I haven't shampooed my hair in over a week.
Ew, gross!
Right?
WRONG!
I haven't used shampoo in over a week, but I haven't left my hair completely to its own devices, either. I'm just crunchy enough to know that there are plenty of people out there who, for various reasons, have ditched commercial shampoo in favor of cleansers more natural and sometimes, more economical. After a bit of research, in the form of sporadic google searches for "homemade shampoo," I stumbled upon an ingredient I'd seen in some recipes, Kirk's Coco Castille Soap, at my local Wal-Mart and decided to give it a go.
What could possibly go wrong?
For starters, I was worried that my soft, fine hair would become either coarse and dry or slick and oily. I was worried that it would fall completely flat without the support of my trusted Pantene Volumizing Shampoo and Conditioner. (Even with that, I'd been using a dab of mousse most days to give it a little extra boost).
But I tried it anyway. You can find a zillion different recipes for homemade shampoo, some of them quite complicated. I'm not a complicated girl. I kept it simple. No essential oils, no grated and melted soap, no nothing... Just a bar of soap to my scalp and a bit of diluted apple cider vinegar to rinse away any residue. (If you want my to be more precise, I get a bit of lather on my hand, then lather up my head and rinse with a mixture of about 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar per cup of water, dispensed through an old Cub Scout camp water bottle. After that, I rinse well with water. Sometimes I use a little leave in conditioner, but not always).
The result: Clean hair. Easy to brush hair. Soft hair. Shiny, but not greasy, hair. And, most surprising to me, hair that doesn't hang limp, even without mousse. I'm not saying my hair went from flat to fab, but I can't complain. While I don't think my hair is noticeably different, there are small improvements, like fewer flyaway hairs and slightly more body. Again, not flat to fab, but certainly not a failure.
The experiment hasn't been completely without setbacks. After several days of using the soap, I noticed my scalp itching just a tiny bit. I've always been sensitive - as in, my skin gets dry and itchy - to glycerin, an ingredient in this soap, so I switched to diluted baking soda (1 tablespoon/cup of water) for a couple days. (I continued to rinse with the diluted apple cider vinegar). Also, before lowering the ration of vinegar to water, I noticed a slight, um, odor of apple cider vinegar emanating from my head when I worked out. Not awful, but not particularly pleasant, either. You don't really want to walk around the gym smelling like vinegar... Since lowering the ration of vinegar to water, though, the problem seems to have been solved. At this point, I'm planning on alternating between the soap and the baking soda, since the soap gives a cleaner feel.
So, yeah... I haven't shampooed my hair in over a week, and I don't plan to shampoo it anytime soon. I'm getting it clean and keeping it manageable without unknown, unpronounceable chemicals. I'll be spending less and throwing out fewer plastic bottles. I really don't have a great anti-shampoo passion - I'd have few, if any, qualms going back to the shampoo aisle if my hair looked a mess - but if I can maintain or improve my hair, save a bit of money, spare the environment a few plastic bottles, know exactly what I'm putting on my head... In short, if I can do this little thing that may or may not have a great impact on our budget, my health, or the environment, but will be simpler, cheaper, and more natural than what I've been doing... WHY NOT?
If you've been thinking about eliminating 'poo, too, give it a shot, and let me know how it goes for you!
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Review: Llloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain
As a mother, I'm always on the lookout for good books for my children. I like to know what they are reading. In particular, I like to know that what they are reading is of good quality in terms of a promoting a positive message and demonstrating competent writing skills. Unfortunately, I'm not always able to keep up with everything they read. I draw the line at Captain Underpants, who must remain on the shelf to pollute someone else's house, but I'm sure some of the books my children bring home from the library would make any decent mother cringe...
- but never does he come across as preachy. His writing is nothing short of exquisite.
His characters, too, are exquisite. Taran is probably my favorite hero of any tale I've read. Perhaps the best thing about him, in an age of Harry Potters, Percy Jacksons, and Greg Heffleys, is that he isn't a punk, for lack of a better word. Taran is an Assistant Pig-Keeper who longs to be a Hero and who respects those in authority over him. Do not think for a moment that he is a perfect young man. He struggles as much as the rest of us do to make sense of the world around him, to discover his place in that world, and to strive to live nobly. He is everything we should hope for our boys to be. And I think that's the highest praise a mom can give any character - to wish for his good character to influence her children. As much as I enjoyed some of the characters mentioned above, I can't say I want my boys to be like them.
And Elionwy... What can I say of dear Eilonwy of the red-gold hair except that I wish I were as clever as she is?
Alexander's characters will charm you, inspire you, and remain with you as dear, dear friends. They are, without doubt, friends worth sharing with your children.
A few words of almost caution regarding Lloyd Alexander...
First, he doesn't play around with evil. As in, the black cauldron from which the second book takes its name transforms, in gruesome fashion, unwilling human beings into undead warriors. There is an aspect of the cauldron, though, not to be shared here for fear of spoiling the story, that is beautifully reminiscent of what Christ did for humanity when he hung on the cross.
The books also contain prophecies, wizards, witches, and the like. For some, that's an automatic disqualification. I personally think it depends upon how it is done. Never in the books did I feel like these things were glorified. Rather, the lines between good and evil were clear without making the story predictable.
The long - and sorry, nothing is short about this - of it is that while I felt I ought to issue the above cautions, I personally do not find those elements deal-breakers - at least not in the case of this series. On the contrary, I feel they add richness to the story, in that they enhance the conflict, up the stakes, and show good and evil (and ultimately good's triumph over evil) in much clearer terms than might otherwise be possible in a narrative. You may feel differently - and that's fine, but I believe that in dealing with literature, we do well to look at the whole story, rather than single elements. Honestly, if you're going to dismiss a book on the basis of "unchristian elements," you might want to keep the Bible on the shelf, too. (Baal worship, anyone?)
Another word of caution: Do not assume all of Alexander's books are appropriate for your upper elementary child. I heartily recommend The Chronicles of Prydain, but would have reservations recommending The Westmark series to children in this age group. While excellent, the Westmark books are for a more mature audience, as they deal more graphically with war and complex political situations. Read and enjoy them yourself, but you'll probably want to wait a few years to pass them on to the kiddos.
The Chronicles of Prydain, though... Those you should acquire ASAP, before your kids get their grubby hands on them and you have to wait till the kids are in bed to immerse yourself in the wonderful world of Prydain!
(Yes, I did fight with Andrew over these books. If you need any further endorsement, let me tell you that he devoured this series and went back for seconds, maybe thirds...)
This is why I'm going to attempt a series of posts sharing my thoughts on a few books we've read in recent years, starting with those I recommend most highly... so you can look at your library bag (or box or wagon or, as one mother I know once confessed, rolling suitcase) without cringing.
This series contains five books, beginning with The Book of Three, and I cannot say enough in praise of Lloyd Alexander's work here. Alexander promotes the values - humility, courage, faithfulness, love, honor - that I long for my children to cherish. He does so blatantly at times -
“Long ago I yearned to be a hero without knowing, in truth, what a hero was. Now, perhaps, I understand it a little better. A grower of turnips or a shaper of clay, a Commot farmer or a king--every man is a hero if he strives more for others than for himself alone.
Once you told me that the seeking counts more than the finding. So, too, must the striving count more than the gain.” (The High King)
- but never does he come across as preachy. His writing is nothing short of exquisite.
His characters, too, are exquisite. Taran is probably my favorite hero of any tale I've read. Perhaps the best thing about him, in an age of Harry Potters, Percy Jacksons, and Greg Heffleys, is that he isn't a punk, for lack of a better word. Taran is an Assistant Pig-Keeper who longs to be a Hero and who respects those in authority over him. Do not think for a moment that he is a perfect young man. He struggles as much as the rest of us do to make sense of the world around him, to discover his place in that world, and to strive to live nobly. He is everything we should hope for our boys to be. And I think that's the highest praise a mom can give any character - to wish for his good character to influence her children. As much as I enjoyed some of the characters mentioned above, I can't say I want my boys to be like them.
And Elionwy... What can I say of dear Eilonwy of the red-gold hair except that I wish I were as clever as she is?
Alexander's characters will charm you, inspire you, and remain with you as dear, dear friends. They are, without doubt, friends worth sharing with your children.
A few words of almost caution regarding Lloyd Alexander...
First, he doesn't play around with evil. As in, the black cauldron from which the second book takes its name transforms, in gruesome fashion, unwilling human beings into undead warriors. There is an aspect of the cauldron, though, not to be shared here for fear of spoiling the story, that is beautifully reminiscent of what Christ did for humanity when he hung on the cross.
The books also contain prophecies, wizards, witches, and the like. For some, that's an automatic disqualification. I personally think it depends upon how it is done. Never in the books did I feel like these things were glorified. Rather, the lines between good and evil were clear without making the story predictable.
