way.
In a similar way, mothers who hope to maneuver the trials of their role with grace need to implement a plan for preventing slips and for protecting against disaster when they do lose their footing. Every mother's plan will be different, of course, but have a plan. Don't show up at the cliff with flip flops and a can of silly string.
The things that keep you from reaching your limit are often simple, everyday (or otherwise regularly scheduled) habits and practices. For me, these include, in no particular order and to varying degree of practice, "Happy Sister Calls" with my wise and wonderful sister, play dates with friends, listening to either calm or upbeat music (depending on my mood and tolerance of sound), sending children outside to play, instituting a loose "rest" time, running on the treadmill, utilizing the lock on the bathroom door, time in the evening with Geoff, and...
Coffee... My brother recently remarked that I have a "deranged psychological dependence" upon the availability of coffee. I may be psychologically deranged, but I don't know... I think the coffee attraction has more to do with the idea that it is all mine. I share a lot with my children. My coffee is one of the few things that is off limits. They might ask for a sip now and then, but for the most part, it's mine. All mine. And it feels kind of nice, especially when it's in one of my special mugs. The moral of the coffee cup is not to be a selfish, unsharing caffeine addict, but to pamper yourself just a little by setting aside something - obviously it doesn't have to be something big - that is distinctly Mommy's. It will remind you on those days when you feel like you ought to be drinking from a sippy cup that you are indeed a big girl. And that alone might give you the courage to act like a big girl.
Take the time to identify those things that will keep you steady from day to day. Who cares how big or little an item, how insignificant a habit, or how brief a contact it is... if you grow flustered in its absence, then be sure not to neglect it.
Be sure, too, to have an emergency plan for those days when you feel completely overwhelmed. Call a friend or family member, either to take the kids to their house for a couple hours or to come over and visit with you. Don't be afraid to ask. I've been on both sides and promise it will be a blessing for both of you.
I have found, too, that sometimes an emergency lifesaver even dearer than time away from my children or time with another adult, is time spent doing something extraordinarily fun with my children. It might be an impromptu trip to the zoo or the children's museum or a trip to the park with a $5 ready-to-go pizza. When you think you're going to drive each other completely insane, shake it up a bit so the crazy doesn't know where to land. In the process, you stand a pretty good chance of gaining some precious memories and a new perspective. Maybe your children have been hellions all week and don't deserve a trip to the park. Maybe you've been a hellion all week, and your children deserve a mother who remembers how to relax and see the best in her babies again. I don't advocate shunning discipline, but seriously... If you're about to have a meltdown, shake it off. Have fun with your children. Start over. If there are still behavioral issues to address, you'll be better equipped to do it when you're wound a little less tightly.
3. Remember your LORD. This really belongs in the lifesaver category, but I think it's significant enough to have its own number. Remembering your Lord is both a daily and an emergency lifesaver, and it extends far beyond the realm of motherhood into every area of life.
It's simple enough to say, "Trust in the Lord," but actually doing it becomes a little more tricky. Sometimes it's tricky because we want to figure out and fix everything on our own. But I think we have another problem, especially when we become bogged down by daily duties and stresses, and that is that we don't always take the time to REMEMBER. And what exactly do we need to remember?
We need to remember to pray... and remember that we have prayed. Plain and simple, God hears our prayers and answers them. Don't forget to lay your concerns before the Lord. Just as importantly, don't forget the prayers you have made. On more than one occasion, I have been surprised to receive good news, only to remember that it was something about which I had recently prayed.
We need to remember who God is and what He has promised. This is why we should be reading our Bibles as often as possible. God's love for us is written all through the pages of our Bibles, along with more promises than I could write here. Crack open your Bible and start reading. If the thought of reading the Bible in 90 days, or 180 days, or 365 days gives you a panic attack, don't even think about it. Just read a verse a day, or a chapter a day. Read the Proverb that matches the day of the month (Proverbs 1 and the 1st, etc). Just read, however long you have the strength to read. Put a Bible in the car or, as an anonymous friend who shall remain unnamed did, put one in your bathroom, so you can read while you, um... wait. Jesus doesn't care how much you read or how dignified you are if your heart earnestly seeks Him.
We need to remember what God has done in the past. This is another reason reading the Scriptures is so important. We see what God has done in the past, how He has been present with and faithful to His people over and over again. We begin to understand that the One who kept Noah afloat also keeps us afloat when the emotional floods of motherhood threaten to overwhelm us. He who stood in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stands with us through every fiery trial we endure. If there is anything that history - biblical, church, and world - teaches us, it is that God sustains His people. Countless people have suffered agonies far, far worse than those of motherhood and have lived to praise the name of Jesus.
We need to remember that God does not deal with us as our sins deserve. He is good and merciful and gracious to us. He forgives our sins and remembers them no more. This is unspeakably good news. It tells me than all my failures and weaknesses as a mother, not to mention a human being, have been forgiven. It also shows me how to treat my children. I cannot fail, when God's grace to me is on my heart and mind, to tend to my children's needs and desires with a great, though lesser measure of goodness, mercy, and grace.
4. Indulge your LOVES. This whole post started as a commentary on the idea of getting away from the kids, focussing on the notion that moms need to go out alone or with their girlfriends. I will just say, regarding that idea, that for various reasons ranging from practicality to personal preference, Mom's Night Out isn't every mother's cup of tea. Some prefer coffee and brownies at home over tea and crumpets on the town. Going shopping or out to dinner may be just what one mother needs, but it may not rejuvenate another a mother enough to warrant the trouble of arranging the outing or the expense of the outing itself.
So know what you love to do and do it. Plan a night out with friends or read a book at home. Get a hotel for the night or plan a family hike. Whatever floats your boat, treat yourself to it once in awhile.
And don't be afraid to say "no" when you don't feel quite up to something. A couple months ago, my husband suggested a day long event in which I would have the rare experience of child-free interaction with other adults. There was nothing objectionable in it, but it just didn't thrill me. I thought of the awkwardness of having to converse with a bunch of strangers and of all the things that wouldn't get done, from laundry to time with Geoff, on the first free Saturday our family had had in weeks. He thought it would be a wonderful diversion, a horizon broadening day... and that I would come home refreshed. I thought I might have fun if I found someone with whom I clicked, but mostly I thought I'd rather spend the day at home. Perhaps I should have gone and proven Geoff right, and maybe someday he'll catch me in a less flustered, more sociable mood and I will go and beg for more. But at the time, I just wasn't sure if it would be worth the time away from other duties and pleasures.
In contrast, (and to brag on Geoff just a bit, having possibly just portrayed him as slightly oblivious to his wife's interests), this past March I attended a two-day home school convention. It was some sort of wonderful, let me tell you... I could easily write an entire post about how great it was, but I'm going to narrow it down to three points. First, I was alone. Well, there were hundreds, probably thousands of other people there, but I saw no one I knew. Second, the speakers said just what I needed to hear and more. They reminded me of my hopes for my children and their education and challenged and equipped me to work to make those hopes a reality. Third, books. I got to look at books. ;) The whole thing encouraged, challenged, and refocussed me. I went tired and slightly discouraged after a difficult year of home schooling and left excited and rejuvenated. This was something I wanted to do and almost didn't do for various reasons. Having had such an amazing, restorative time, I now view this convention as something I must make every effort to do in the future. I indulged my inner nerd's love of lectures and books, and fed my inner idealist's love of grand ideas, and came away so much better for it. Not only did I return home with increased enthusiasm for the life we have chosen, I was also really glad to see everyone when I got home and very thankful to Geoff for encouraging me to go and for being a single father of four children for two days!
Obviously, home school conventions aren't everyone's cup of tea. The point is to find your cup of tea and drink deeply. Maybe not every day, but at least now and then... It's amazing what it can do for your outlook!
As we approach the end of this awkward post, I'm not sure I like it very much. It's all sort of scrambled, but maybe that's okay. Motherhood is a tough, sometimes scrambled up job. It's a wonderful job, but it isn't always smooth sailing. (Please forgive me for jumping metaphors. I haven't made my coffee yet). I can't promise that the tips offered above will keep you from falling into an exhausted mess of tears at the end of a rough day (or in the middle of a rough day ;)), but I have found them useful in maintaining a certain level of calm on our more chaotic days.
The bottom line of all of this is that if you learn what the edge of sanity looks like and train yourself not to rush headlong over that cliff, but to step back and approach it with care, you will find foot and hand holds that will allow you not to dive into emotional chaos, but to navigate beyond your limits with grace and compassion for your children, your spouse, and yourself. Then you can look back and peacefully marvel at how well you came through it, rather than tearfully wishing you'd done better... Because you will survive being pushed past your limits and you will survive it again and again. As a friend once pointed out to me, very few of us really, actually, truly do lose our minds. You will survive motherhood. The question is," How well will you survive it?"
So I began a second post in which I proposed four L's for surviving motherhood. The L's are fine, and you'll read them soon enough, but they revealed a major dilemma of writing something to be posted for all the world to stumble upon. There is a danger in this format of appearing desperate for either compassion or compliments, sometimes both at the same time. I'm afraid this is somewhat unavoidable, given the nature of the topic, and so I proceed with an assurance and a disclaimer, hoping that this will be the final rewrite of this difficult to birth post and that you won't all rise up to smack the insufferable out of me.
The assurance is that, though I have at various times felt pitifully overwhelmed and have not endured motherhood's trials with much grace at all, I am alive and well and trust that I will continue to survive the stresses of motherhood, hopefully with ever-increasing grace. The disclaimer is that I am not in the clear. The thoughts I share are things I am only beginning to learn. I know that I have barely begun parenting, that greater trials lie ahead, and that I am sure to crash to the ground in a rotten mess from time to time. I do not write this post in the hopes of garnering pity or admiration, but first and foremost to remind myself to be aware of the emotional pitfalls of motherhood and prepared to meet them face on, and secondly, to offer consolation and help to other mothers who have been at their limits, who are at their limits now, or who will someday be at their limits.
Without further delay... The Four L's.
