The Sibling Situation

I ate my cup of chili standing before the kitchen window, gazing out upon a sunny backyard.  In other rooms of the house, my children played in pairs, their happy chatter like music to my ears as I pondered earlier, less pleasant sibling interactions.

We were at the dedication of the new community garden.  Community leaders and members-at-large gathered behind a small local church to pray for the success of a project that will, God willing, bring our community together to help many in need.  It's a wonderful project, and as I tried to hear all the details, a -ahem - slight disturbance to my right caught my attention.  For some reason, two young men vied for the same position in the audience.  Beside me, they gently and not-so-gently nudged each other.  A subtle fist or two to the back may have been involved.  I hushed my boys.  I hushed them again.  I tried discreetly to separate them, a difficult task with an three-year-old who would rather have been running amok perched on my hip, and my other baby, Nikon, hanging around my neck.  Finally, one of the squabblers settled the matter by standing on my other side, a triumphant look shot at his brother.  "Ha, you may have won, but so did I!"

"Surely," I thought as I gazed out the window, "My siblings and I never acted like this.  Surely, we never made such scenes.  Surely, we were kind and loving toward one another, and especially in public!"

Or were we?

I honestly don't remember how we behaved in public, but I do remember a rather violent fight with one sister over who would make dinner.  (I won, by the way).  I also remember my other sister, the one who was always so sweet and nice and friendly, literally kicking a hole in my bedroom door after I ran in there to hide from her wrath.  I'm not sure what I'd done to her, but I'm sure it was something deserving a hole in my door.  With a ten year span between our births and with my leaving home when he was ten, my younger brother and I didn't have much occasion for such equally matched combat, but I'm sure we had our differences.  I've been told I wasn't too gracious about his arrival... or about a lot of things that happened when I was a child.

So, like my boys, my siblings and I weren't exactly lovey-dovey growing up.  We turned out alright, though.  My Wise and Wonderful Sister is one of my best friends, if a word like "friend" can encompass all that a sister is.  At any rate, we have an understanding.  We love each other dearly, and I think we might even like each other.  We talk several times a week and get our families together as often as we can.  And we've agreed that the best dinner plans involve letting our husbands cook for the kids while we enjoy a girls' night out together.  My other sister left this world as my constant companion and closest friend.  We spent five crazy, wonderful months sharing a home of our own.  She wasn't always easy to live with, of course, but she never kicked a hole in my door.  Instead, she stayed up late sharing her dreams with me and encouraging me in my own.  I still cry when I think of her absence from my dreams come true...  She would have been an awesome aunt.  Even my brother and I, though we don't talk often, get along now.  He's turned into a pretty neat guy, and yeah...  I'd like to keep him.  I might not have been crazy about him when my parents brought his jiggling cheeks home from the hospital, but he's my brother, my only brother, and I realize now how very special that is.

And I wonder now, thinking of my own children, if their squabbles might indeed be the very thing that will make them lasting friends.  I wonder if their episodes of alternating tumult and peace will cement in their hearts the understanding that a part of them exists for one another, a part of them understands and is understood by one another alone.  I wonder, too, if the fighting and apologizing and forgiving and forgetting will forge them into adults who, having been strengthened by the experiences of making peace with one another, are able to humble themselves to forgive and be forgiven.  I don't know, but I pray all of this is so.

Call Off the Search Party!

I have returned safely from yesterday's cleaning.  It was scary.  I wasn't sure I'd make it through the horrors.  But I have survived.  What's more, I found the floor.

Before I proceed, I must issue a heartfelt thanks to a couple of ladies who gave me the courage to face the beastly task.  Amy, Tessa, bless you both.  Your words of understanding, wisdom, and encouragement made all the difference.  I couldn't have done it without you.

To prove I accomplished the task, I'll share a couple pictures of the room.  They aren't like some other pictures I've seen online of cute kid rooms with a mere sprinkling of clutter, little more than pleasant reminders that precious children dwell here.  This is my kids' room on a good day, the morning after I made it my sole mission of the day to eradicate trash and neglected articles of goodness knows what from the room.  So it's neat and clean and all, but it certainly won't make you feel like the ugly girl.

Honestly, though, I'm not posting these pictures for you.  Nope.  It might sound all nice and peachy-sweet for me to say I want to let you, my fellow mother or father, know that you aren't alone, that I don't have it all together, that if I can conquer my boys' room, so can you...  Blah, blah, blah.