The long - and sorry, nothing is short about this - of it is that while I felt I ought to issue the above cautions, I personally do not find those elements deal-breakers - at least not in the case of this series. On the contrary, I feel they add richness to the story, in that they enhance the conflict, up the stakes, and show good and evil (and ultimately good's triumph over evil) in much clearer terms than might otherwise be possible in a narrative. You may feel differently - and that's fine, but I believe that in dealing with literature, we do well to look at the whole story, rather than single elements. Honestly, if you're going to dismiss a book on the basis of "unchristian elements," you might want to keep the Bible on the shelf, too. (Baal worship, anyone?)
Another word of caution: Do not assume all of Alexander's books are appropriate for your upper elementary child. I heartily recommend The Chronicles of Prydain, but would have reservations recommending The Westmark series to children in this age group. While excellent, the Westmark books are for a more mature audience, as they deal more graphically with war and complex political situations. Read and enjoy them yourself, but you'll probably want to wait a few years to pass them on to the kiddos.
The Chronicles of Prydain, though... Those you should acquire ASAP, before your kids get their grubby hands on them and you have to wait till the kids are in bed to immerse yourself in the wonderful world of Prydain!
(Yes, I did fight with Andrew over these books. If you need any further endorsement, let me tell you that he devoured this series and went back for seconds, maybe thirds...)
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Simplify? Oh, My!
For years, I've been threatening to simplify. Keep five outfits per child, plus Sunday clothes, and one pair each of play shoes and nice shoes. Get rid of anything we don't use on a regular basis. If we haven't missed it or wouldn't miss it, chuck it. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Simplify, simplify, simplify...
The problem is, every time I set out to simplify, something comes up. Correction: something gets up. Four somethings. Four someones.
As I ping-ponged around the house this morning - trying to decide whether to clean the kitchen, wash laundry, fold laundry, clean the little kids' bedroom, shelve books, file papers, or sit back and read to the kids - I realized that simplifying one's life and home is a pretty complicated ordeal, and life just doesn't sit back and wait for you to throw out all that stuff you know needs to go.
The logical thing in such a predicament is, of course, to sit down and blog about it, right?
Seriously, though, sharing this with you all is going to give me the motivation to overcome at least one part of the monumental task before me. Anyhow, I hope it will. It simply has to help...
Friday, November 9, 2012
Of Milestones and Unmarked Calendars
I have a confession to make....
I know how long each of my children nursed, but I have only a vague notion of when each started solids. I'm pretty sure I could tell you, to within a week, when each of them took their first steps. Sadly, I couldn't tell you my children's first words. I mean, I know they all went through the "mama" and "dada" stuff... but beyond that, I only know that once they started talking, they never stopped. (This is, of course, a wonderful thing until something particularly captivating occurs, such as the opening of a new Super Walmart in our town, a novelty still wearing off three weeks later).
In short, several milestones have slipped through the cracks. I could really beat myself up for being an inattentive mother, especially when I consider the diligence of those excellent women who keep journals of their children's development and all that. I tried to keep a baby book for our first child. I tried, with slightly less determination, to keep one for the second. Babies Three and Four, however... (insert defeated sigh) With those two, I accepted the reality that I wasn't going to write anything down and resorted to simple photo albums. Though I have gads of photos of their darling owners, even those photo albums remain bare paged.
Yes, my younger children have sprinted past several milestones with hardly a nod of recognition. They experiment with and master skills all on their own. Sometimes they catch me completely off guard. It's a good thing I'm not marking every development on the calendar, because in many cases, I'd find myself scratching my head over where to record their accomplishments. They are learning, developing, growing so quickly. Sometimes in the momentary calm of life, I take stock and marvel.
Last night, I marveled at the sight of my gorgeous girl leaning over a book and reveled in the sound of her sweet voice uttering the words on the page. My amazing third child was... How can this be? ... reading!
Here's where I get teary-hearted.
She's mastering the art of reading, a lifelong passport to other worlds. Before we know it, we will lose her to Avonlea and Mansfield Park, Narnia and worlds yet undiscovered. Or rather, she will join us in those marvelous worlds and invite us into those she discovers without our guidance.
She's growing up. She isn't just learning to read. She's learning math and history and science. She's making friends, forming ideas, developing her own sense and style. She's reaching out into her world, testing her feet, and hopefully blessing those around her. In the midst of all her individuality, she's a little girl in whom her mommy increasingly sees herself.
She isn't a third child whose mother fails to record important milestones. She's a third child whose mother is every bit as excited, delighted, thrilled, and wondering over her life as she was (and still is) over her older brothers' lives.
That may be one of the sweetest recurring blessings of having a house full of children. You think - because our culture says so - that its all downhill after the first kid, that you get lazy, stop caring, stop noticing. But you don't. Instead, you revel in the intricate details of each child's life with ever-increasing wonder over each of these amazing human beings in your care.
Even if you don't even know where the baby books are anymore.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Shopping for Bliss and Acceptance
So, tonight the sweetest man in the whole wide world took four kids to Waffle House so his wife could shop for clothing.
Now, if you have had four children... or three children... or two... or one... Or let's face it, if you are a woman, you know that shopping for clothes can be a little, um, disheartening. But not always.
Long, gray, and graceful, the dress almost audibly screamed my name. (Just to be clear, I mean that I LOVED the dress at first sight, not that I'm long, gray, and graceful!) I had to try it on. I entered the dressing room eagerly, hoping, hoping, hoping that this dress would not disappoint. I slipped it over my head, and... bliss. It fit like a favorite pair of jeans - except that it was a dress. As I turned this way and that, gazing in the mirror and luxuriating in the comfort of said dress, I thought, "Wow, I am such a cute pregnant lady!"
Only... I'm. Not. Pregnant.
Right there in that fitting room I swallowed a hard pill. I knew what I had to do. At least, I had a vague notion of what I had to do. Hanging my head a little, I approached the fitting room attendant.
"I never thought I'd ask this, but do you carry Spanx?"
The kind soul directed me to the shapewear. I tried on a few specimens - not comfortable, but not as bad as I had thought they'd be.
And then, right there in that fitting room, I came to another conclusion: So what?
So I've had a few kids, gotten a little older... So my body might never be what it once was... So my maternal belly hasn't quite remembered its former shape... So a sweet, old lady at church might ask if I'm expecting again (True story, happened with the last dress I bought)... None of that mattered as I stood there in the most comfortable dress ever.
I accepted two things tonight.
I bought that gray dress, and I intend to wear it with all the grace and confidence of a woman who knows how good she has it (written as I glance at the most wonderful man in the world slumbering on the couch after a busy evening with our children).
Whether or not I'll wear that gray dress with Spanx, however, is a secret I won't share... ;)
Now, if you have had four children... or three children... or two... or one... Or let's face it, if you are a woman, you know that shopping for clothes can be a little, um, disheartening. But not always.
Long, gray, and graceful, the dress almost audibly screamed my name. (Just to be clear, I mean that I LOVED the dress at first sight, not that I'm long, gray, and graceful!) I had to try it on. I entered the dressing room eagerly, hoping, hoping, hoping that this dress would not disappoint. I slipped it over my head, and... bliss. It fit like a favorite pair of jeans - except that it was a dress. As I turned this way and that, gazing in the mirror and luxuriating in the comfort of said dress, I thought, "Wow, I am such a cute pregnant lady!"
Only... I'm. Not. Pregnant.
Right there in that fitting room I swallowed a hard pill. I knew what I had to do. At least, I had a vague notion of what I had to do. Hanging my head a little, I approached the fitting room attendant.
"I never thought I'd ask this, but do you carry Spanx?"
The kind soul directed me to the shapewear. I tried on a few specimens - not comfortable, but not as bad as I had thought they'd be.
And then, right there in that fitting room, I came to another conclusion: So what?
So I've had a few kids, gotten a little older... So my body might never be what it once was... So my maternal belly hasn't quite remembered its former shape... So a sweet, old lady at church might ask if I'm expecting again (True story, happened with the last dress I bought)... None of that mattered as I stood there in the most comfortable dress ever.
I accepted two things tonight.
- Shapewear isn't all bad.
- I don't need to deny the effects of four pregnancies.
I bought that gray dress, and I intend to wear it with all the grace and confidence of a woman who knows how good she has it (written as I glance at the most wonderful man in the world slumbering on the couch after a busy evening with our children).
Whether or not I'll wear that gray dress with Spanx, however, is a secret I won't share... ;)
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Essence is of Time
Like many mothers, a part of why I homeschool is... in my sweetest, most angelic, maternal tones... "because the time is so short. Soon, my children will be grown and on their own, and I want to spend as much time with them as possible. Besides, I want them to have ample time to explore and develop a wide array of interests and passions."
Ah, time in which we cherish our darlings as they grow, discover, and develop into full-grown human beings.
Somewhere along the line, though, usually midway through a homeschooling year, something happens.
We forget that the essence of what we do is the time we have with our children and the time they have to develop through study, creativity, play, and a host of other daily experiences.