1. Know your LIMITS. Everybody has them, and they vary greatly. Some people know before they even begin to try to conceive that their offspring will jar all of their mental, emotional, and spiritual resources from the moment of conception. Others stroll blissfully through the first several years of motherhood, speaking in calm, singsong tones as they point out all the flower petals and ant colonies and puppy-dog-shaped clouds along the way. Wherever you fall on the spectrum, rest assured that you do have limits. Figure out what your limits are and what happens when circumstances push you to the edge of those limits or beyond. Are there things that rush you unexpectedly over the edge, bringing you to a point best described as a meltdown - when you are completely overwhelmed by all the pressures of life as a wife and mother and everything else you have to be and do and you just can't take it anymore? What do you look like when you have reached that point? More importantly, what do you look like right before you reach that point? Learn the warning signs of an impending meltdown and train yourself to slow down, step back, and proceed with caution at the earliest warning signs. The sooner you identify what appears to be the fast-approaching edge of sanity, the more time you will have to keep yourself from falling over the edge - or to prepare yourself to go down with the least amount of pain. Do not continue headlong over the cliffs of insanity. (All my Princess Bride fans, say, "Inconceivable!")
If you need help identifying your limits, I recommend, for about the ten millionth time, Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. As it teaches you to guide your children through their tumultuous emotions, it will teach you to guide yourself through your own inner tumults. As an added bonus, if you are able to keep the ones who often drive you to your limits from reaching their limits, you will likely find that they don't drive you to your limits as often or as quickly.
2. Identify your LIFESAVERS. I don't know a lot about descending sheer cliffs, but I do know that those who are genuinely concerned about reaching the bottom alive and well do two things. First, they dress appropriately for the task and show up with the tools necessary to prevent a sudden plunge. They wear special shoes and gloves and a belt full of tools whose names and uses are beyond my knowledge. Secondly, they strap on a helmet and make sure their lifeline is secure before they step of the edge. Should they lose their footing, that rope will save them a very gory death and that helmet will protect them from many of the bumps along the way.
In a similar way, mothers who hope to maneuver the trials of their role with grace need to implement a plan for preventing slips and for protecting against disaster when they do lose their footing. Every mother's plan will be different, of course, but have a plan. Don't show up at the cliff with flip flops and a can of silly string.
The things that keep you from reaching your limit are often simple, everyday (or otherwise regularly scheduled) habits and practices. For me, these include, in no particular order and to varying degree of practice, "Happy Sister Calls" with my wise and wonderful sister, play dates with friends, listening to either calm or upbeat music (depending on my mood and tolerance of sound), sending children outside to play, instituting a loose "rest" time, running on the treadmill, utilizing the lock on the bathroom door, time in the evening with Geoff, and...
Coffee... My brother recently remarked that I have a "deranged psychological dependence" upon the availability of coffee. I may be psychologically deranged, but I don't know... I think the coffee attraction has more to do with the idea that it is all mine. I share a lot with my children. My coffee is one of the few things that is off limits. They might ask for a sip now and then, but for the most part, it's mine. All mine. And it feels kind of nice, especially when it's in one of my special mugs. The moral of the coffee cup is not to be a selfish, unsharing caffeine addict, but to pamper yourself just a little by setting aside something - obviously it doesn't have to be something big - that is distinctly Mommy's. It will remind you on those days when you feel like you ought to be drinking from a sippy cup that you are indeed a big girl. And that alone might give you the courage to act like a big girl.
Take the time to identify those things that will keep you steady from day to day. Who cares how big or little an item, how insignificant a habit, or how brief a contact it is... if you grow flustered in its absence, then be sure not to neglect it.
Be sure, too, to have an emergency plan for those days when you feel completely overwhelmed. Call a friend or family member, either to take the kids to their house for a couple hours or to come over and visit with you. Don't be afraid to ask. I've been on both sides and promise it will be a blessing for both of you.
I have found, too, that sometimes an emergency lifesaver even dearer than time away from my children or time with another adult, is time spent doing something extraordinarily fun with my children. It might be an impromptu trip to the zoo or the children's museum or a trip to the park with a $5 ready-to-go pizza. When you think you're going to drive each other completely insane, shake it up a bit so the crazy doesn't know where to land. In the process, you stand a pretty good chance of gaining some precious memories and a new perspective. Maybe your children have been hellions all week and don't deserve a trip to the park. Maybe you've been a hellion all week, and your children deserve a mother who remembers how to relax and see the best in her babies again. I don't advocate shunning discipline, but seriously... If you're about to have a meltdown, shake it off. Have fun with your children. Start over. If there are still behavioral issues to address, you'll be better equipped to do it when you're wound a little less tightly.
3. Remember your LORD. This really belongs in the lifesaver category, but I think it's significant enough to have its own number. Remembering your Lord is both a daily and an emergency lifesaver, and it extends far beyond the realm of motherhood into every area of life.
It's simple enough to say, "Trust in the Lord," but actually doing it becomes a little more tricky. Sometimes it's tricky because we want to figure out and fix everything on our own. But I think we have another problem, especially when we become bogged down by daily duties and stresses, and that is that we don't always take the time to REMEMBER. And what exactly do we need to remember?
We need to remember to pray... and remember that we have prayed. Plain and simple, God hears our prayers and answers them. Don't forget to lay your concerns before the Lord. Just as importantly, don't forget the prayers you have made. On more than one occasion, I have been surprised to receive good news, only to remember that it was something about which I had recently prayed.
We need to remember who God is and what He has promised. This is why we should be reading our Bibles as often as possible. God's love for us is written all through the pages of our Bibles, along with more promises than I could write here. Crack open your Bible and start reading. If the thought of reading the Bible in 90 days, or 180 days, or 365 days gives you a panic attack, don't even think about it. Just read a verse a day, or a chapter a day. Read the Proverb that matches the day of the month (Proverbs 1 and the 1st, etc). Just read, however long you have the strength to read. Put a Bible in the car or, as an anonymous friend who shall remain unnamed did, put one in your bathroom, so you can read while you, um... wait. Jesus doesn't care how much you read or how dignified you are if your heart earnestly seeks Him.
We need to remember what God has done in the past. This is another reason reading the Scriptures is so important. We see what God has done in the past, how He has been present with and faithful to His people over and over again. We begin to understand that the One who kept Noah afloat also keeps us afloat when the emotional floods of motherhood threaten to overwhelm us. He who stood in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stands with us through every fiery trial we endure. If there is anything that history - biblical, church, and world - teaches us, it is that God sustains His people. Countless people have suffered agonies far, far worse than those of motherhood and have lived to praise the name of Jesus.
We need to remember that God does not deal with us as our sins deserve. He is good and merciful and gracious to us. He forgives our sins and remembers them no more. This is unspeakably good news. It tells me than all my failures and weaknesses as a mother, not to mention a human being, have been forgiven. It also shows me how to treat my children. I cannot fail, when God's grace to me is on my heart and mind, to tend to my children's needs and desires with a great, though lesser measure of goodness, mercy, and grace.
4. Indulge your LOVES. This whole post started as a commentary on the idea of getting away from the kids, focussing on the notion that moms need to go out alone or with their girlfriends. I will just say, regarding that idea, that for various reasons ranging from practicality to personal preference, Mom's Night Out isn't every mother's cup of tea. Some prefer coffee and brownies at home over tea and crumpets on the town. Going shopping or out to dinner may be just what one mother needs, but it may not rejuvenate another a mother enough to warrant the trouble of arranging the outing or the expense of the outing itself.
So know what you love to do and do it. Plan a night out with friends or read a book at home. Get a hotel for the night or plan a family hike. Whatever floats your boat, treat yourself to it once in awhile.
And don't be afraid to say "no" when you don't feel quite up to something. A couple months ago, my husband suggested a day long event in which I would have the rare experience of child-free interaction with other adults. There was nothing objectionable in it, but it just didn't thrill me. I thought of the awkwardness of having to converse with a bunch of strangers and of all the things that wouldn't get done, from laundry to time with Geoff, on the first free Saturday our family had had in weeks. He thought it would be a wonderful diversion, a horizon broadening day... and that I would come home refreshed. I thought I might have fun if I found someone with whom I clicked, but mostly I thought I'd rather spend the day at home. Perhaps I should have gone and proven Geoff right, and maybe someday he'll catch me in a less flustered, more sociable mood and I will go and beg for more. But at the time, I just wasn't sure if it would be worth the time away from other duties and pleasures.
In contrast, (and to brag on Geoff just a bit, having possibly just portrayed him as slightly oblivious to his wife's interests), this past March I attended a two-day home school convention. It was some sort of wonderful, let me tell you... I could easily write an entire post about how great it was, but I'm going to narrow it down to three points. First, I was alone. Well, there were hundreds, probably thousands of other people there, but I saw no one I knew. Second, the speakers said just what I needed to hear and more. They reminded me of my hopes for my children and their education and challenged and equipped me to work to make those hopes a reality. Third, books. I got to look at books. ;) The whole thing encouraged, challenged, and refocussed me. I went tired and slightly discouraged after a difficult year of home schooling and left excited and rejuvenated. This was something I wanted to do and almost didn't do for various reasons. Having had such an amazing, restorative time, I now view this convention as something I must make every effort to do in the future. I indulged my inner nerd's love of lectures and books, and fed my inner idealist's love of grand ideas, and came away so much better for it. Not only did I return home with increased enthusiasm for the life we have chosen, I was also really glad to see everyone when I got home and very thankful to Geoff for encouraging me to go and for being a single father of four children for two days!
Obviously, home school conventions aren't everyone's cup of tea. The point is to find your cup of tea and drink deeply. Maybe not every day, but at least now and then... It's amazing what it can do for your outlook!
As we approach the end of this awkward post, I'm not sure I like it very much. It's all sort of scrambled, but maybe that's okay. Motherhood is a tough, sometimes scrambled up job. It's a wonderful job, but it isn't always smooth sailing. (Please forgive me for jumping metaphors. I haven't made my coffee yet). I can't promise that the tips offered above will keep you from falling into an exhausted mess of tears at the end of a rough day (or in the middle of a rough day ;)), but I have found them useful in maintaining a certain level of calm on our more chaotic days.