The bottom line is: I want proof.  I'm not stupid.  I know that despite my best efforts and most ardent reminders to keep the room clean, I will sooner or later be asking Amy and Tessa and anyone else who will listen to my cry for help (Please...  anyone?), to offer me moral support as I struggle to find the courage to face the monstrous mess.  So I want proof.  Proof that the room was clean.  Proof that clean is indeed possible.


So without further delay, here it is - the clean, though haphazardly decorated room of two young boys...

It does look nice, if I may say so.  It feels nice, too, and I think John especially has enjoyed the peacefulness of playing Legos in an clean, uncluttered environment.  He even picked everything up when he was done.  Sweet.  I could totally get used to that...

Before you ask, yes, I am aware of the glaring gaps in decor, starting with the lack of bed frames.  There is some logic here, somewhere.  It has something to do with one of our children breaking a collar bone falling out of bed at an early age, something to do with holding out for awesome bunk beds...  At any rate, we are aware of that little interior design omission.  Also, Luke's comforter is in the wash.  This is probably just as well, since it doesn't match John's quilt.  

I won't mention any of the other issues.  Maybe if I keep quiet, you won't notice them.  Maybe if you do notice, we can pretend they don't exist. And maybe we can pretend that these two rather large containers are not filled with toys, papers, and other miscellaneous items I didn't have the time or energy to sort or discard of properly last night.  In fact, let's just pretend they don't even exist.  

The Real Picture of a Child's Room (May Not Be Suitable for all Audiences)

Awhile ago, I read an article in which a blogger, in an attempt to encourage other mothers, posted several real-life, as-is children's bedrooms.  The idea was to chase away the guilt and embarrassment mothers feel upon walking into someone else's neat, tidy, almost perfect home by showing that on any given day, everyone's house is a mess.  They might tidy up for company, but show up unexpectedly and no one knows what horrors you might find...

The problem was, first of all, that the rooms shown were all nicely decorated.  Don't get me wrong, I'd love for my children's bedrooms to be perfectly, thematically coordinated.  We've just had other, more important things to do and on which to spend our time and money.  I won't apologize or complain.  It just is what it is.  Despite the frenzied, haphazard decor, however, I have a sense of style.  It may not be the most developed sense of style, but I promise it exists and sometimes cringes  when I survey my surroundings.  What little style has managed to sneak past those demands of life more pressing than home decor is well hidden under the evidence of life...  laundry, books, papers, toys, and yes, that hideous pea-green recliner to which my husband is so attached.  It - style, that is - is also not found in my children's bedrooms, as we have thought more visible areas should receive first priority.  So, seeing cute children's bedrooms with a little bit of clutter on the floor wasn't all that comforting.  It's like the pretty girl comparing a spot tea on her tan shoe to the pot of spaghetti sauce the ugly girl just spilled down the front of her white shirt...

At least that's what it feels like when I compare the photos in that article to (at least) one bedroom in particular.  The bedroom in question is...  is...  there are almost no words to describe it.  I guess the best way to put it would be that it doesn't look like a kid just forgot to put away a few of his toys.  It looks like, on top of a kid forgetting to put away a few of his toys, a three-year-old came in, moved a few things around, pulled down a few shelved toys, dumped out of few boxes of toys, and then proceeded to chuck toys around the room.  Actually, that's a pretty exact description - of what the room looks like and of how it came to look like that.  (And no, I am NOT going to post a picture of that junk online to "encourage" other mothers.  I have some pride!)

You might wonder why, if I am too embarrassed to show the room, I dare to write about the room.  It's this:  I need motivation to clean the room.  Because I'm a little scared to go in there right now.  With a sick kid, two boys engrossed in concocting a mud potion, and the opportunity of an educational field trip this weekend to compensate for any school we might not get done today, our school day has been relaxed enough that I've had a chance to seriously consider attacking the offending room.  I've had pause to ponder the best approach...  sweep, partition, toss, toss, toss...  and what threats and promises I ought to make to rally the troops.  I hope in writing this, I will give myself the necessary courage to begin a job which, once articulated, must be accomplished.

Wish me luck, and send a search party if you don't hear from me by day's end!