We rush our children to get the bulk of their schoolwork, if not all of it, done before lunch. Play can wait. Work first. While I see the importance of prioritizing, I wonder if this hurried attitude links study with work, and ultimately, with treachery. (That's another post...) At any rate, it tends to lead me to anxiety, as I worry that I'm not doing everything I need to do in the time in which I ought to do it. Instead of the essence being of time, time become of the essence. We MUST get school done NOW!
But what if, rather than time being of the essence (chop, chop), we remembered that the essence is of time? What if we structured our days so that school does not equal work, but that disciplined study becomes a natural part of the great experience of a relished life? What if we ordered our days not so that the books are all put up by a certain hour, but so that our children's minds have periods of activity and rest throughout the day... so that their minds are able to absorb and ponder one subject before moving the the next?
I'll admit that I stink at schedules. I am dreadfully distractible. I'm sure that plays into the thoughts expressed above, and I'm sure some would be appalled to think of not getting ALL of the schoolwork done before playing Legos.
But I really, really, really like the idea of letting our days flow seamlessly through all of our duties... from study to play to rest to study to play.... or however you want to distinguish and order our activities. I want to hold fast to the belief that time is to be savored, both in our attitudes and in our routines.
As I've played around with this whole philosophy of lesson planning and living, I've noticed that it allows me to spend more time guiding each child through his or her lessons. The pressure to "keep everyone on the same page," literally or figuratively, has eased. We are free not only to take the time we need, but to savor the time spent working together, one-on-one, through what I still believe must be done, even if not done at a particular hour of the day.
I feel I'm getting back to the essence of why I do what I do, and it's a fine time to be here.
Ah, time in which we cherish our darlings as they grow, discover, and develop into full-grown human beings.
Somewhere along the line, though, usually midway through a homeschooling year, something happens.
We rush our children to get the bulk of their schoolwork, if not all of it, done before lunch. Play can wait. Work first. While I see the importance of prioritizing, I wonder if this hurried attitude links study with work, and ultimately, with treachery. (That's another post...) At any rate, it tends to lead me to anxiety, as I worry that I'm not doing everything I need to do in the time in which I ought to do it. Instead of the essence being of time, time become of the essence. We MUST get school done NOW!
But what if, rather than time being of the essence (chop, chop), we remembered that the essence is of time? What if we structured our days so that school does not equal work, but that disciplined study becomes a natural part of the great experience of a relished life? What if we ordered our days not so that the books are all put up by a certain hour, but so that our children's minds have periods of activity and rest throughout the day... so that their minds are able to absorb and ponder one subject before moving the the next?
I'll admit that I stink at schedules. I am dreadfully distractible. I'm sure that plays into the thoughts expressed above, and I'm sure some would be appalled to think of not getting ALL of the schoolwork done before playing Legos.
But I really, really, really like the idea of letting our days flow seamlessly through all of our duties... from study to play to rest to study to play.... or however you want to distinguish and order our activities. I want to hold fast to the belief that time is to be savored, both in our attitudes and in our routines.
As I've played around with this whole philosophy of lesson planning and living, I've noticed that it allows me to spend more time guiding each child through his or her lessons. The pressure to "keep everyone on the same page," literally or figuratively, has eased. We are free not only to take the time we need, but to savor the time spent working together, one-on-one, through what I still believe must be done, even if not done at a particular hour of the day.
I feel I'm getting back to the essence of why I do what I do, and it's a fine time to be here.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The Aim of Parenthood
What is your aim for yourself and for them?
What do you hope for them?
And yourself?
The questions above come from a member of my church and are questions I believe every parent should consider. What are our goals for our children? What do we hope for them? What do we hope for ourselves? All well worth considering.
The simple answer is found in the words of Jesus Christ in John 10:10 -
I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
My aim for my children is life to the full.
In regard to God -
I desire for them to know and delight in their Creator and Savior. I do not want them to go through the motions of church, but to revel in the life of Christ, wherever He leads. I want Jesus Christ not to be an overused name, but their very real redemption, consolation, strength, hope, and joy. I want them to embrace God, not out of fear or guilt or tradition, but out of love and thankfulness and sincerity.
In regard to Family -
I want them to consider their siblings their closest friends. Having lost one sister, I know siblings are irreplaceable. Having developed a close friendship with my remaining sister and having gotten to know my brother as an adult, I know how no one keeps you grounded like the ones who... well, got you grounded. Siblings know your weaknesses and strengths - in part because they share many of the same ones. They also know your history like no one else. So I want my children to make the best of that when they are grown.
Of course, I want them to love their parents, now and always. More importantly, I want them to know their parents love them. No. Matter. What. I want them to know that we will always be there, seeking their best and ready to give all we have for their good. (And if they stumble upon this blog, "their good" does not necessarily mean an iPad, a cell phone, a $200 Lego set, a car, or any other number of things that might not be as necessary as they think!) I want them to look back on their childhoods with fondness and look to the future with hope, knowing we're cheering for them all the way.
I want them to find spouses who will love, honor, and enrich them. I want them to give themselves fully and only to their spouses - not settling for cheap imitations of love, but waiting for real deal and then diving in with zeal, fully committed to growing old and gray with the one they have chosen. I want them to know that a happy marriage is a decision they make. Every day. And I want them to make that decision. Every day. I want their spouses to make the same decision. And I want them to give me grandbabies. Lots of them, so I can coo over their darling little faces and remember the days when my own sweet babies were small enough to hold in my arms.
In regard to Others -
I want them to treat others with respect and kindness. I want them to forgive and love freely. I want them to appreciate the abundance of their blessings and seek to bless others.
In regard to Self -
I want them to be confident, yet humble, and as gracious toward themselves as they are toward others. (And I want that to be super gracious!) I want them to view their mistakes as lessons, their weakness as opportunities, and their successes as gifts. I want them to find something they love to do and something at which they excel. Hopefully, those will be one and the same thing. Without being prideful, I hope they will recognize the gifts they have to offer to others and delight in offering up the fruit of their labors.
In short, I want them to have life, and have it to the full.
And what do I want for myself?
I guess it's pretty simple, really. I want all that I want for my children and two things more: 1) I want to be a woman who faithfully models all of these things for her children, and 2) I want the joy of seeing my children rise to take hold of them.
Thanks, Ruth, for the excellent questions!
Dinner and a Movie
Dinner and a movie... who, what, where, when, how, and why?
It was hard not to laugh aloud when I read the first suggestion for the topic of my next blog post. Dinner and a movie never fails to stir up a long list of questions as Geoff and I try to coordinate schedules, find and engage a babysitter, pick a place to eat, pick a movie, prepare the kids for an evening without us, familiarize the babysitter with the household and routine...
Which might be why the last movie I remember seeing in the theater was a matinee showing of Curious George, and I hardly think that counts as dinner and a movie. First, there was no dinner. Second, we had all of our children with us. To give you an idea of how long ago that was, I'm pretty sure our five-year-old was a baby, and our three-year-old wasn't even on the horizon.
We have a rocking social life.
Nevertheless, we do manage dinner and a movie every now and then, but it's not what it used to be. Generally, it goes down one of two ways.
- Family Movie Night
- Who? The whole family sacks out in the living room, at least in the beginning. Sometimes we'll have eaten together at the table, sometimes we eat watching the movie. Depending upon the movie, Luke or Geoff might wander off. A couple of times, I've taken Elisabeth to another room, set up my laptop, and treated us both to a little therapy in the form of Anne of Green Gables or Ramona clips. Face it, there's only so much Star Wars a girl can take.
- What? Dinner is often pizza or Chinese take-out. Easy to eat, easy to clean. The show varies from movies we've always wanted to share with our kids (Star Wars, The Princess Bride) to movies we suffer through for their sakes (Eragon) to movies we're surprised to find ourselves enjoying along with them (Sky High, How to Train Your Dragon, Tangled). Sometimes it's as simple as an episode of a television show they enjoy.
- Where? Living room.
- When? Typically a Friday and Saturday, after a long week of late nights and meetings, usually instigated by Dad, who is ready for a quiet night with the family.
- How? Snuggled between two kids. If I'm lucky, I land between the two big ones who have a dreadful habit of thinking they are too old to snuggle with their mother. (Silly boys...)
- Why? While not particularly romantic - as evidenced by the above description - Family Movie Nights are pretty nifty. They are a time to sit back and revel in the life Geoff and I have built, to laugh with one another and our children, to cast each other glances of understanding, appreciation, and in the case of certain movies (Eragon comes to mind) sympathetic support of a mutual trial. Geoff and I grow closer to one another and to our children through Family Movie Nights, and while it might not be the same as going to Outback and the latest release, we're investing in one another and in our entire family. We'll have plenty of time to go out alone when the kids are older. Before we know it, we'll be sitting in our living room, staring at our empty couches, wishing for one more Family Movie Night, and considering Eragon a miniscule price to pay for the joy of time with our children. Because it isn't about the what, where, when, or how... It's about the who, and from the moment they were conceived until forever, these four people who carry our genes are a big part of our who.