The bottom line of all of this is that if you learn what the edge of sanity looks like and train yourself not to rush headlong over that cliff, but to step back and approach it with care, you will find foot and hand holds that will allow you not to dive into emotional chaos, but to navigate beyond your limits with grace and compassion for your children, your spouse, and yourself. Then you can look back and peacefully marvel at how well you came through it, rather than tearfully wishing you'd done better... Because you will survive being pushed past your limits and you will survive it again and again. As a friend once pointed out to me, very few of us really, actually, truly do lose our minds. You will survive motherhood. The question is," How well will you survive it?"
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Grief and Going On
A lot of crappy stuff happens to Other People. They lose jobs and homes. Their marriages fall apart. They battle serious, sometimes terminal illnesses. They bury spouses, children, and other loved ones they never dreamed they'd lose so soon. We watch from a distance or by their sides, crying with them and for them. We tell them we can't even begin to imagine what they're going through. And we speak truthfully, for our minds will only allow us to imagine so far before shoving us out the door, slamming it and posting on it a big "Do Not Enter" sign. We cannot go deep into the heart of agony. While our jobs and homes are secure and our marriages, spouses, and children are alive and healthy, we have no business in that room. I do not mean that we are unsympathetic to or untouched by their tragedies. Our hearts do indeed break for and with Other People, but to a certain degree, we are strangers among them, unable to fully grasp the depths of their pain.
So we comfort Other People as best we know how. We pray for and with them. We take care of their physical needs. We do what we can. In the quiet of our hearts, we thank God for our own blessings, taking care to count them more carefully than before. We vow never to take jobs, homes, parents, siblings, friends, spouses, children, or any of our blessings for granted.
Maybe I'm wrong, but I think if we are honest, a part of us believes, or wants to believe, that it can't happen to us. We work hard, pay our bills, say "I love you" every morning, and tuck our children in every night with a kiss. We wear our seat belts, avoid high risk activities, and maybe even exercise and eat organic. We hope against hope that somewhere in there, we have provided a little insurance against tragedy.
We haven't. We are all, aware or unaware, Other People. The man who lost his job worked just as hard as you do. The woman packing up her bank-owned home was just shopping for curtains in the aisle next to you. The man burying his wife is trying to erase his long-cherished image of a gray-haired couple sitting on a front porch fifty years from now, sipping sweet tea as they reminisce over all their happy years together. The mother cradling her lifeless baby, whether that baby is a day or thirty years old, still smells that sweet baby smell lingering about her child's head. We want to set ourselves apart from Other People. We cannot. We and Other People are one and the same.
But the good news - because I don't want to leave anyone worrying about when the hammer is going to hit - is that Other People survive, and you will, too. With rare exception, we grieve intensely for a time, then pick ourselves up and get on with the business of living. The world does not stop spinning, even for the greatest of tragedies, and so we must get back to our old routines or form new ones. And we do. We try on ways to go on with life in new, unexpected, often unwanted circumstances. Over time, our awkward, tentative ways become second nature. We stumble until we find a new normal. Along the way, we remember to laugh. We allow ourselves to take a few things for granted again. There is a fine line between not taking someone or something for granted and smothering a person or idolizing an item. I don't mean that we should take loved ones for granted, but that there comes a time when the fear of loss wears mostly off and we hold them tight and kiss them good-night not because we realize it might be our last chance, but simply because we love them. That is when you know you have survived, when fear no longer overshadows a goodnight kiss. And that day will come, because as life continues, we find new reasons to laugh, new reasons to rejoice, new reasons to believe that everything is just as it ought to be. We find ourselves walking confidently in grace, hope, and joy.
And God is with us through it all. We may not feel like He's anywhere to be found, but if we believe His Word, then we must choose to believe against all feeling that He has not forsaken us. In the words of C.S. Lewis, "“Faith... is the art of holding on to things your reason once accepted, despite your changing moods.” Tragedy brings a million moods, many of which are not conducive to peachy-creamy Christianity. We must make a choice to believe what God has said and what we have confessed as true, or to be swept away by our tumultuous darker emotions. It is an art requiring humility, grace, and brutal honesty with oneself. It is an art worth practicing, an art essential to our ultimate peace. Do not let go of Christ, for He has not let go of you.
In How Firm A Foundation, an amazing hymn that everyone should google right now, John Keith writes:
“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy trouble to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."
Eventually, this happens to "the soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose." (See, you need to read the whole hymn!) Truly leaning on Jesus often begins with Him holding us tight while we kick and scream and pound on His chest in anger, defiance, and doubt - like a toddler in the throes of utter distress. In the process of our shouting and doubting, we realize that God is strong enough to handle all of our darker emotions, and in the end, when we are worn out from crying, we find He is gracious enough, loving enough to have never let us go. He has kept His promise never to leave nor forsake us.
In our suffering, we realize how puny and how precious we are. Puny, in that we are mere points in the immeasurable vastness of the universe. We can no more protect a single hair on our heads, or on the heads of our loved ones, than we can count the sum of the hairs on our heads. And yet we are precious, for the Creator of the Universe, the Orchestrator of History has not left us to struggle in solitude.
And so deep distress becomes something holy, for in our distress our ill-conceived notions of ourselves and of our God are stripped away. We are left with a costly treasure that we might wish to return, but know we cannot return. We cannot undo our tragedies, so we hold them close, not wanting to let go of cherished, painfully learned truths. Sometimes, we let our sacred experiences seep into our conversations - in part to communicate to other sufferers that they will survive becoming Other People and someday feel mostly normal again, and in part because we still bear the marks of becoming Other People ourselves and we need to remind ourselves not to forget what we have lost or what we have gained.
As I observe tragedies in the lives of people around me - and our town has been devastated by more than one tragedy in recent weeks - I am torn. On the one hand, I see that huge door with "Do Not Enter" emblazoned across it. I cannot comprehend the grief of those who are suffering, because the people and circumstances are in many ways different from anything I have experienced. And yet, I understand a little. On a perfectly normal October afternoon in 1999, the local hospital called me at work to tell me my sister, with whom I lived at the time, had had an accident and I needed to come to the hospital. They did not tell me until I arrived at the hospital, surrounded by friends I shared with her, that there was nothing anyone could have done to save her life. That was the day I became Other People. I have not forgotten, nor can I deny that it might be a very long time till those who suffer today come to terms with being Other People, too. But I hope they do, and I pray they find treasures of mercy and grace as they go forth from the wreckage of tragedy.
So we comfort Other People as best we know how. We pray for and with them. We take care of their physical needs. We do what we can. In the quiet of our hearts, we thank God for our own blessings, taking care to count them more carefully than before. We vow never to take jobs, homes, parents, siblings, friends, spouses, children, or any of our blessings for granted.
Maybe I'm wrong, but I think if we are honest, a part of us believes, or wants to believe, that it can't happen to us. We work hard, pay our bills, say "I love you" every morning, and tuck our children in every night with a kiss. We wear our seat belts, avoid high risk activities, and maybe even exercise and eat organic. We hope against hope that somewhere in there, we have provided a little insurance against tragedy.
We haven't. We are all, aware or unaware, Other People. The man who lost his job worked just as hard as you do. The woman packing up her bank-owned home was just shopping for curtains in the aisle next to you. The man burying his wife is trying to erase his long-cherished image of a gray-haired couple sitting on a front porch fifty years from now, sipping sweet tea as they reminisce over all their happy years together. The mother cradling her lifeless baby, whether that baby is a day or thirty years old, still smells that sweet baby smell lingering about her child's head. We want to set ourselves apart from Other People. We cannot. We and Other People are one and the same.
But the good news - because I don't want to leave anyone worrying about when the hammer is going to hit - is that Other People survive, and you will, too. With rare exception, we grieve intensely for a time, then pick ourselves up and get on with the business of living. The world does not stop spinning, even for the greatest of tragedies, and so we must get back to our old routines or form new ones. And we do. We try on ways to go on with life in new, unexpected, often unwanted circumstances. Over time, our awkward, tentative ways become second nature. We stumble until we find a new normal. Along the way, we remember to laugh. We allow ourselves to take a few things for granted again. There is a fine line between not taking someone or something for granted and smothering a person or idolizing an item. I don't mean that we should take loved ones for granted, but that there comes a time when the fear of loss wears mostly off and we hold them tight and kiss them good-night not because we realize it might be our last chance, but simply because we love them. That is when you know you have survived, when fear no longer overshadows a goodnight kiss. And that day will come, because as life continues, we find new reasons to laugh, new reasons to rejoice, new reasons to believe that everything is just as it ought to be. We find ourselves walking confidently in grace, hope, and joy.
And God is with us through it all. We may not feel like He's anywhere to be found, but if we believe His Word, then we must choose to believe against all feeling that He has not forsaken us. In the words of C.S. Lewis, "“Faith... is the art of holding on to things your reason once accepted, despite your changing moods.” Tragedy brings a million moods, many of which are not conducive to peachy-creamy Christianity. We must make a choice to believe what God has said and what we have confessed as true, or to be swept away by our tumultuous darker emotions. It is an art requiring humility, grace, and brutal honesty with oneself. It is an art worth practicing, an art essential to our ultimate peace. Do not let go of Christ, for He has not let go of you.
In How Firm A Foundation, an amazing hymn that everyone should google right now, John Keith writes:
“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy trouble to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."
Eventually, this happens to "the soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose." (See, you need to read the whole hymn!) Truly leaning on Jesus often begins with Him holding us tight while we kick and scream and pound on His chest in anger, defiance, and doubt - like a toddler in the throes of utter distress. In the process of our shouting and doubting, we realize that God is strong enough to handle all of our darker emotions, and in the end, when we are worn out from crying, we find He is gracious enough, loving enough to have never let us go. He has kept His promise never to leave nor forsake us.
In our suffering, we realize how puny and how precious we are. Puny, in that we are mere points in the immeasurable vastness of the universe. We can no more protect a single hair on our heads, or on the heads of our loved ones, than we can count the sum of the hairs on our heads. And yet we are precious, for the Creator of the Universe, the Orchestrator of History has not left us to struggle in solitude.