A Sweet Paycheck

Based on estimates by various groups attempting to put a price tag on a mother's work, stay-at-home moms should be bringing in somewhere in the $115,000 per year range.  Using the Mom Salary Wizard, one can  calculate of a specific mother's worth based on her location and the time she spends each week performing various "mom jobs" - cook, housekeeper, chauffeur, psychologist, daycare center teacher, etc. The list of a typical mom's "jobs" doesn't include "elementary school teacher," either.  I'm guessing if you added that in, I'd make a penny or two more than $115,000.  That would be a fine paycheck. I know it's not going to happen, but I sure wouldn't mind cashing a check like that.

Then again, there are things on which you simply cannot put a price.  Take, for example, a bedtime conversation with the sweetest, prettiest, most darling girl I've ever met...

"What was your favorite part of the day?" I asked my daughter, as I do at some point in every evening, lest her eyes open wide with dismay when, realizing my mistake, she tells me I forgot to ask what her favorite part of that day was.

She barely stopped to think before answering, "My favorite part of the day was staying with you the whole day."

Now, that is a sweet paycheck to which no amount of cash compares.

Love Is...

I remember a Charlie Brown book my friends and I read together.  It was full of short, illustrated statements of what love is.  My favorite, the only one I remember, was, "Love is walking hand in hand."  Indeed, love takes many forms - and I wish I could remember other examples from the book.  But from the simple sweetness of walking hand in hand to more complex moments shared with the one you love, love expresses itself with a diversity as broad as the human experience.  What we think love entails when we are teenage girls smiling over Charlie Brown's simple view of love is not, we learn over time, the full story.  Love is walking hand in hand, but it is so much more.

As much as I would like to blast the annual extortion of romantically committed or hopeful individuals, I find myself comfortably mulling over what love really is on this Valentine's Day.  It's not flowers, chocolate, fine dining, and fancy jewelry.  Not to shun those, of course, but when the trappings of Valentine's Day become our symbols of love, the standards by which we measure another's love for us, these thing become cliche' and ultimately rather meaningless.  Love isn't a show we put on once a year.

In the tradition of Charlie Brown, here is my list of what love is, heavily influenced by the experience of sharing daily life with four children.

Love Is...

...  leaving hot water, or at least warning each other to wait a little while before getting second shower.

...  parting in the morning with a kiss.

...  throwing open the back door so your toddler can welcome Daddy home.

...  eye contact as he walks through the door, because a kiss would be too hard to coordinate, what with all the kids running around.

...  kissing in front of the kids, once they've calmed down a bit, mainly to gross them out, but also because you kind of still think kissing is fun.

...  watching him turn up the volume so he can hear the dialogue of the cartoon the kids have waited all week to watch.

...  a "date night" consisting of Chinese take-out shared with a bunch of hungry little people.

...  the intricate dance of putting all the kids to bed so you can share an evening together - or just enjoy the quiet.

...  not even caring what's in the theater, because you'd both rather catch up on missed episodes of Masterpiece Theatre.

...  a kiss goodnight.

...  smiling at your sleeping love when you wake up at two in the morning, suddenly aware of your midnight bed-invader who fell asleep after you lifted him up to sleep between his two favorite people.

...  taking said midnight invader back to his bed, when you'd rather tap (pound) your spouse on the arm and say, "Why don't you take him back to his bed?"

...  waking up slowly on a Saturday, reminiscing about the days when you could sleep till noon.

...  not really caring if he brings home Valentine's Day flowers, chocolate, or jewelry, just as long as he comes home.

In a word, love is home.  Cozy, chaotic, and a whole host of other adjectives, it's where we wait and where we return.  It's where we belong.

With that, and with it being right at 5:15, I should probably get our home looking a little more ready for Geoff's homecoming!  ;)

When I Grow Up - (Or, Yet Another Cake Wreck)

From time to time, as I go about the business of raising and educating my children, I ask myself what I would like to do when I grow up.  Rather, when they grow up... and I am compelled to do something else with myself.  The possibilities are endless, and I won't share with you those at the very top of my list because, well, I'd like to surprise everyone when I bust out with something awesome.  ;)  Well, that and a lot of practice and hard work will have to go into the endeavors closest to my heart.  I might fail, I might change my mind, or I might succeed...  Until I know what I really want to do and that I'm committed and skilled enough to give it a go, I'd rather not broadcast what I hope to do.