- Date Night In
- Who? Just me and the hubs.
- What? Either episodes of a show we enjoy or have missed (Burn Notice, Downton Abby, Parenthood, Ballykissangel) or a Netflix disc we decided should vacate its two month home atop our television. Right now, I think we have a Pirates of the Caribbean movie hanging out up there. On the food side of things, occasionally we'll buy good ice cream (Blue Belle or Ben & Jerry's).
- Where? Again, the living room.
- When? Again, Friday or Saturday night. If we're allowed to count Parenthood and Burn Notice, when those are on, it's an hour on a Tuesday or Thursday evening.
- How? Early, easy dinner. Quick clean up. Rush kids to bed. Wait till they settle in... and then set up our movie. Some people suggest having your own meal after the kids are in bed. To me, that's just more work. We eat with the kids, but might have ice cream or something with the movie. Or not.
- Why? While our children are a major part of our who, Geoff and I are also our own who, a who that we want to survive beyond the days of raising children. It's important to do things together, even if it is just sacking out on the couch and mindlessly watching a movie - if we're lucky, one without dragons, princesses, cartoons, or farting jokes. Or the Force. Because just as there's only so much Star Wars a girl can take, there are only so many kids' movies a couple can take.
Thank you, Trey, for suggesting this topic.
I hope all of you have enjoyed reading...
May you find your own special brand of Dinner and a Movie,
whatever the size or dynamics of your family!
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Readers' Choice
My humble little blog is a mere eight views away from the four thousand mark. Thanks, dear readers, for enabling me to reach this milestone!
However significant or insignificant it may be to reach four thousand views - and I'm guessing it's hardly a blip in the blogosphere - I am thankful to those who have taken the time to peer at life Beyond the White Picket Fence.
Just for fun, the three all-time top-ranking posts are:
The Real Picture of a Child's Room
Grief and Going On
What's That Poem About Leaving Fingerprints on Walls
(At this point, I'm thinking you all relish the knowledge that my house is a mess...)
Anyhow, thank you for reading my ramblings, commenting now and then, and just... being. Without you, maintaining this blog would have been utterly pointless.
In celebration, in gratitude, and for the sheer fun of it, I'm leaving the subject of my next post up to you, on the condition that you post below to give me a subject. Ask a question, suggest a topic, funny, serious, whatever...
If it's within reason, I'll tackle it!
However significant or insignificant it may be to reach four thousand views - and I'm guessing it's hardly a blip in the blogosphere - I am thankful to those who have taken the time to peer at life Beyond the White Picket Fence.
Just for fun, the three all-time top-ranking posts are:
The Real Picture of a Child's Room
Grief and Going On
What's That Poem About Leaving Fingerprints on Walls
(At this point, I'm thinking you all relish the knowledge that my house is a mess...)
Anyhow, thank you for reading my ramblings, commenting now and then, and just... being. Without you, maintaining this blog would have been utterly pointless.
In celebration, in gratitude, and for the sheer fun of it, I'm leaving the subject of my next post up to you, on the condition that you post below to give me a subject. Ask a question, suggest a topic, funny, serious, whatever...
If it's within reason, I'll tackle it!
Friday, September 28, 2012
"Mama! Take a Picture!"
Words fail to communicate the whole of the experience of taking an enthusiastic, energetic, dedicated, determined, marvelously creative eight-year-old boy to the zoo... especially when one has suggested to said child that he start a collection of photos to start his own animal book.
Let me just say this: I took a lot of photos today.
Of reptiles, fish, and amphibians...
Of birds and mammals, too...
Let me just say this: I took a lot of photos today.
Of reptiles, fish, and amphibians...
Of birds and mammals, too...
And though I shudder to share it, of what they leave behind...
By far and away,
if I had to pick,
my favorite subjects were the ones
I got to take home at the end of the day.
A huge thank you to Grandma, who made the day extra special!
Thursday, September 20, 2012
THAT Mom
Yesterday, a friend and I touched on the subject of That Mom. You know, the mom who pesters the pediatrician, tells the teacher that her kid's practically a genius, and is generally annoying and utterly clueless...
Yeah, nobody wants to be That Mom.
But sometimes I feel a bit like That Mom.
In recent weeks, I have put in several calls to the pediatrician, as well as to other healthcare providers, asking questions, challenging answers (ever so timidly, because... well, because I'm not at all a confrontational gal), and imploring them to help in any way they can as we strive to raise healthy, happy children. I've refrained - I think - from quoting internet articles, but yes... I have gone there. I have told doctors what "I've read."
And I intend to keep going there, because many of the things we encounter as parents are thoroughly discussed online, and sometimes by reputable sources. So I'm going to keep gathering information, asking questions, seeking answers, and laying it all before those involved in our children's medical care. As so many have said before, if we won't advocate for our children, who will?
For the sake of my children's health, I'll be That Mom.
I've also mentioned how smart and creative a couple of my kids are. Each time, as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I could imagine the thoughts forming in the minds of my listeners... "Sure he is. That's what every parent says..." I don't know what my listeners actually thought, but that's what I would have thought... Shoot, it's what I DID think, and I know my kids!
Once again, though, if we don't believe our children are the best, brightest, most promising individuals in the world, who will? Whatever their gifts, talents, abilities, or passions, part of our role as parents is to give them reason to believe in themselves, to equip them to venture out with confidence into a critical world, and to assure them that whether they soar to untold heights or fall on their faces, someone will still believe in their dreams.
For the sake of my children's dreams, I'll be That Mom.
There's another, far more positive angle to That Mom. In the midst of current challenges to our family's balance, I've found myself doing out of necessity things I used to do by nature. Earlier this week, I sent the boys outside to dig a hole in the yard in which to wage an epic army man battle. We've made several impromptu trips to the park. This morning, assuming I get my act together, we'll be making models of animal cells out of jell-o and various bits of candy. Tomorrow, we're taking a field trip to the state museum. Next week, God willing, we will take Grandma and my camera to the zoo to work on the photographic element of animal books for our biology studies.
The creativity required at this stage in our lives reminds me of the energy I had when it was just Geoff, me, and our oldest two. I was That Mom, the chick who had neat ideas and acted on them, who did cool stuff with her kids and reveled in everything they did. As the dear soul who took four children to church last night so his wife could stay home and glory in silence may have observed, it is a wearying task to be That Mom. But what my husband might not see yet is how satisfying it is to be That Mom, to go to sleep at the end of the day with the quiet satisfaction of having ridden the waves of tumult with a glimmer of grace, measure of agility, and a whopping dose of fun.
For the pleasure of loving my children, I'll be That Mom.
Yeah, nobody wants to be That Mom.
But sometimes I feel a bit like That Mom.
In recent weeks, I have put in several calls to the pediatrician, as well as to other healthcare providers, asking questions, challenging answers (ever so timidly, because... well, because I'm not at all a confrontational gal), and imploring them to help in any way they can as we strive to raise healthy, happy children. I've refrained - I think - from quoting internet articles, but yes... I have gone there. I have told doctors what "I've read."
And I intend to keep going there, because many of the things we encounter as parents are thoroughly discussed online, and sometimes by reputable sources. So I'm going to keep gathering information, asking questions, seeking answers, and laying it all before those involved in our children's medical care. As so many have said before, if we won't advocate for our children, who will?
For the sake of my children's health, I'll be That Mom.
I've also mentioned how smart and creative a couple of my kids are. Each time, as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I could imagine the thoughts forming in the minds of my listeners... "Sure he is. That's what every parent says..." I don't know what my listeners actually thought, but that's what I would have thought... Shoot, it's what I DID think, and I know my kids!
Once again, though, if we don't believe our children are the best, brightest, most promising individuals in the world, who will? Whatever their gifts, talents, abilities, or passions, part of our role as parents is to give them reason to believe in themselves, to equip them to venture out with confidence into a critical world, and to assure them that whether they soar to untold heights or fall on their faces, someone will still believe in their dreams.
For the sake of my children's dreams, I'll be That Mom.
There's another, far more positive angle to That Mom. In the midst of current challenges to our family's balance, I've found myself doing out of necessity things I used to do by nature. Earlier this week, I sent the boys outside to dig a hole in the yard in which to wage an epic army man battle. We've made several impromptu trips to the park. This morning, assuming I get my act together, we'll be making models of animal cells out of jell-o and various bits of candy. Tomorrow, we're taking a field trip to the state museum. Next week, God willing, we will take Grandma and my camera to the zoo to work on the photographic element of animal books for our biology studies.
The creativity required at this stage in our lives reminds me of the energy I had when it was just Geoff, me, and our oldest two. I was That Mom, the chick who had neat ideas and acted on them, who did cool stuff with her kids and reveled in everything they did. As the dear soul who took four children to church last night so his wife could stay home and glory in silence may have observed, it is a wearying task to be That Mom. But what my husband might not see yet is how satisfying it is to be That Mom, to go to sleep at the end of the day with the quiet satisfaction of having ridden the waves of tumult with a glimmer of grace, measure of agility, and a whopping dose of fun.