And so deep distress becomes something holy, for in our distress our ill-conceived notions of ourselves and of our God are stripped away. We are left with a costly treasure that we might wish to return, but know we cannot return. We cannot undo our tragedies, so we hold them close, not wanting to let go of cherished, painfully learned truths. Sometimes, we let our sacred experiences seep into our conversations - in part to communicate to other sufferers that they will survive becoming Other People and someday feel mostly normal again, and in part because we still bear the marks of becoming Other People ourselves and we need to remind ourselves not to forget what we have lost or what we have gained.
As I observe tragedies in the lives of people around me - and our town has been devastated by more than one tragedy in recent weeks - I am torn. On the one hand, I see that huge door with "Do Not Enter" emblazoned across it. I cannot comprehend the grief of those who are suffering, because the people and circumstances are in many ways different from anything I have experienced. And yet, I understand a little. On a perfectly normal October afternoon in 1999, the local hospital called me at work to tell me my sister, with whom I lived at the time, had had an accident and I needed to come to the hospital. They did not tell me until I arrived at the hospital, surrounded by friends I shared with her, that there was nothing anyone could have done to save her life. That was the day I became Other People. I have not forgotten, nor can I deny that it might be a very long time till those who suffer today come to terms with being Other People, too. But I hope they do, and I pray they find treasures of mercy and grace as they go forth from the wreckage of tragedy.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
A Promise to My Children
Because I love you, I will seek to know my God so well that you want to know Him, too. I will read my Bible and pray for you and with you. When I fail in this, as I am sure to do, I will remember that my God is patient with me, and I will get back up and start again.
Because I love you, I will not be unconcerned when you do wrong. Neither will I be shocked. I will remember that just like me, you are bound to fail and fail and fail again. I will remember the grace God has bestowed upon me despite my sins and weaknesses, and I will extend that grace to you. I will speak Truth to you - because you need to know it, but I will do my very best not to badger you with it - because Truth does not exist to be a nagger's tool. This is a delicate balance, and I'm sure I will fail in this, too, and more than once.
Because I love you, I will be more concerned with your heart than your actions. From the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks. I promise to consider the heart from which your words and actions flow and to address the sin, hurt, fears, and frustrations that lie within... and to do so with humility and grace, understanding that the same things reside within my own heart. I will open my heart to you to share my past and present struggles and my encounters with the corrective mercy and healing grace of God.
Because I love you, I will be more attentive to the development of your character than the opinions of onlookers. I will raise you according the convictions God has laid on your father's heart and mine, no more and no less. I will remember that you are learning and growing and maturing at your own pace. I will understand that some lessons take more time to take root in your heart than I might like them to take. I promise not to give up on you, nor to doubt that God is busily and carefully preparing you for a bright and beautiful future.
And finally, because I love you, I will remind myself of all of this again and again. And again.
Because I love you, I will not be unconcerned when you do wrong. Neither will I be shocked. I will remember that just like me, you are bound to fail and fail and fail again. I will remember the grace God has bestowed upon me despite my sins and weaknesses, and I will extend that grace to you. I will speak Truth to you - because you need to know it, but I will do my very best not to badger you with it - because Truth does not exist to be a nagger's tool. This is a delicate balance, and I'm sure I will fail in this, too, and more than once.
Because I love you, I will be more concerned with your heart than your actions. From the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks. I promise to consider the heart from which your words and actions flow and to address the sin, hurt, fears, and frustrations that lie within... and to do so with humility and grace, understanding that the same things reside within my own heart. I will open my heart to you to share my past and present struggles and my encounters with the corrective mercy and healing grace of God.
Because I love you, I will allow you to get back up and try again. I will leave past offenses in the past, where they belong, and move forward with hope and joy. I will give us both the gift of utter forgiveness.
Because I love you, I will be more attentive to the development of your character than the opinions of onlookers. I will raise you according the convictions God has laid on your father's heart and mine, no more and no less. I will remember that you are learning and growing and maturing at your own pace. I will understand that some lessons take more time to take root in your heart than I might like them to take. I promise not to give up on you, nor to doubt that God is busily and carefully preparing you for a bright and beautiful future.
And finally, because I love you, I will remind myself of all of this again and again. And again.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Surprise!
Our third child was a bit of a surprise. We were neither trying to conceive nor not trying not to conceive. Instead, we were toying with the idea that two children might complete our family. I had a small, lingering feeling that we needed someone else at our table, but was beginning to think that our two darling boys were enough. Andrew was four, John almost three, and we were planning to begin home schooling in a year. Geoff worked long hours, there were home renovations to be done and a Great Dane to walk. We had plenty going on. So it was a bit of a shock when I found myself holding a positive pregnancy test. I did not know how we were going to manage three children, let alone home school with three children, one of whom would be a mere two months old at the commencement of our very first school year. I wasn't sure how exactly this new baby would fit into the picture of our family, and I was scared.
Do not think for a moment that my daughter was unplanned or unwanted, however scared I may have been. She took us by surprise, but to paraphrase the psalmist, every day ordained for her was written in God's book before one of them came to be. She was lovingly and carefully planned. We just weren't in on the great secret, at least not initially. She was planned and given to us because... well, in part because God knew how much she would enrich our lives. But we'll get to that later, because before she would enrich our lives, things would get a bit scarier than the thought of having three children.
You see, there's this little illness known as whooping cough that was supposed to have gone the way of smallpox and eight tracks, but apparently hasn't. By the time I realized I didn't have just a cold, it was too late for any treatment other than time to have any effect. I began sniffling in January and didn't stop coughing till late April, early May. The coughing fits were frequent (I coughed non-stop), uncontrollable (I had to leave church/Bible study because I couldn't stop coughing), and resulted in at least four or five broken ribs in three separate instances (I spent many, many nights and days on the couch because it offered more support for my broken ribs and so Geoff could sleep in peace). I had an x-ray and downed more decongestants and cough suppressants and pain killers than I could recount (none of them worked, nor did any of the multitude of home remedies I attempted).
In the grand scheme of things, whooping cough is certainly not the scariest thing an expectant mother might face, but I was scared. I wondered if I'd ever stop coughing, if I'd ever stop breaking ribs, if I'd be able to have the (mostly) natural childbirth I wanted. My doctor assured me that none of his attempts to treat my cough or assuage the shooting pain in my side would harm the baby, but I worried about her health and survival. It was an awful, painful, worrisome time, but something very good came out of it. This baby whose place in our family I couldn't quite figure out became my ally. I stood in my room one day, feeling like I was physically falling apart, rib by rib, and wondering if either of us would make it through the pregnancy whole and healthy. I was such a mess myself, there was little I could do for her. And so I made a little deal with her that went something like, "I'll keep myself alive. You keep yourself alive, baby, and we'll see each other in a couple months. Let's just get through this."
And we did. The coughing eventually subsided, and in time for me to be confident that I would not have a broken rib during labor and delivery. Whooping cough behind us, we began to talk about the baby's arrival. Due to the experiences of Andrew needing CPR in the delivery room and John almost being born in the parking lot, and the circumstance of living an hour from the hospital with Geoff working another half hour down the road, we opted to induce labor early. It is a decision I somewhat regret. It seemed the safest choice given our experiences and circumstances, but I wish I had had the courage to let labor begin naturally. Induction is not something to take lightly. There are risks of which every expectant mother should be aware, and it does takes away a bit of the "I did it myself!" rush that accompanies an entirely drug-free birth. But it seemed like the best option, so after assurance from my doctor that I could do it without an epidural, and after subjecting him to repeated reminders that under no circumstances did I want to have an epidural, we set the date for June 14.
In the meantime, there was the Name issue. As soon as we find out we're expecting, I want to name the baby. I want to know as much as I can about... him? Her? Which is it? My patience to discover who is growing inside of me is rather low. Geoff takes a more relaxed approach. So, even as we drove to the hospital, we were discussing the baby's name. We had been leaning toward some form of Margaret, with Maggie seeming to be our favorite. But nothing was settled when we left the boys with Geoff's parents, who had come to help welcome our baby girl.
The induction began around 9 a.m. I don't remember much of the next six hours. I asked for something to take the edge off my nausea, and quickly discovered that I do not like phenergan. There's nothing like thinking you ought to shut up because you have no idea what words are spewing from your mouth... But I made it through, and without the epidural to which I was so opposed. Around 1:30, my body gave me its cue that the baby was coming in the form of violent vomiting. (You needed to know that, didn't you?) At 1:50, I spied a round, red, beautiful head at my feet, held in the arms of a man in blue scrubs. My girl.
"Maggie," I thought.
Then I held her, looked more closely into her gorgeous face, and realized that she was no Maggie. She was too solid, too determined-looking to be a Maggie, a name I associate with a cute, carefree little pixie face. That's not to say the Maggies of the world are not solid or determined. The name just didn't seem to fit the baby in my arms. And so began a couple hours of intensely discussing names. When it seemed we would never settle on a name, we wrote names on scraps of papers and tried the old pick names out of a hat trick. (Except we didn't have a hat). Somehow, Elisabeth Anne won the day. It was an odd choice, given that I liked Anne as a first, but not a middle name, and Elisabeth as a middle, but not a first name. But it fit. Elisabeth Anne was her name, and from the moment it was decided, I've never had a doubt that we should have named her anything else.
We brought Elisabeth home the next day, where she enjoyed - or at least tolerated - the love of her brothers, grandparents, and friends who came to admire her. Geoff's parents left on a Saturday, and the following Monday was the first day I was alone with my three children. That day will always hold a very special place in my memory. Geoff had gone to work, and my mother would be coming for a visit the next day. But that Monday, it was just me and my three children. In the middle of visits from grandparents, I had one day to taste what our lives would be like as a family of five, and it tasted delicious. I took pictures of Andrew, John, and Elisabeth wearing the matching shirts I'd made, and just enjoyed being with them by myself. All my fears of life with three children dissolved in the peace and beauty of that day. We were a family in which each child held a very precious place, and we were in for a wonderful journey together.