One idea, however, I think I can share quite freely.

This afternoon, as I frosted cakes for the kids' homeschool classes Valentine's Day parties, I had this brilliant idea of opening a bakery.  Never mind that half of what I cook is a flop...  At least the sweet stuff turns out okay...  Well, most of it does...

But my bakery!  My gimmick, my motto, the thing that would attract the masses is this:

 So Good, You'll Mistake It For Homemade!

Our delicacies, naturally, will not only taste homemade.  They will also look homemade.  At the top of our menu will be this decadent descent into the delicious depths of choco-delight:

What's that?  You're wondering what the heck is under that gooey frosting spill?  My friends, that is no less than a Darth Vader cake.  I can't believe you didn't get it right away.  Sheesh...

So maybe Darth's face had a little trouble saying goodbye to the cake pan...  The important thing is, Darth will taste great, as will the frosting smeared all over his face.  His helmet.  Whatever.  I just hope Andrew's friends will forgive him for letting his mom bring a cake to their Valentine's party.  (It's an all-boy class.  Darth isn't as out of place as you might think).

I guess maybe I shouldn't open a bakery, after all...

This One's for the Girls

Dear Girls,

You might find this hard to believe, but not that long ago, I - a thirty-something mother of four who must seem to have fallen out of a completely different world from the fascinating one you inhabit-  I was one of you.  Don't let the yoga pants, unkempt hair, and watchful, maternal eye fool you.  I had my share of hopes and heartbreaks before living the dream.  (And yes, this is what your dreams will come to.  I am your future, dear girl, and underneath the clutter of toys and laundry, it is remarkably wonderful. Trust me on this one!)  To you, I may seem ancient and out of touch, but once I was young and much like you, full of fanciful dreams of romance and flowers and boys who write poems...  These are all well and good, of course, but time has taught me how much greater love is than a good show.

You are young, in your teens, maybe your early twenties.  You are full of hopes and dreams, and some of those hopes and dreams swirl around the image of Mr. Right.  He is smart, funny, handsome, and absolutely, positively, irremediably  in love with you.  In fact, he probably bears an uncanny resemblance to whatever young man has most recently captured your fancy...

Maybe you are convinced you have already met him.  Maybe you're right.  Maybe you're mistaken.  Maybe you're still waiting for him to sweep you off your feet.  Maybe you're tired of maybe...  So much uncertainty lives in the heart of a girl on the brink of full-blown adulthood.

One thing is certain.  Unless you are legally blind or completely clueless, you've noticed all the pink and red filling the shelves of every store you've entered in the last month.  It's that time of year again, when young girls dream of romance - (if they aren't too busy deriding the overt consumerism of the holiday, but that's another post...).  Maybe your Valentine's Day will involve a romantic meal with Maybe Mr. Right, followed by a movie or, better yet, a walk under the stars, all sights and sounds subdued by the overwhelming sensation of his hand in yours.  Ah, young love...  Enjoy your evening, my dear girl, but reserve at least a little of your heart.  I hate to be a pessimist in the season of love, but this guy, as perfect as he seems, might not be Definitely Mr. Right.  I hope, for the sake of young love, that he is, but the reality is that most girls experience at least a couple disappointments before realizing their dreams.  So share your heart, but use your head.  

For the rest of you girls...  I mean it with all of my heart when I say you are blessed - so long as you refuse to sit home and mope over the absence of Mr. Right.  You are free to grab your best girl friend and enjoy a night on the town.  You can go to Red Lobster or Taco Bell or anywhere your hearts desire.  You can make memories to cherish, long after time has delivered you into the arms of lasting love.  At your age, guys will come and go, and in years to come, you won't think much of any of them.  When you do, it will more than likely be with thanksgiving that God brought something far more precious your way.  

But your best girl friend, your bestie, your BFF if that's still en vogue, she you will always remember with wistful joy.  Sadly but truly, it is entirely possible that as life leads each of you down amazing, beautiful paths, your paths will at some point diverge.  You may end up miles and miles away from the keeper of your youthful dreams.  You might talk every day, rarely, or never. So if you have the chance now, live it up on Valentine's Day.  Laugh at your single status, call each other the best Valentines ever, and know that this is one Valentine's Day you will never wish you'd spent with someone else.  Years from now, when you are pleasantly settled with the man of your dreams and the perfect children you made together, you will look back on this Valentine's Day and wish you could relive it, just once... Because unlike whatever boy you might wish to notice you, your best girl friend will always hold an amazingly precious place in your heart, a place untainted by young love's disappointment, a place made sacred by the shared sorrows and joys of growing into womanhood.  