For the pleasure of loving my children, I'll be That Mom.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Dear Teacher...
Once a week, our children attend morning-long classes in which they are tutored by wonderful, creative home-educating mothers who devote their time and energies to guiding a small group of homeschooled children through memory work and concepts to be studied over the coming week. I have been pleased with each child's tutor and with each child's enjoyment of his or her class, even if on this night especially, I feel the need to offer a few words of encouragement, explanation, and gratitude to one in particular...
Dear Tutor,
Please forgive yet another presentation on dragons. I know by now you must be weary of seeing that blue dragon notebook that my child brings to class every single week. I would be weary of seeing him carry it to class, but frankly, I'm stuck at being amazingly proud of his ability to keep track of the thing.
I tried to convince my dear child to do his presentation on something pertaining to our studies. He was, much to my delight, set on doing a presentation on Greek gods to go along with this week's history sentence. We even made a special trip to the library and checked out a veritable armload of mythology books. Whether or not the librarian was perplexed by our mix of books on Greek gods and books on the biblical account of the flood... who knows? The point is, we were all set for a presentation that involved research and actually related to the material covered in class.
But then the dragons attacked. Again.
Please bear with us.
You see, a few weeks ago, my child opened a fortune cookie. He read his fortune and smiled broadly.
"I'm going to be famous someday!"
"Really? What do you think you'll be famous for?"
"Probably my book."
"Maybe so..."
The blue dragon notebook and the accompanying paraphernalia are just the tip of the iceberg, dear Tutor. This kid has an entire world of dragons and aliens, heros and villains floating in his mind - and a paper trail winding through my house to prove it.
So when you see that blue dragon notebook - again - tomorrow morning, please understand the enormity of that seeming extension of my child's arm.
It's going to make him famous someday.
And you, dear Tutor, will be able to say...
"I knew him when..."
Dear Tutor,
Please forgive yet another presentation on dragons. I know by now you must be weary of seeing that blue dragon notebook that my child brings to class every single week. I would be weary of seeing him carry it to class, but frankly, I'm stuck at being amazingly proud of his ability to keep track of the thing.
I tried to convince my dear child to do his presentation on something pertaining to our studies. He was, much to my delight, set on doing a presentation on Greek gods to go along with this week's history sentence. We even made a special trip to the library and checked out a veritable armload of mythology books. Whether or not the librarian was perplexed by our mix of books on Greek gods and books on the biblical account of the flood... who knows? The point is, we were all set for a presentation that involved research and actually related to the material covered in class.
But then the dragons attacked. Again.
Please bear with us.
You see, a few weeks ago, my child opened a fortune cookie. He read his fortune and smiled broadly.
"I'm going to be famous someday!"
"Really? What do you think you'll be famous for?"
"Probably my book."
"Maybe so..."
The blue dragon notebook and the accompanying paraphernalia are just the tip of the iceberg, dear Tutor. This kid has an entire world of dragons and aliens, heros and villains floating in his mind - and a paper trail winding through my house to prove it.
So when you see that blue dragon notebook - again - tomorrow morning, please understand the enormity of that seeming extension of my child's arm.
It's going to make him famous someday.
And you, dear Tutor, will be able to say...
"I knew him when..."
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Better Safe than Sorry
Yes, I realize how ironic this post is, following directly on the tail of a post about letting our fears go and children dare. But Better Safe than Sorry has been ringing in my ears all day and encapsulates a week of thoughts relating to the complexities of parenting.
It is a thoroughly lamented fact that children do not come with instruction manuals. One might breeze through the first couple years, or even several years, or even, if one is of an exceptional family, the first couple of children. Eventually, though, it gets hard. Decisions must be made, with no clear direction to guide one.
This is where I found myself earlier this week - feeling that parenting is downright difficult and I've gotten myself in way over my head. I'll spare you the details, except to assure you that the difficulty is nothing dreadfully serious, but rather uncertainty about where to go from where we are now - and what we might find in the various directions we might pursue.
In short, it's not a bad place I've been in this week. Just... waiting for clarity, wishing for assurance, and hoping for success. (Success being, everything working out peachy-keen).
Throughout the week, Better Safe than Sorry was an enigmatic slogan, as I couldn't distinguish which courses constituted Safe and which might constitute Sorry. Sometimes the answers aren't clear-cut. Sometimes every option includes elements of both Safe and Sorry. Sometimes we cavil back and forth, only to discover the only Sorry in sight is an unnecessary medical bill and the awkwardness of explaining to the doctor, "It's probably nothing, but..."
In such cases, I often lean toward Safe.
Here's the thing: Sometimes the Sorry is far more expensive than an ER bill, and the Safe purchases things that money cannot buy.
As I drove forty-five minutes to the closest Urgent Care open on a Sunday morning with a child who appeared perfectly healthy, but had been experiencing some slightly concerning symptoms, I was grateful for the opportunity to play it safe with my child. Geoff and I had made a loving, if not a necessary, decision. We might just as well have waited till Monday morning to take him to the doctor, but we both felt it was time to make sure everything was as it should be in his body. There is something so satisfying in playing it safe, in knowing we are making every effort to do the best for our child, putting his health above all else - even and especially when we are mostly sure that he's alright. Because, what if he's not? Sometimes the stakes are too high not to play it safe.
I was grateful, too, that Geoff and I had made the decision together. We were equal partners in concern for our child's health, both of us recognizing that he was probably fine, neither of us willing to risk the possibility that he wasn't. After twelve years of marriage and four children, I was refreshed by the shared experience of concern similar to what we felt when our first was a wee newborn hooked up to monitors and we worried and wondered together what our family's future would hold. (That kid has turned out alright so far, in case you wondered...)
On the return trip, I was grateful for all these things and more. Our child, as it turns out, is "extremely healthy." The symptoms that concerned us are real, but passing. He'll be fine. Whew.
As an added bonus, I got to spend some quality time with this really cool kid. As I watched him resist the urge to stick his head out the open window, a sense of immense gratitude swept across my heart. He's a wonder, this child of mine who sends us to Urgent Care for little more than peace of mind. I'm so very thankful for the life and vigor he adds to our lives. I'll happily pay that medical bill when it comes in, considering it a small price to pay for my child's health, his parents' peace of mind, and the many moments of this morning that led me to gratitude.
On a side note: When I walked into the previously unvisited urgent care, the first thing I saw was a Keurig station. Guess where we'll be going next time someone gets sick? Hmm... anyone want to come cough on us?
This is where I found myself earlier this week - feeling that parenting is downright difficult and I've gotten myself in way over my head. I'll spare you the details, except to assure you that the difficulty is nothing dreadfully serious, but rather uncertainty about where to go from where we are now - and what we might find in the various directions we might pursue.
In short, it's not a bad place I've been in this week. Just... waiting for clarity, wishing for assurance, and hoping for success. (Success being, everything working out peachy-keen).
Throughout the week, Better Safe than Sorry was an enigmatic slogan, as I couldn't distinguish which courses constituted Safe and which might constitute Sorry. Sometimes the answers aren't clear-cut. Sometimes every option includes elements of both Safe and Sorry. Sometimes we cavil back and forth, only to discover the only Sorry in sight is an unnecessary medical bill and the awkwardness of explaining to the doctor, "It's probably nothing, but..."
In such cases, I often lean toward Safe.
Here's the thing: Sometimes the Sorry is far more expensive than an ER bill, and the Safe purchases things that money cannot buy.
As I drove forty-five minutes to the closest Urgent Care open on a Sunday morning with a child who appeared perfectly healthy, but had been experiencing some slightly concerning symptoms, I was grateful for the opportunity to play it safe with my child. Geoff and I had made a loving, if not a necessary, decision. We might just as well have waited till Monday morning to take him to the doctor, but we both felt it was time to make sure everything was as it should be in his body. There is something so satisfying in playing it safe, in knowing we are making every effort to do the best for our child, putting his health above all else - even and especially when we are mostly sure that he's alright. Because, what if he's not? Sometimes the stakes are too high not to play it safe.
I was grateful, too, that Geoff and I had made the decision together. We were equal partners in concern for our child's health, both of us recognizing that he was probably fine, neither of us willing to risk the possibility that he wasn't. After twelve years of marriage and four children, I was refreshed by the shared experience of concern similar to what we felt when our first was a wee newborn hooked up to monitors and we worried and wondered together what our family's future would hold. (That kid has turned out alright so far, in case you wondered...)
On the return trip, I was grateful for all these things and more. Our child, as it turns out, is "extremely healthy." The symptoms that concerned us are real, but passing. He'll be fine. Whew.