Our baby girl turns four tomorrow. She has enriched our lives so much. Elisabeth is fun, affectionate, talkative, and all around lovely. She is the perfect mix rough and tumble, sweet and tender. I am amazed as I watch her grow and interact with her parents, her siblings, and her friends. I am so proud of the little girl she is becoming, and can't wait to see all she accomplishes and who she becomes in the years to come. As she began her life a delightful surprise, so she continues to bless our family in delightfully surprising ways!
Happy birthday, my sweet little girl!
Do not think for a moment that my daughter was unplanned or unwanted, however scared I may have been. She took us by surprise, but to paraphrase the psalmist, every day ordained for her was written in God's book before one of them came to be. She was lovingly and carefully planned. We just weren't in on the great secret, at least not initially. She was planned and given to us because... well, in part because God knew how much she would enrich our lives. But we'll get to that later, because before she would enrich our lives, things would get a bit scarier than the thought of having three children.
You see, there's this little illness known as whooping cough that was supposed to have gone the way of smallpox and eight tracks, but apparently hasn't. By the time I realized I didn't have just a cold, it was too late for any treatment other than time to have any effect. I began sniffling in January and didn't stop coughing till late April, early May. The coughing fits were frequent (I coughed non-stop), uncontrollable (I had to leave church/Bible study because I couldn't stop coughing), and resulted in at least four or five broken ribs in three separate instances (I spent many, many nights and days on the couch because it offered more support for my broken ribs and so Geoff could sleep in peace). I had an x-ray and downed more decongestants and cough suppressants and pain killers than I could recount (none of them worked, nor did any of the multitude of home remedies I attempted).
In the grand scheme of things, whooping cough is certainly not the scariest thing an expectant mother might face, but I was scared. I wondered if I'd ever stop coughing, if I'd ever stop breaking ribs, if I'd be able to have the (mostly) natural childbirth I wanted. My doctor assured me that none of his attempts to treat my cough or assuage the shooting pain in my side would harm the baby, but I worried about her health and survival. It was an awful, painful, worrisome time, but something very good came out of it. This baby whose place in our family I couldn't quite figure out became my ally. I stood in my room one day, feeling like I was physically falling apart, rib by rib, and wondering if either of us would make it through the pregnancy whole and healthy. I was such a mess myself, there was little I could do for her. And so I made a little deal with her that went something like, "I'll keep myself alive. You keep yourself alive, baby, and we'll see each other in a couple months. Let's just get through this."
And we did. The coughing eventually subsided, and in time for me to be confident that I would not have a broken rib during labor and delivery. Whooping cough behind us, we began to talk about the baby's arrival. Due to the experiences of Andrew needing CPR in the delivery room and John almost being born in the parking lot, and the circumstance of living an hour from the hospital with Geoff working another half hour down the road, we opted to induce labor early. It is a decision I somewhat regret. It seemed the safest choice given our experiences and circumstances, but I wish I had had the courage to let labor begin naturally. Induction is not something to take lightly. There are risks of which every expectant mother should be aware, and it does takes away a bit of the "I did it myself!" rush that accompanies an entirely drug-free birth. But it seemed like the best option, so after assurance from my doctor that I could do it without an epidural, and after subjecting him to repeated reminders that under no circumstances did I want to have an epidural, we set the date for June 14.
In the meantime, there was the Name issue. As soon as we find out we're expecting, I want to name the baby. I want to know as much as I can about... him? Her? Which is it? My patience to discover who is growing inside of me is rather low. Geoff takes a more relaxed approach. So, even as we drove to the hospital, we were discussing the baby's name. We had been leaning toward some form of Margaret, with Maggie seeming to be our favorite. But nothing was settled when we left the boys with Geoff's parents, who had come to help welcome our baby girl.
The induction began around 9 a.m. I don't remember much of the next six hours. I asked for something to take the edge off my nausea, and quickly discovered that I do not like phenergan. There's nothing like thinking you ought to shut up because you have no idea what words are spewing from your mouth... But I made it through, and without the epidural to which I was so opposed. Around 1:30, my body gave me its cue that the baby was coming in the form of violent vomiting. (You needed to know that, didn't you?) At 1:50, I spied a round, red, beautiful head at my feet, held in the arms of a man in blue scrubs. My girl.
"Maggie," I thought.
Then I held her, looked more closely into her gorgeous face, and realized that she was no Maggie. She was too solid, too determined-looking to be a Maggie, a name I associate with a cute, carefree little pixie face. That's not to say the Maggies of the world are not solid or determined. The name just didn't seem to fit the baby in my arms. And so began a couple hours of intensely discussing names. When it seemed we would never settle on a name, we wrote names on scraps of papers and tried the old pick names out of a hat trick. (Except we didn't have a hat). Somehow, Elisabeth Anne won the day. It was an odd choice, given that I liked Anne as a first, but not a middle name, and Elisabeth as a middle, but not a first name. But it fit. Elisabeth Anne was her name, and from the moment it was decided, I've never had a doubt that we should have named her anything else.
We brought Elisabeth home the next day, where she enjoyed - or at least tolerated - the love of her brothers, grandparents, and friends who came to admire her. Geoff's parents left on a Saturday, and the following Monday was the first day I was alone with my three children. That day will always hold a very special place in my memory. Geoff had gone to work, and my mother would be coming for a visit the next day. But that Monday, it was just me and my three children. In the middle of visits from grandparents, I had one day to taste what our lives would be like as a family of five, and it tasted delicious. I took pictures of Andrew, John, and Elisabeth wearing the matching shirts I'd made, and just enjoyed being with them by myself. All my fears of life with three children dissolved in the peace and beauty of that day. We were a family in which each child held a very precious place, and we were in for a wonderful journey together.
Our baby girl turns four tomorrow. She has enriched our lives so much. Elisabeth is fun, affectionate, talkative, and all around lovely. She is the perfect mix rough and tumble, sweet and tender. I am amazed as I watch her grow and interact with her parents, her siblings, and her friends. I am so proud of the little girl she is becoming, and can't wait to see all she accomplishes and who she becomes in the years to come. As she began her life a delightful surprise, so she continues to bless our family in delightfully surprising ways!
Happy birthday, my sweet little girl!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Art is Not Enrichment
I used to hear of schools cutting their Arts programs, think, "Oh, what a pity those children won't receive the enrichment that Art programs offer," and go on with my day. I viewed Art as an important part of my children's development, a wonderfully enriching arena to which I ought to take my children for regular visits. I provided my young children with art supplies, from crayons and markers to play dough and finger paint, and on the days when I was actually worried about my kids making a mess, I armed myself with a hot soapy washcloth to defend against the inevitable marks on my walls and a shop vac to clean up the play dough crumbs. When they came of school age, though, Art took a back seat to Grammar, Reading, Writing, Math, History, and Science. I found we had a lot more to do than sit around swirling our fingers through paint and making play dough snakes. Art had become a luxury, something we pulled out on rainy days or days when sleepless nights left me feeling not up to the task of reading a chapter of our History book. Or when my children drove me far enough up the wall for me to want to cry, "I don't care what you do. Just find something QUIET and DO IT!" I didn't completely neglect Art. I just didn't go out of my way to make it happen on a regular basis.
Over the last year, I have gotten to know my second child a little better, and he has given me a new appreciation for Art. He has shown me that Art is not a luxury, nor an enrichment program, but at least for some, a necessity. And I do mean necessity. Art is essential to mental and emotional health and stability. Without it, some of us just can't cope very well. Art takes us out of our immediate concerns and annoyances and allows us to express ourselves. In the process, Art soothes frayed emotions and wearied minds. Art is indispensable.
Our journey began with The Art Box, or at least with the idea of The Art Box, since we never actually got a box. If you haven't heard of The Art Box, you haven't talked to many parents of energetic, busy, fidgety, bouncy, button-pressing children. The Art Box is a sort of therapy for such children. You sit the child in a quiet corner with his special art supplies, and let him pour his energy into Art instead of into driving his mother and everyone within a two mile radius thoroughly and hopelessly insane. It works. I'd send a frustrated, frustrating child to the table with crayons and paper. He'd disappear into his creation and return to me with a beautiful picture and a calm, tender, and blissfully happy demeanor. After awhile, I noticed that when he was having a particularly grumpy morning, he'd often gravitate toward his art supplies before I even thought to intervene. He had learned, consciously or not, that Art soothed him.
We enrolled him in an art class last fall, which was the highlight of his week all year long. "Is it Thursday yet?" became his constant refrain. He enjoyed the class immensely, probably in part because he was blessed with a teacher who seemed to quietly delight in his ability to conceive his own angle for an art project and his determination to follow through. I found on the behavioral front, that though we still had issues to deal with, the promise and the after-effects of Art Class combined to make our lives run so much more smoothly than they had before he started the class. When the class ended for the year, John began to be a little antsy. My growing suspicion that we needed to incorporate more Art into our weekly schedule turned into a hard and fast conviction.
And so as I plan out our coming school year, I'm carving out of each week a morning for Art (and a couple other subjects we can't afford to skip a day a week). John has flourished with a little bit of Art, and I can't wait to see what he'll do with a little bit more. I can't wait to see his face and his siblings' faces light up as they explore and create in the coming year. I can't wait to see the good that Art will do them as human beings made in the image of an extraordinarily creative God.
Because that's the bottom line... We are made in the image of a God who created heaven and earth and everything in them. To ignore Art is to ignore a huge part of who we are. We are creative creatures for whom Art is not an option, not a luxury, not "enrichment." Art is not, as I once thought, someplace we take our children for regular visits. It is a part of who we are. We cut Art programs from our schools and neglect to incorporate Art into our home schools and homes at our own risk. We cannot afford to skimp in this area. Art is essential - more dramatically essential to some than it is to others, but essential nonetheless. Plus, it's fun! :)
Over the last year, I have gotten to know my second child a little better, and he has given me a new appreciation for Art. He has shown me that Art is not a luxury, nor an enrichment program, but at least for some, a necessity. And I do mean necessity. Art is essential to mental and emotional health and stability. Without it, some of us just can't cope very well. Art takes us out of our immediate concerns and annoyances and allows us to express ourselves. In the process, Art soothes frayed emotions and wearied minds. Art is indispensable.