As an added bonus, I got to spend some quality time with this really cool kid. As I watched him resist the urge to stick his head out the open window, a sense of immense gratitude swept across my heart. He's a wonder, this child of mine who sends us to Urgent Care for little more than peace of mind. I'm so very thankful for the life and vigor he adds to our lives. I'll happily pay that medical bill when it comes in, considering it a small price to pay for my child's health, his parents' peace of mind, and the many moments of this morning that led me to gratitude.
On a side note: When I walked into the previously unvisited urgent care, the first thing I saw was a Keurig station. Guess where we'll be going next time someone gets sick? Hmm... anyone want to come cough on us?
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Be Careful!
Like most mothers I know, I have the amazing ability to predict every possible outcome of my children's daring acts of physical prowess. The first time on a two-wheeler with training wheels carries, as every good mother knows, the risk of skinned knees, concussion, broken bones, and death.
Okay, so maybe we mothers have a knack for exaggerating dangers.
As I stepped back from my five-year-old attempting to teach her three-year-old brother how to ride her big girl bike, I cautioned them to "be careful."
Be careful.
How often I direct these two words to my children! How deeply I hope they don't always heed them!
Granted, there are plenty of times when being careful is wise. I don't want my children to rush into danger, heedless of almost inevitable disaster. On the other hand, I want them to dream and to dare. I don't want them just to look at the big kid bike and walk away with drooping shoulders. I want them to look at the big kid bike, climb on without hesitation, stretch their legs to reach the pedals, struggle to apply the appropriate force, fall and get up again, and eventually ride like the wind.
I want them to feel the rush of having dreamed and dared to do that of which others think they are incapable. I want them to count the dangers a small price for the conquest.
Luke didn't master the big kid bike today, nor have I mastered the art of letting my children grow up. But I'm working on it.
Okay, so maybe we mothers have a knack for exaggerating dangers.
As I stepped back from my five-year-old attempting to teach her three-year-old brother how to ride her big girl bike, I cautioned them to "be careful."
Be careful.
Granted, there are plenty of times when being careful is wise. I don't want my children to rush into danger, heedless of almost inevitable disaster. On the other hand, I want them to dream and to dare. I don't want them just to look at the big kid bike and walk away with drooping shoulders. I want them to look at the big kid bike, climb on without hesitation, stretch their legs to reach the pedals, struggle to apply the appropriate force, fall and get up again, and eventually ride like the wind.
I want them to feel the rush of having dreamed and dared to do that of which others think they are incapable. I want them to count the dangers a small price for the conquest.Luke didn't master the big kid bike today, nor have I mastered the art of letting my children grow up. But I'm working on it.
I'm reminding myself: Be careful not to say too often, "Be careful."
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
The Goal of Writing... (SPOILER ALERT!!!!)
A little over a week ago, I received the first of hopefully not too many rejections of the dear, little novel introduced in my last post. I was not overly surprised, knowing that rejections are a large part of getting published. Of course, I had hoped the agent would read my submission, fall in love, and start soliciting the movie rights. But I knew better. That's not how the business works.
Even expected pains hurt a little, but I am thankful for other options and for friends and family who have been supportive of and enthusiastic about the book. If you have read or are praying for the future of Grit, thank you!
Meanwhile, my boys have been busy. Today they prepared a little surprise they were sure I'd enjoy because, as they told me, "You inspired it!"
So, dear New York City Literary Agent, I won't cry because you "aren't enthusiastic enough" about my book. I understand it's part of getting published. Maybe I'll find an agent or publisher who falls head over heels in love with my story, or maybe this will be enough reward for my labors...
*Pun totally intended.
Even expected pains hurt a little, but I am thankful for other options and for friends and family who have been supportive of and enthusiastic about the book. If you have read or are praying for the future of Grit, thank you!
Meanwhile, my boys have been busy. Today they prepared a little surprise they were sure I'd enjoy because, as they told me, "You inspired it!"
So, dear New York City Literary Agent, I won't cry because you "aren't enthusiastic enough" about my book. I understand it's part of getting published. Maybe I'll find an agent or publisher who falls head over heels in love with my story, or maybe this will be enough reward for my labors...
The village of Thresh: Grit's, Sire Stone's, and Coil's huts.
Post sparring match: Check out Grit's dagger on the table and the berries at her side. I believe they took great pains to pick an appropriate face for the wounded warrior.
Grit: Ignore the fact that Scrarlett ought to teach Grit to shave and focus on the beautiful pearl she's wearing! (And that's one huge berry, isn't it?)
And finally, Seal and Oath, carrying the day's loot into their hut, followed by Turf.
On the other hand, dear New York City Literary Agent, you may have missed out on striking* a great deal with the Lego company.
*Pun totally intended.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Labor
I've given birth to four children. When I say that my latest endeavor is much like the process of bringing a child into the world, I know what I'm talking about.
From the first hint of her existence, I thrilled with curious anticipation. As she formed within my mind, I loved her. I marveled as she took shape, worried over her development, and anguished over her deformities. I became sullen, distracted, and more or less cranky when something was wrong with her. There were days when all I could think about and all I could talk about was... her. Other times, I could not speak of her at all, for fear that she would never fully develop.
I have labored these last two months and two days, through late nights and distracted days, to ensure that she is complete and beautiful and lovely, that she lacks nothing and offers much, that in the end, she will give glory to the Author and Perfecter of my faith.
Now at last, I hold her in my hands - warm and fresh and waiting to meet the world. I am both eager and terrified to think what her future might hold. Surely, the world will tear her apart. Surely, I will grieve. Surely, I will inflict pain upon her that she may become a more worthy creation. Perhaps she will be embraced, loved, cherished. I have no guarantee of her happy future, but must place her in the hands of ones more skilled than myself, hoping that someone will love her as I do and raise her to stand on her own out in the big, bad world.
A few brave souls, most notably my Patient and Beloved Husband and my Wise and Wonderful Sister, bore with me through it all. Without their understanding and forgiveness, she could not have been born at all.
And so I present my darling Grit...
From the first hint of her existence, I thrilled with curious anticipation. As she formed within my mind, I loved her. I marveled as she took shape, worried over her development, and anguished over her deformities. I became sullen, distracted, and more or less cranky when something was wrong with her. There were days when all I could think about and all I could talk about was... her. Other times, I could not speak of her at all, for fear that she would never fully develop.
I have labored these last two months and two days, through late nights and distracted days, to ensure that she is complete and beautiful and lovely, that she lacks nothing and offers much, that in the end, she will give glory to the Author and Perfecter of my faith.
Now at last, I hold her in my hands - warm and fresh and waiting to meet the world. I am both eager and terrified to think what her future might hold. Surely, the world will tear her apart. Surely, I will grieve. Surely, I will inflict pain upon her that she may become a more worthy creation. Perhaps she will be embraced, loved, cherished. I have no guarantee of her happy future, but must place her in the hands of ones more skilled than myself, hoping that someone will love her as I do and raise her to stand on her own out in the big, bad world.
A few brave souls, most notably my Patient and Beloved Husband and my Wise and Wonderful Sister, bore with me through it all. Without their understanding and forgiveness, she could not have been born at all.
And so I present my darling Grit...
Now to begin the arduous task of finding her a publisher.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Impossibilities
Several winters ago, we received impossible news. The child in my womb was... a girl! Geoff had told me from the very beginning that girls simply do not sprout from his genes. Having produced two darling lads, I had begun to believe him. I had also begun to feel a little defensive of my boys when people told me I needed to "try again for a girl."
So the news that "a girl" was just what we were having came as a shock. It just didn't seem possible! I adjusted, however, and found myself, two weeks after Elisabeth's birth, marveling at how painfully adorable my daughter was in her first pink outfit, cute little yarn hat and all. I remember thinking how silly it was of me to have waited so long to put her in pink (she wore plenty of girl outfits, just not pink ones!) when pink looked so stinking good on her. I can't track down the picture right now, but trust me, she was breathtakingly beautiful all wrapped up in pinkness.
All of my reservations about pink dissipated in that moment, and I have never looked back. Our girl is free to be as girly as she wants...
...or doesn't want to be.
All of my reservations about pink dissipated in that moment, and I have never looked back. Our girl is free to be as girly as she wants...
...or doesn't want to be.
It no longer seems to me impossible, or even improbable, that Geoff and I produced a girl. What seems impossible is the notion that we might never have welcomed this girl into our family, that we might never have known her ups and downs, that we might never have laughed at her silliness, wiped away her tears, loved her and enjoyed her love.
She has enriched our family beyond measure. When I think now of what is possible or not, it seems impossible that we have been so richly blessed, not just with three marvelous sons but also with one amazing daughter. Impossible too, that our daughter is turning five already.
Happy birthday, Elisabeth!
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Communion, Boy Style
I held the communion plate in my hand and waited for each of my older boys to break a piece off the half-loaf of bread. Remembering a Sunday several months ago when one of them had helped himself to a veritable chunk of communion bread, I instructed in a whisper, "Break off a little piece. A little piece."
They obeyed, each taking a respectably small portion of Christ's body, broken for us. I smiled, pleased with my boys for behaving so beautifully and for resisting the very compelling urge for "more."
When the tray of communion cups came round, I could tell one of my boys was sizing up the cups to see which one held the most juice. I smiled again as he took a cup and sat back quietly.
A moment later, I looked to my left to see my dear son dipping his bread in his cup to soak up the grape juice. No big deal there, but I advised him to take the bread out so it wouldn't crumble to the point of falling completely apart. His finger swirled in the cup, mixing up a nice bread/juice pudding as he attempted to retrieve his bread. As I watched, he tipped the cup to his mouth and proceeded to lick out every last morsel of juice soaked bread. In the back of my mind, I hoped no one else noticed his busy tongue cleaning the inside of that clear plastic cup.
At this point, if you are a ninny or even a mildly respectable individual, you might be cringing just reading this record. But watching him, I felt there was something so right in his approach to partaking of Christ's body and blood. He came to the table, ready to be filled, eager to drink fully of Christ's abundant feast. Shouldn't we all approach our Saviour thus?
Now, I know... He's a kid who really likes his bread and juice. Surely he didn't tell me that he wished he could have a huge hunk of bread and a big glass of juice because he is uber-committed to Jesus. But you know what, I still think he's beautiful and I still love his enthusiasm. And I hope that enthusiasm carries over into his relationship with his gracious Creator and Savior. I hope he understands all that Christ desires to bestow upon him, and I hope he comes to Jesus with his arms stretched out and heaped with blessings, and says, "More?" I'm pretty sure Jesus will give him the "more" he seeks.
When he plopped his communion cup down, I leaned over and told him, "Because so many people are taking communion today, we have to take a little. Remember that a little of God's grace and love go a long way."
But I'm with him, and I told him so, too. I'm sure Jesus would LOVE for him - and each of us - to have an entire loaf of bread and a whole jug of juice.
They obeyed, each taking a respectably small portion of Christ's body, broken for us. I smiled, pleased with my boys for behaving so beautifully and for resisting the very compelling urge for "more."
When the tray of communion cups came round, I could tell one of my boys was sizing up the cups to see which one held the most juice. I smiled again as he took a cup and sat back quietly.
A moment later, I looked to my left to see my dear son dipping his bread in his cup to soak up the grape juice. No big deal there, but I advised him to take the bread out so it wouldn't crumble to the point of falling completely apart. His finger swirled in the cup, mixing up a nice bread/juice pudding as he attempted to retrieve his bread. As I watched, he tipped the cup to his mouth and proceeded to lick out every last morsel of juice soaked bread. In the back of my mind, I hoped no one else noticed his busy tongue cleaning the inside of that clear plastic cup.
At this point, if you are a ninny or even a mildly respectable individual, you might be cringing just reading this record. But watching him, I felt there was something so right in his approach to partaking of Christ's body and blood. He came to the table, ready to be filled, eager to drink fully of Christ's abundant feast. Shouldn't we all approach our Saviour thus?
Now, I know... He's a kid who really likes his bread and juice. Surely he didn't tell me that he wished he could have a huge hunk of bread and a big glass of juice because he is uber-committed to Jesus. But you know what, I still think he's beautiful and I still love his enthusiasm. And I hope that enthusiasm carries over into his relationship with his gracious Creator and Savior. I hope he understands all that Christ desires to bestow upon him, and I hope he comes to Jesus with his arms stretched out and heaped with blessings, and says, "More?" I'm pretty sure Jesus will give him the "more" he seeks.
When he plopped his communion cup down, I leaned over and told him, "Because so many people are taking communion today, we have to take a little. Remember that a little of God's grace and love go a long way."
But I'm with him, and I told him so, too. I'm sure Jesus would LOVE for him - and each of us - to have an entire loaf of bread and a whole jug of juice.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Why I'll Fight the Mommy Wars (sort of)
So, yesterday was Mother's Day. The theme of the year, perhaps due to a certain magazine cover, seemed to be the infamous "Mommy Wars." I read a couple articles blasting the idea that moms are in some great competition with one another, all striving to be "mom enough." Several of the practices mentioned - presumably things women feel pressured to do, like they aren't mom enough until they do these things - are things I have done, including exclusive breastfeeding, co-sleeping, baby wearing, extended breastfeeding, etc. The idea of the articles was that these things, in and of themselves, don't make a mom a good mom, and we should all just shut up and mother in whatever way best suits us.
I agree. None of that makes a mom a good mom, and we should mother according to our informed principals and maternal instincts.
But I disagree, too. I don't think we need to shut up.
Here's why: No one ever told me it was okay to wait till my child was eight months to start solids. No one ever told me I could sleep with my baby. No one ever encouraged me to use a sling. Had it not been for a friend who nursed her toddler at my house, I might not have known it was okay to nurse a toddler. Instead, I was told I had to pass around my baby, who was in the midst of that marvelous separation anxiety phase, even though he cried hysterically when I let him go. I was told to let my babies cry it out. I was told to wean my nine month old. I was told I'd regret holding my babies so much when I developed hip problems. I was laughed at (just a little) for not giving my nine month old ice cream. None of those things felt quite right, and it was mostly by accident or chance observances that Geoff and I fell into this whole "attachment parenting" thing. I've read a lot over the past ten years, and I'm perfectly comfortable with our choices. I'm not saying I'm a great mom or that I implement all of my parenting philosophy consistently or anything like that... I'm just saying that I'm comfortable with our choices and glad we made them.
So, I'm not going to hush up about how we parent or apologize for our choices or act like I haven't enjoyed living out those choices. Frankly, I don't care what another mom decides to do, but I want her to know that if she wants a drug free birth, she can do it; if she wants to breastfeed for three years, she won't damage her kid; if she wants to cuddle her baby to sleep, she won't prevent him from ever learning to sleep on his own; if she wants to delay solids, she won't kill her kid's appetite; if she wants to carry her baby everywhere, she won't keep him from walking... If she wants to parent in this "attached" way, she won't ruin her baby.
I may get in trouble for this, but I'll go so far as to say that if a mother wants to parent in this way, doing so WILL make her a better mom, because she is living by her convictions. If a mother does not feel convicted to do any of these things, fine. I really, truly don't care where anyone's baby sleeps or how long they nurse - or even if they nurse. But for the sake of the woman who WANTS to do these things, but isn't sure she can, I will not allow a couple articles to scare me out of encouraging her to follow her instincts.
I don't want to badger anyone into parenting a particular way, but I do want those who are on the fence to know that it is perfectly okay to go against what so many tell them to do. I want to encourage moms to make their own choices, informed by knowledge and instinct, and own those choices, mothering proudly according to their convictions, not doubting with every acquaintance's comment.
And that is why, no matter how many articles I read denouncing "The Mommy Wars," I will fight - hopefully with grace and compassion - a war against a solitary type of motherhood in which we lose the freedom to speak openly about parenting practices - which is the heart of my discomfort with all these articles. Let us not compete with one another or raise a standard to which some may not or can not aspire. But let us not allow the media to keep us from sharing with and encouraging one another as we raise the next generation. We need to know we aren't alone, regardless of how we raise our children.
I agree. None of that makes a mom a good mom, and we should mother according to our informed principals and maternal instincts.
But I disagree, too. I don't think we need to shut up.
Here's why: No one ever told me it was okay to wait till my child was eight months to start solids. No one ever told me I could sleep with my baby. No one ever encouraged me to use a sling. Had it not been for a friend who nursed her toddler at my house, I might not have known it was okay to nurse a toddler. Instead, I was told I had to pass around my baby, who was in the midst of that marvelous separation anxiety phase, even though he cried hysterically when I let him go. I was told to let my babies cry it out. I was told to wean my nine month old. I was told I'd regret holding my babies so much when I developed hip problems. I was laughed at (just a little) for not giving my nine month old ice cream. None of those things felt quite right, and it was mostly by accident or chance observances that Geoff and I fell into this whole "attachment parenting" thing. I've read a lot over the past ten years, and I'm perfectly comfortable with our choices. I'm not saying I'm a great mom or that I implement all of my parenting philosophy consistently or anything like that... I'm just saying that I'm comfortable with our choices and glad we made them.
So, I'm not going to hush up about how we parent or apologize for our choices or act like I haven't enjoyed living out those choices. Frankly, I don't care what another mom decides to do, but I want her to know that if she wants a drug free birth, she can do it; if she wants to breastfeed for three years, she won't damage her kid; if she wants to cuddle her baby to sleep, she won't prevent him from ever learning to sleep on his own; if she wants to delay solids, she won't kill her kid's appetite; if she wants to carry her baby everywhere, she won't keep him from walking... If she wants to parent in this "attached" way, she won't ruin her baby.