Our journey began with The Art Box, or at least with the idea of The Art Box, since we never actually got a box. If you haven't heard of The Art Box, you haven't talked to many parents of energetic, busy, fidgety, bouncy, button-pressing children. The Art Box is a sort of therapy for such children. You sit the child in a quiet corner with his special art supplies, and let him pour his energy into Art instead of into driving his mother and everyone within a two mile radius thoroughly and hopelessly insane. It works. I'd send a frustrated, frustrating child to the table with crayons and paper. He'd disappear into his creation and return to me with a beautiful picture and a calm, tender, and blissfully happy demeanor. After awhile, I noticed that when he was having a particularly grumpy morning, he'd often gravitate toward his art supplies before I even thought to intervene. He had learned, consciously or not, that Art soothed him.
We enrolled him in an art class last fall, which was the highlight of his week all year long. "Is it Thursday yet?" became his constant refrain. He enjoyed the class immensely, probably in part because he was blessed with a teacher who seemed to quietly delight in his ability to conceive his own angle for an art project and his determination to follow through. I found on the behavioral front, that though we still had issues to deal with, the promise and the after-effects of Art Class combined to make our lives run so much more smoothly than they had before he started the class. When the class ended for the year, John began to be a little antsy. My growing suspicion that we needed to incorporate more Art into our weekly schedule turned into a hard and fast conviction.
And so as I plan out our coming school year, I'm carving out of each week a morning for Art (and a couple other subjects we can't afford to skip a day a week). John has flourished with a little bit of Art, and I can't wait to see what he'll do with a little bit more. I can't wait to see his face and his siblings' faces light up as they explore and create in the coming year. I can't wait to see the good that Art will do them as human beings made in the image of an extraordinarily creative God.
Because that's the bottom line... We are made in the image of a God who created heaven and earth and everything in them. To ignore Art is to ignore a huge part of who we are. We are creative creatures for whom Art is not an option, not a luxury, not "enrichment." Art is not, as I once thought, someplace we take our children for regular visits. It is a part of who we are. We cut Art programs from our schools and neglect to incorporate Art into our home schools and homes at our own risk. We cannot afford to skimp in this area. Art is essential - more dramatically essential to some than it is to others, but essential nonetheless. Plus, it's fun! :)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Raising Readers
"My child hates to read!" I've heard this from more than one person, but thankfully, lack of enthusiasm for books has not been a problem in our house. One of our children reads like his life depends upon it. He learned to read at an early age, with minimal instruction. Another often prefers playing to reading, but still loves a good story, whether he reads it to himself or snuggles up to listen to me read. He did not learn to read as easily as his brother. There were times we struggled through reading lessons, but the struggles were more a matter of interest and confidence, perhaps with a dose of boredom with our reading book. (It really was not a good fit). We survived the initial awkwardness, and he has become quite a good little reader and a great little story writer. Our home is, uh, blessed with his numerous literary endeavors. The youngest two are not literate yet, but one falls asleep with a stack of books at her feet. I think she's on her way to a lifelong love or reading. We'll see about the little one...
Our home is full of books, and my children are always eager to add more library books, as well as "books to keep," to the mayhem. So, when I hear of children who hate to read, the temptation arises to offer a bunch of tips. And I will, but first, a word to parents of unenthusiastic readers: It's okay. Yes, your child must learn to read. Literacy is not a luxury. Yes, you should encourage in your child a love of reading. Books open whole worlds to us, introducing us to new ideas and new people, strengthening, challenging and inspiring us to be better, more thoughtful human beings. But the reality is that even among adults, not everyone is an avid reader. Just as we have different levels of innate interest and ability in art, music, athletics, and a host of other pastimes, so we - and our children - have different levels of innate interest and ability in reading. And that is okay. Provided your child learns to read, he can live a pretty decent life without his nose stuck in a book all the time. He might be less prone to trip over cracks in the sidewalk if he isn't holding a book in front of his face or reviewing it in his mind. He might be more prone to gather and converse with other human beings, preferring live characters to those on the page. Yes, learning to love books will enrich his life, but not learning to love books will not end it. So don't despair. Your child may not be a hopeless bookworm, but he has a whole bunch of other sorts of awesome going for him. Teach him to read, encourage him to love books, and marvel at the person God has created him to be, whatever his interest in reading may be!
But I do have some reading tips, because while a love for books is sort of inborn, it's sort of not inborn. There are things parents can do to nurture this love, and since I want everyone to fall in love with books, I can't not offer a few tips. Some of them are no-brainers. I included them because a) it's good to be reminded of the basics, and b) if anyone without a brain stumbles across this post, these tips should be here for them. I hope, if you have an struggling or unenthusiastic reader, you will find something in this list to help you and your child. If not, please read the previous paragraph and then go paint or run around the yard or sing a song together or somehow enjoy the richness of whatever passions dance within your child's heart.
1. Read early. You cannot begin to read to your child too early. Start before they are old enough to reach out, grab the book, and gnaw on it. Continue through the grabby, chewy, drooly months. Don't give up during the can't sit still months (or years). With some young children, you'll find yourself reading around them rather than to them (or more accurately, reading with them circling around you and climbing over you and burrowing under you, etc). Don't wait for them to put on their listening ears and sit criss-cross applesauce. Make reading a part of their lives from the very beginning.
2. Read often. Read daily. Reading before bed or at established times during the day establishes a habit of reading. If you maintain a consistent reading time, they will come not only to endure, but to expect and want to read at that time. It becomes part of the routine. If you read before bed, it also becomes a delay tactic. "Mom, read to me! One more book... please?" The child who puts off reading all day long suddenly morphs into a bookworm when given the option of reading or sleeping. If you've planned for this, it won't be a bedtime battle. They think they're staying up late. You know it's part of your secret super-reader plan. Everyone wins. Whatever time or times you choose, be sure you read often enough for reading to be a habit.
3. Understand the difference between oral and silent reading ability. As your child is learning to read, understand that what she is able to decipher in her head may be beyond what she is able to recite aloud. When teaching reading, we tend to emphasize oral reading before transitioning to silent reading. We do this to ensure that the child is reading correctly. It is important to understand, in evaluating a child's reading ability, that oral reading requires more work than silent reading. Not only must a child get what is on the page into her brain and decipher its meaning, she must then extract the words from the tangles in her brain and get her mouth to spit them back out. That's a lot harder than just figuring out what those letters mean, and if you don't believe me, time yourself reading this paragraph silently and then aloud. Or observe the silence as everyone stares into their laps when the adult Sunday School teacher asks for volunteers to read a Bible verse or two. It's not that we can't read (I admit, I rarely volunteer to read aloud), but that reading out loud is a clumsy, complicated job (and I think my oral reading skills are at least decent). It's important to keep this in mind, especially if you are your child's primary reading teacher. It's quite possible that they are perfectly able to read the words on the page and understand what they mean, but not so skilled at reading aloud. You may have a better reader than you realize.
4. Provide opportunities for success. Because reading, especially oral reading, can be so difficult, be sure to provide opportunities for success. Sneak a few easy-peasy books in with the more challenging ones. Muddling through a task is no fun. Sailing through a task is a blast. Give your child the confidence-boosting joy of sailing through a book every now and then. He'll see how fun reading is and how good he is at reading, and he'll want to feel that way again. So he'll read again and again, and as he does so, his confidence and skill will increase.
5. Don't give up. Learning to read and learning to love to read take time. After struggling through reading lessons for several months, I put aside the book of structured reading lessons and just read to and with my second son - Bob books, Dr. Seuss books, chapter books, library books on any subject that interested him. He could read, but whether he could read skillfully and whether he would love books remained to be seen. Then one afternoon, completely out of the blue, he got his nose stuck in a Dennis the Menace comic book that was probably published before I was born. The book went with us to the grocery store and to the pizza place. I will remember that day as the day John became a full-fledged member of the reader's club. It wasn't something I or anyone else could rush. When he was ready, he did it. He found confidence and joy in reading. Don't give up. You never know when everything will click.
6. Keep reading. Someone once said the biggest mistake parents make is that we stop reading to our children. He recommended reading more advanced books to older children to challenge their precious minds to grow beyond their current limitations. I recommend it for more personal reasons. First, it will keep alive and healthy the reading relationship you developed in their younger years. You've been reading together for years. Why stop something wonderful just because they are able to read alone? Second, it will give you a special time with your older child. I don't read as much to Andrew as I used to, mainly because he'd rather read at his own lightening fast pace. But I do read to him, and only him, a couple times a week. (I read to all four of them, or to the older two and the younger two, more often than that). The time that we have with just the two of us is wonderful. His eyes light up with the one-on-one attention that this time allows us. Often, I'm reading pages from a book in which he's already read chapters, but content doesn't matter. Time together does.
7. Expand your horizons. Very important lesson: You might have to take a leap off of your comfort bookshelf. I grew up reading Little House on the Prairie, Ramona, The Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and the like. It didn't take me long to realize that with a house full of boys, I was going to have to learn a bit more about juvenile fiction. (I'm holding all those books and more in reserve for Elisabeth, and oh, what a glorious day it will be when we compare Jane Austen notes!). In the meantime, I have three boys whose tears over these books will be of a completely different passion than mine. Many of the books of my childhood just won't cut it for them. I've had to ask for recommendations on their behalf. I've had to feign interest in books that made me wince. (Really, you want to read THAT?) In the sometimes reluctant expanding of my horizons, though, I have discovered a few gems. I must thank my wise and wonderful sister for pointing me to two such gems, Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series and Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles, both of which, she may be amused to read, required multiple recommendations. (See post on Raising Your Spirited Child). I hesitated to pick up the Percy Jackson series... Greek mythology? Eh... But the books turned out to be well written, thought provoking, faith strengthening, and just plain fun. The Prydain Chronicles are a sort of medieval fantasy, not a genre to which I am typically drawn. I didn't expect them to win a spot among my favorite all-time books, but that is just what they have done. I loved, loved, loved the five books of that series, so much so that I also read Lloyd Alexander's Westmark series and a few other solo books of his. I almost forgot... This post is supposed to be about our children reading... I hope my tangent proves the delights of expanding one's horizons. It opened wonderful worlds to me, worlds into which Andrew dove with as much enthusiasm as his mother did. We both enjoyed these books, and it has encouraged me to take a deeper interest in some of his choices, rather than raise an eyebrow at the cover as I tell him he may check it out of the library.