I may get in trouble for this, but I'll go so far as to say that if a mother wants to parent in this way, doing so WILL make her a better mom, because she is living by her convictions. If a mother does not feel convicted to do any of these things, fine. I really, truly don't care where anyone's baby sleeps or how long they nurse - or even if they nurse. But for the sake of the woman who WANTS to do these things, but isn't sure she can, I will not allow a couple articles to scare me out of encouraging her to follow her instincts.
I don't want to badger anyone into parenting a particular way, but I do want those who are on the fence to know that it is perfectly okay to go against what so many tell them to do. I want to encourage moms to make their own choices, informed by knowledge and instinct, and own those choices, mothering proudly according to their convictions, not doubting with every acquaintance's comment.
And that is why, no matter how many articles I read denouncing "The Mommy Wars," I will fight - hopefully with grace and compassion - a war against a solitary type of motherhood in which we lose the freedom to speak openly about parenting practices - which is the heart of my discomfort with all these articles. Let us not compete with one another or raise a standard to which some may not or can not aspire. But let us not allow the media to keep us from sharing with and encouraging one another as we raise the next generation. We need to know we aren't alone, regardless of how we raise our children.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
The Things They Learn
As I lie awake in bed this morning, looking at the darling boy who had crawled into bed with me, I realized something. Kids grow up. Okay, so this is news to no one. Still, I think sometimes we need to be reminded of it.
My husband and I have four delightful children, ranging in age from ten to three years. For the first time in what seems like forever, no one is nursing, no one needs to snuggle to sleep with Mommy or Daddy, no one (usually) crawls into our bed in the middle of the night (morning snuggles are a different story), and no one - I repeat, no one -wears diapers. Even at night, NO DIAPERS!
Hal. Le. Lu. Jah.
The crazy thing is... With this last kid, we really didn't try to wean him or teach him to stay in his bed all night or use the potty or stay dry all night. It just kind of... happened. We encouraged, but didn't push. He reached a certain age and there it was... No more nursing, no more diapers, no more sneaking into our bed at one in the morning. While we were busy wondering when he would learn to let go of these things, he let them go, with little help from us.
Anyway, kids grow up. They get a little older, a little more independent, and before you know it, all the things you thought would never end, do.
For example:
My husband and I have four delightful children, ranging in age from ten to three years. For the first time in what seems like forever, no one is nursing, no one needs to snuggle to sleep with Mommy or Daddy, no one (usually) crawls into our bed in the middle of the night (morning snuggles are a different story), and no one - I repeat, no one -wears diapers. Even at night, NO DIAPERS!
Hal. Le. Lu. Jah.
The crazy thing is... With this last kid, we really didn't try to wean him or teach him to stay in his bed all night or use the potty or stay dry all night. It just kind of... happened. We encouraged, but didn't push. He reached a certain age and there it was... No more nursing, no more diapers, no more sneaking into our bed at one in the morning. While we were busy wondering when he would learn to let go of these things, he let them go, with little help from us.
Anyway, kids grow up. They get a little older, a little more independent, and before you know it, all the things you thought would never end, do.
For example:
- Children grow to fall asleep without Mommy or Daddy.
- Children grow to ask for a hug without asking to nurse.
- Children grow to stay in their beds all night long, (even if they still crawl in between Mommy and Daddy for morning snuggles).
- Children grow to use the toilet, and then they learn to do it without being reminded.
- Children grow to stay dry through the night.
- Children grow to run and play, rather than hug Mommy's leg.
- Children grow to do what bigger children do. (You can neither force nor prevent this one).
- Children grow to help themselves.
- Children grow to express themselves, and in ways that will blow your mind.
- Children grow to call you Mom. Just plain, all grown-up, Mom.
Of course, there are many more milestones than these. It just struck me this morning that all the things we parents so often struggle to teach our children -from sleeping to talking to weaning to toilet training to... pretty much everything - they generally figure out in the course of time, regardless of the fervor of our efforts. Perhaps despite our fervor, they grow to do the things we big people do.
So I guess my point is this: If you are looking at your young child, wondering when, oh when, they will figure out this or that life skill, relax, Mom. They'll grow up, whether or not you're ready for them to do so.
 |
| Apparently, they learn to button their shirts, too. |
Thursday, May 3, 2012
The Beauty of Science
The end of our school year is trudging ever so slowly in our direction. As I review what I have taught my children this year and what I had hoped to teach them before putting the books up for the summer, I grumble inwardly over the issue of Science.
We started our study of Physics this spring, having devoted the fall to the study of Modern History. Physics went well enough for a time. We read about Galileo and Newton, gravity, motion, simple machines, etc. We copied equations and laws. We began a biography of Albert Einstein and read a few chapters of John Hudson Tiner's Exploring the World of Physics. We had a blast with our Physics Workshop, and spent half a morning testing the best design and trajectory for paper airplanes. The boys attended Robotics Club and constructed countless Lego spaceships. And that's just what I remember off the top of my head.
Now that I've typed it all out, it feels like a lot. But when I think of what I would like my children to carry into adulthood, I realize how much more I wish had taught them this year and wonder how much I can cram into our last weary days of fourth and second grades.
And then I remember: they are in fourth and second grades. It's okay if they don't fully understand Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity and his General Theory of Relativity, let alone the difference between the two. They'll get it eventually, and if they don't, well... They might still be okay.
(Quick! Explain Einstein's theories to me... See, they'll be alright. Maybe you dig Einstein, but I can't remember, prior to reading Albert's bio, the last time I thought about relativity, let alone had to explain it to anyone).
I also remember that we have visited the zoo, worked in the garden, watched a newly transformed butterfly struggle to take flight, and held wiggling earthworms in our hands before depositing them in our homemade worm habitat. They have studied snakes and wild cats and alligators and crickets, all of their own volition. We even learned a little about human anatomy during a field trip to the ER, a lesson I hope never to repeat in such a hands-on fashion.
I had planned to delve deeply into Physics this year. While we failed to excavate all of that subject's hidden secrets, we did uncover a few gems, and we caught glimpses of treasures yet to be unearthed. I hope that when Physics comes around in another four years, my children will welcome it as a familiar digging ground, even if they never write a paper on the photoelectric effect.
In the meantime, as we finish our biography of one of history's greatest physicists and in the years to come, we will revel in the broader field of Science - Zoology, Botany, Anatomy, Astronomy, Chemistry, and yes, Physics - spreading marvelously in every direction. This, I believe, is the beauty of science. We learn it every day in a tangled glory of unplanned moments.
I don't mean this post to be a "Hey, look what we did!" sort of post. If you took it as such, I apologize. If, on the other hand, you completely understand what it means to feel a slight tremor of fear creep upon you as you reflect on a year's labors...
Relax. You've done a lot more than you realize.
We started our study of Physics this spring, having devoted the fall to the study of Modern History. Physics went well enough for a time. We read about Galileo and Newton, gravity, motion, simple machines, etc. We copied equations and laws. We began a biography of Albert Einstein and read a few chapters of John Hudson Tiner's Exploring the World of Physics. We had a blast with our Physics Workshop, and spent half a morning testing the best design and trajectory for paper airplanes. The boys attended Robotics Club and constructed countless Lego spaceships. And that's just what I remember off the top of my head.
Now that I've typed it all out, it feels like a lot. But when I think of what I would like my children to carry into adulthood, I realize how much more I wish had taught them this year and wonder how much I can cram into our last weary days of fourth and second grades.
And then I remember: they are in fourth and second grades. It's okay if they don't fully understand Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity and his General Theory of Relativity, let alone the difference between the two. They'll get it eventually, and if they don't, well... They might still be okay.
(Quick! Explain Einstein's theories to me... See, they'll be alright. Maybe you dig Einstein, but I can't remember, prior to reading Albert's bio, the last time I thought about relativity, let alone had to explain it to anyone).
I also remember that we have visited the zoo, worked in the garden, watched a newly transformed butterfly struggle to take flight, and held wiggling earthworms in our hands before depositing them in our homemade worm habitat. They have studied snakes and wild cats and alligators and crickets, all of their own volition. We even learned a little about human anatomy during a field trip to the ER, a lesson I hope never to repeat in such a hands-on fashion.
I had planned to delve deeply into Physics this year. While we failed to excavate all of that subject's hidden secrets, we did uncover a few gems, and we caught glimpses of treasures yet to be unearthed. I hope that when Physics comes around in another four years, my children will welcome it as a familiar digging ground, even if they never write a paper on the photoelectric effect.
In the meantime, as we finish our biography of one of history's greatest physicists and in the years to come, we will revel in the broader field of Science - Zoology, Botany, Anatomy, Astronomy, Chemistry, and yes, Physics - spreading marvelously in every direction. This, I believe, is the beauty of science. We learn it every day in a tangled glory of unplanned moments.
I don't mean this post to be a "Hey, look what we did!" sort of post. If you took it as such, I apologize. If, on the other hand, you completely understand what it means to feel a slight tremor of fear creep upon you as you reflect on a year's labors...
Relax. You've done a lot more than you realize.
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