8. Read classic literature. Classics are classics for a reason. They have informed and inspired generation after generation of readers. Don't let your child miss out on all they have to offer - timeless characters, significant plots, complex themes - by assuming they are too boring, too hard, or too antiquated for your child to understand or enjoy. Check out the Children's Illustrated Classics and Great Illustrated Classics series at the library or Books-A-Million. These are abridged versions of the classics, with illustrations throughout, that will introduce your child to the Classics. The books are not as rich in language or literary devices as the originals, but they are a good introduction, hopefully good enough to inspire your child to read the originals, or at least to be less afraid when the Classics come up as assigned reading in high school.
9. Don't be afraid of poor writing. "I don't care what they're reading, as long as they're reading." I cringe a little when I hear this, because it does matter. What one reads influences how one thinks, speaks, and writes. We cannot expect to raise thoughtful, eloquent speakers and writers on diets of fragments, run-ons, and redundancy. There are books so poorly written they are painful to read, and so it pains me a little to offer this particular tip. But there is something in the idea that quality is not as important as the fact that a child is actually reading of his own accord. I think of Mary Pope Osborne's Magic Treehouse series. Mary Pope Osborne is close to a household name around here, and I've come to love her work and respect her gifts, but the first Magic Treehouse book that we read was bad. Really bad. I couldn't stand reading it. In the living room. To my children. It was full of completely inexplicable fragments that the teacher in me could not refrain from pointing out to my poor children with the utmost disapproval. But we read it and went on to read more of her books. My boys loved the series, and as we explored it more deeply, I had to admit that not all of the books were so bad. Some were written quite well for what they were, and most were full of tidbits of factual information that pleasantly reinforced our history and science lessons. Had I banned Magic Treehouse books on the basis of poor writing, we would have missed out on many fun, decently-written stories. At the least, poorly written books may serve as gateway books in that, while they are neither powerful nor inspiring themselves, they open to children a world of powerful, inspiring books by encouraging otherwise reluctant readers to enter the world of books.
10. Don't be afraid of new books and new series. Well-written Classics are great, but they aren't the only books in the world. New books come out every day, and some of them are great. Ask your librarian if you need help finding books or series your child will enjoy. (Benefit of series, if they enjoy the first book, they'll probably ask to read the second, and the third, and the fourth, and beg for the fifth).
11. Start a secret book club with your child. I don't mean secret passwords and covert meetings. I mean a book club so secret you are the only one who knows it exists. Read the books your child reads for school and for pleasure, then look for opportunities to discuss them. Explore the characters' internal and external struggles. Your child may have similar struggles now or in the future. Teach them to learn from characters' experiences. You don't have to do this over lemonade and cucumber sandwiches, though if it suits you and your child, by all means, do so. All you have to do is talk. While you're driving, eating dinner, washing dishes, tucking in, or whenever the opportunity presents itself, talk. "You know what I was thinking about? You know how in such-and-such a book, so-and-so does....? That's kind of like what happened with you today..." Keep it simple, keep it sincere.
You can also play games with them. Two games we like to play are "Guess That Character" and "Name Something from This Book." The first is like Twenty Questions. One person picks a character. The other asks questions till they discover the character's identity. "Name Something" is a game in which players take turns naming something - any detail big or small will do - from a particular book or series. The first person unable to think of something that hasn't already been mentioned is out. Two warnings about this game.
1. You may get so wrapped up in it that you miss your exit and have to drive an extra ten miles down the interstate.
2. You'll probably lose.
12. Model a love of reading. Plain and simple, let your kids see that you love reading. Let them see you checking books out of the library. Let them see your books lying around the house. Let them see you reading throughout the day. Let them see you eager to read a new book. Once in awhile, argue playfully with them about which of you will be the first to read the next book in a mutually enjoyed series. Enthusiasm is contagious.
I hope that if you made it all the way through this post, you have found something helpful or encouraging. If not, at least you had your daily reading time! (Remember, reading doesn't have to be all high quality classics!)
Our home is full of books, and my children are always eager to add more library books, as well as "books to keep," to the mayhem. So, when I hear of children who hate to read, the temptation arises to offer a bunch of tips. And I will, but first, a word to parents of unenthusiastic readers: It's okay. Yes, your child must learn to read. Literacy is not a luxury. Yes, you should encourage in your child a love of reading. Books open whole worlds to us, introducing us to new ideas and new people, strengthening, challenging and inspiring us to be better, more thoughtful human beings. But the reality is that even among adults, not everyone is an avid reader. Just as we have different levels of innate interest and ability in art, music, athletics, and a host of other pastimes, so we - and our children - have different levels of innate interest and ability in reading. And that is okay. Provided your child learns to read, he can live a pretty decent life without his nose stuck in a book all the time. He might be less prone to trip over cracks in the sidewalk if he isn't holding a book in front of his face or reviewing it in his mind. He might be more prone to gather and converse with other human beings, preferring live characters to those on the page. Yes, learning to love books will enrich his life, but not learning to love books will not end it. So don't despair. Your child may not be a hopeless bookworm, but he has a whole bunch of other sorts of awesome going for him. Teach him to read, encourage him to love books, and marvel at the person God has created him to be, whatever his interest in reading may be!
But I do have some reading tips, because while a love for books is sort of inborn, it's sort of not inborn. There are things parents can do to nurture this love, and since I want everyone to fall in love with books, I can't not offer a few tips. Some of them are no-brainers. I included them because a) it's good to be reminded of the basics, and b) if anyone without a brain stumbles across this post, these tips should be here for them. I hope, if you have an struggling or unenthusiastic reader, you will find something in this list to help you and your child. If not, please read the previous paragraph and then go paint or run around the yard or sing a song together or somehow enjoy the richness of whatever passions dance within your child's heart.
1. Read early. You cannot begin to read to your child too early. Start before they are old enough to reach out, grab the book, and gnaw on it. Continue through the grabby, chewy, drooly months. Don't give up during the can't sit still months (or years). With some young children, you'll find yourself reading around them rather than to them (or more accurately, reading with them circling around you and climbing over you and burrowing under you, etc). Don't wait for them to put on their listening ears and sit criss-cross applesauce. Make reading a part of their lives from the very beginning.
2. Read often. Read daily. Reading before bed or at established times during the day establishes a habit of reading. If you maintain a consistent reading time, they will come not only to endure, but to expect and want to read at that time. It becomes part of the routine. If you read before bed, it also becomes a delay tactic. "Mom, read to me! One more book... please?" The child who puts off reading all day long suddenly morphs into a bookworm when given the option of reading or sleeping. If you've planned for this, it won't be a bedtime battle. They think they're staying up late. You know it's part of your secret super-reader plan. Everyone wins. Whatever time or times you choose, be sure you read often enough for reading to be a habit.
3. Understand the difference between oral and silent reading ability. As your child is learning to read, understand that what she is able to decipher in her head may be beyond what she is able to recite aloud. When teaching reading, we tend to emphasize oral reading before transitioning to silent reading. We do this to ensure that the child is reading correctly. It is important to understand, in evaluating a child's reading ability, that oral reading requires more work than silent reading. Not only must a child get what is on the page into her brain and decipher its meaning, she must then extract the words from the tangles in her brain and get her mouth to spit them back out. That's a lot harder than just figuring out what those letters mean, and if you don't believe me, time yourself reading this paragraph silently and then aloud. Or observe the silence as everyone stares into their laps when the adult Sunday School teacher asks for volunteers to read a Bible verse or two. It's not that we can't read (I admit, I rarely volunteer to read aloud), but that reading out loud is a clumsy, complicated job (and I think my oral reading skills are at least decent). It's important to keep this in mind, especially if you are your child's primary reading teacher. It's quite possible that they are perfectly able to read the words on the page and understand what they mean, but not so skilled at reading aloud. You may have a better reader than you realize.
4. Provide opportunities for success. Because reading, especially oral reading, can be so difficult, be sure to provide opportunities for success. Sneak a few easy-peasy books in with the more challenging ones. Muddling through a task is no fun. Sailing through a task is a blast. Give your child the confidence-boosting joy of sailing through a book every now and then. He'll see how fun reading is and how good he is at reading, and he'll want to feel that way again. So he'll read again and again, and as he does so, his confidence and skill will increase.
5. Don't give up. Learning to read and learning to love to read take time. After struggling through reading lessons for several months, I put aside the book of structured reading lessons and just read to and with my second son - Bob books, Dr. Seuss books, chapter books, library books on any subject that interested him. He could read, but whether he could read skillfully and whether he would love books remained to be seen. Then one afternoon, completely out of the blue, he got his nose stuck in a Dennis the Menace comic book that was probably published before I was born. The book went with us to the grocery store and to the pizza place. I will remember that day as the day John became a full-fledged member of the reader's club. It wasn't something I or anyone else could rush. When he was ready, he did it. He found confidence and joy in reading. Don't give up. You never know when everything will click.
6. Keep reading. Someone once said the biggest mistake parents make is that we stop reading to our children. He recommended reading more advanced books to older children to challenge their precious minds to grow beyond their current limitations. I recommend it for more personal reasons. First, it will keep alive and healthy the reading relationship you developed in their younger years. You've been reading together for years. Why stop something wonderful just because they are able to read alone? Second, it will give you a special time with your older child. I don't read as much to Andrew as I used to, mainly because he'd rather read at his own lightening fast pace. But I do read to him, and only him, a couple times a week. (I read to all four of them, or to the older two and the younger two, more often than that). The time that we have with just the two of us is wonderful. His eyes light up with the one-on-one attention that this time allows us. Often, I'm reading pages from a book in which he's already read chapters, but content doesn't matter. Time together does.
7. Expand your horizons. Very important lesson: You might have to take a leap off of your comfort bookshelf. I grew up reading Little House on the Prairie, Ramona, The Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and the like. It didn't take me long to realize that with a house full of boys, I was going to have to learn a bit more about juvenile fiction. (I'm holding all those books and more in reserve for Elisabeth, and oh, what a glorious day it will be when we compare Jane Austen notes!). In the meantime, I have three boys whose tears over these books will be of a completely different passion than mine. Many of the books of my childhood just won't cut it for them. I've had to ask for recommendations on their behalf. I've had to feign interest in books that made me wince. (Really, you want to read THAT?) In the sometimes reluctant expanding of my horizons, though, I have discovered a few gems. I must thank my wise and wonderful sister for pointing me to two such gems, Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series and Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles, both of which, she may be amused to read, required multiple recommendations. (See post on Raising Your Spirited Child). I hesitated to pick up the Percy Jackson series... Greek mythology? Eh... But the books turned out to be well written, thought provoking, faith strengthening, and just plain fun. The Prydain Chronicles are a sort of medieval fantasy, not a genre to which I am typically drawn. I didn't expect them to win a spot among my favorite all-time books, but that is just what they have done. I loved, loved, loved the five books of that series, so much so that I also read Lloyd Alexander's Westmark series and a few other solo books of his. I almost forgot... This post is supposed to be about our children reading... I hope my tangent proves the delights of expanding one's horizons. It opened wonderful worlds to me, worlds into which Andrew dove with as much enthusiasm as his mother did. We both enjoyed these books, and it has encouraged me to take a deeper interest in some of his choices, rather than raise an eyebrow at the cover as I tell him he may check it out of the library.
8. Read classic literature. Classics are classics for a reason. They have informed and inspired generation after generation of readers. Don't let your child miss out on all they have to offer - timeless characters, significant plots, complex themes - by assuming they are too boring, too hard, or too antiquated for your child to understand or enjoy. Check out the Children's Illustrated Classics and Great Illustrated Classics series at the library or Books-A-Million. These are abridged versions of the classics, with illustrations throughout, that will introduce your child to the Classics. The books are not as rich in language or literary devices as the originals, but they are a good introduction, hopefully good enough to inspire your child to read the originals, or at least to be less afraid when the Classics come up as assigned reading in high school.
9. Don't be afraid of poor writing. "I don't care what they're reading, as long as they're reading." I cringe a little when I hear this, because it does matter. What one reads influences how one thinks, speaks, and writes. We cannot expect to raise thoughtful, eloquent speakers and writers on diets of fragments, run-ons, and redundancy. There are books so poorly written they are painful to read, and so it pains me a little to offer this particular tip. But there is something in the idea that quality is not as important as the fact that a child is actually reading of his own accord. I think of Mary Pope Osborne's Magic Treehouse series. Mary Pope Osborne is close to a household name around here, and I've come to love her work and respect her gifts, but the first Magic Treehouse book that we read was bad. Really bad. I couldn't stand reading it. In the living room. To my children. It was full of completely inexplicable fragments that the teacher in me could not refrain from pointing out to my poor children with the utmost disapproval. But we read it and went on to read more of her books. My boys loved the series, and as we explored it more deeply, I had to admit that not all of the books were so bad. Some were written quite well for what they were, and most were full of tidbits of factual information that pleasantly reinforced our history and science lessons. Had I banned Magic Treehouse books on the basis of poor writing, we would have missed out on many fun, decently-written stories. At the least, poorly written books may serve as gateway books in that, while they are neither powerful nor inspiring themselves, they open to children a world of powerful, inspiring books by encouraging otherwise reluctant readers to enter the world of books.
10. Don't be afraid of new books and new series. Well-written Classics are great, but they aren't the only books in the world. New books come out every day, and some of them are great. Ask your librarian if you need help finding books or series your child will enjoy. (Benefit of series, if they enjoy the first book, they'll probably ask to read the second, and the third, and the fourth, and beg for the fifth).
11. Start a secret book club with your child. I don't mean secret passwords and covert meetings. I mean a book club so secret you are the only one who knows it exists. Read the books your child reads for school and for pleasure, then look for opportunities to discuss them. Explore the characters' internal and external struggles. Your child may have similar struggles now or in the future. Teach them to learn from characters' experiences. You don't have to do this over lemonade and cucumber sandwiches, though if it suits you and your child, by all means, do so. All you have to do is talk. While you're driving, eating dinner, washing dishes, tucking in, or whenever the opportunity presents itself, talk. "You know what I was thinking about? You know how in such-and-such a book, so-and-so does....? That's kind of like what happened with you today..." Keep it simple, keep it sincere.
You can also play games with them. Two games we like to play are "Guess That Character" and "Name Something from This Book." The first is like Twenty Questions. One person picks a character. The other asks questions till they discover the character's identity. "Name Something" is a game in which players take turns naming something - any detail big or small will do - from a particular book or series. The first person unable to think of something that hasn't already been mentioned is out. Two warnings about this game.
1. You may get so wrapped up in it that you miss your exit and have to drive an extra ten miles down the interstate.
2. You'll probably lose.
12. Model a love of reading. Plain and simple, let your kids see that you love reading. Let them see you checking books out of the library. Let them see your books lying around the house. Let them see you reading throughout the day. Let them see you eager to read a new book. Once in awhile, argue playfully with them about which of you will be the first to read the next book in a mutually enjoyed series. Enthusiasm is contagious.
I hope that if you made it all the way through this post, you have found something helpful or encouraging. If not, at least you had your daily reading time! (Remember, reading doesn't have to be all high quality classics!)
Thursday, June 2, 2011
He's Okay.
August 1998. My second day on the campus of the small Christian college I would attend for one year of my life. Morning classes had gone smoothly, nothing remarkable to report. I took a few notes and met a few people, among them a young man named Charles. Poor Charles, I can't even tell you his last name. I remember nothing of Charles beyond meeting him and later mistaking someone else for him. Not much of a claim to fame...
Anyhow, the morning had gone well enough and as I searched the cafeteria for a place to sit, I spied a table near the middle of the cafeteria. I'm not sure if friends of mine were already seated there or if it just happened to be open enough for me not to feel like I'd be intruding on its current occupants. Whatever the case, I sat down, looked at the boy sitting across the table and down a few seats, and thinking I'd met him earlier in the day, attempted to strike up a conversation.
"Charles, right?" (Now you see why I prefer writing to speaking... I'm such an uninspired conversationalist.)
Stuffing a forkful of food in his mouth, my victim responded, "No. Geoff."
And there you have it, the oh-so-romantic introduction of Lisa to the love of her life.
And yet there was something in that brief, inglorious exchange. It wasn't love at first sight, but something a little more unusual. Images of future love, laughter, and little ones did not pass before my eyes. It would be much, much longer before such thoughts even began to form. That first meeting was just a simple exchange in which I knew, almost instinctually, that this guy was okay. Being "okay" may not sound like much of a compliment, unless you are someone who has met someone who is automatically okay. It's wonderful when you get that feeling right of the bat, and even more wonderful when your initial impression stands the test of more than a decade. I knew, from the moment I met him with a mouthful of cafeteria food, that there would be a lot of things about me that he would completely understand, and those things he couldn't understand, he would accept. I hadn't the slightest inkling how very much he would be called upon to understand and accept in the years to come, but I was right about him.
And so as we prepare to celebrate our eleventh anniversary, I thank my husband for enduring all of my quirks so graciously, for listening to me cry over things big and little, for laughing with me and sometimes helping me laugh at myself, for making four beautiful, amazing dreams come true, and for coming home at the end of every long, hard day of work, sometimes to be greeted by a long, hard evening of telling kids to eat their dinner and do their chores while listening to the wife recite every significant and insignificant detail of what happened between the hours of 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. Thank you for your amazing patience, understanding, and acceptance.
I don't know what sort of fellow Charles turned out to be. I do know that I'm very glad I didn't sit down across the table from him. I'm glad that I met Geoff that day, in that way, and am so happy to tell you that Geoff has never failed to be "okay."
Happy anniversary, Love.
Anyhow, the morning had gone well enough and as I searched the cafeteria for a place to sit, I spied a table near the middle of the cafeteria. I'm not sure if friends of mine were already seated there or if it just happened to be open enough for me not to feel like I'd be intruding on its current occupants. Whatever the case, I sat down, looked at the boy sitting across the table and down a few seats, and thinking I'd met him earlier in the day, attempted to strike up a conversation.
"Charles, right?" (Now you see why I prefer writing to speaking... I'm such an uninspired conversationalist.)
Stuffing a forkful of food in his mouth, my victim responded, "No. Geoff."
And there you have it, the oh-so-romantic introduction of Lisa to the love of her life.
And yet there was something in that brief, inglorious exchange. It wasn't love at first sight, but something a little more unusual. Images of future love, laughter, and little ones did not pass before my eyes. It would be much, much longer before such thoughts even began to form. That first meeting was just a simple exchange in which I knew, almost instinctually, that this guy was okay. Being "okay" may not sound like much of a compliment, unless you are someone who has met someone who is automatically okay. It's wonderful when you get that feeling right of the bat, and even more wonderful when your initial impression stands the test of more than a decade. I knew, from the moment I met him with a mouthful of cafeteria food, that there would be a lot of things about me that he would completely understand, and those things he couldn't understand, he would accept. I hadn't the slightest inkling how very much he would be called upon to understand and accept in the years to come, but I was right about him.
And so as we prepare to celebrate our eleventh anniversary, I thank my husband for enduring all of my quirks so graciously, for listening to me cry over things big and little, for laughing with me and sometimes helping me laugh at myself, for making four beautiful, amazing dreams come true, and for coming home at the end of every long, hard day of work, sometimes to be greeted by a long, hard evening of telling kids to eat their dinner and do their chores while listening to the wife recite every significant and insignificant detail of what happened between the hours of 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. Thank you for your amazing patience, understanding, and acceptance.
I don't know what sort of fellow Charles turned out to be. I do know that I'm very glad I didn't sit down across the table from him. I'm glad that I met Geoff that day, in that way, and am so happy to tell you that Geoff has never failed to be "okay."
Happy anniversary, Love.
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