Cherish her.

And Then There Were Four

It seems not that long ago, I was cleaning up dinner, waiting for Geoff to get home, and suddenly wondering if I ought to be on my way to the hospital to deliver our fourth child.

As it turned out, I probably would have been okay staying home, but we made the hour drive just to be on the safe side.  The baby wouldn't come that night, but the question was whether to induce sooner or later.

I've shared my views on induction before, but for the newbies and the forgetful, the short version is:  I'm not a fan of inducing, preferring to let everything happen naturally, but the circumstances of our first child's birth - he wasn't breathing - - led to our reluctance to risk a side-of-the-highway baby, and our second child's birth - he was born within fifteen minutes of arriving at the hospital - led to our belief that a side-of-the-highway baby was a very real possibility.  So we induced our third and fourth babies.  In retrospect, I wish we'd let them come in their own time, but part of my change of mind comes from the experience of having three healthy, uncomplicated deliveries.  Anyhow...

We decided to induce labor the following morning, rather than later.  Several factors influenced that decision, not the least among them being my feeling that my body had begun preparing for labor and if we went into labor in the next day or so, we might have that breathless highway baby I so feared.  Assurances from the doctor and nurse that the risk of the induction failing were very low.  The nurse actually laughed gently and reassuringly when I expressed concerns that it might not work, and I'd have to have a c-section.


"This is your fourth baby.  Your body knows just what it's supposed to do..."

The natural birth advocate in me cringes a little even as I retell this, and in truth, the labor and delivery process was not what I had hoped it would be.  There were moments when I felt truly discombobulated, as if none of the parts of my body were doing what they were supposed to do and my fragmented mind had no control over any of those renegade parts.  This birth was not the intensely powerful, yet inexplicably peaceful experience I had had with the previous two births (one of which was all natural, one of which was induced).  It was intense.  It was powerful.  It was inexplicable.  Peaceful?  Not so much.  I felt like an absolute mess, arching my back, flailing every which way, bearing down...  Maybe I wasn't as uncoordinated as I felt... I don't know what I looked like, but throughout the five hours it took to deliver our sweet baby boy, I felt completely out of sorts.

Nonetheless, Luke was born - seven pounds, thirteen ounces of perfect...





And then there were four.  Four beautiful children to fill our home with love, laughter, joy, and a large dose of glorious (and sometime gory) chaos...

Soon after he was born, his siblings came to see and hold him.  Elisabeth crawled beside me in the bed and held on for dear life. She and the boys posed proudly for pictures with their new baby brother.  After a couple of days, we brought our baby boy home, where he would grow from a sweet bundle of peace - a baby whose gorgeous, serene brown eyes more than once soothed his weary mother in the time it took to change a diaper - into a whirling force of joy - a boy, a big boy, who charms the socks off everyone he sees and is quick to proclaim that he is his mommy's sweet baby boy.  Yep, that's my Lukie-Pie.

He has enriched our lives immensely.  Full of laughter and always ready with a hug, a kiss, a zebert, or a high-five, I can't imagine life without him.  It seems such a short time since we first saw his beautiful face, yet his face, his whole being, are so integral a part of our lives, it seems he has always been with us.  Surely, we are blessed that God made him part of our family!

Happy birthday to my growing boy!  

May you always walk with joy...

Yes and No

Yes and No.  For being so small, these two words can be so weighty.  The use of either often requires wisdom, courage, and sometimes a little desperation.

Shortly after I became pregnant with my fourth child, I began to withdraw from committees and responsibilities at church.  "I'd be happy to help if there's anything I can do from home," I told people, "but I can't commit to be at a certain place at a certain time."

It was at the same time a difficult decision and an easy one.  Difficult, in that I felt I ought to do more outside caring for my immediate family and surroundings.  I ought to pull my weight at church and in the community.  I ought to jump in and help wherever and however needed.  And yet it was easy. A sober evaluation of my limitations mixed with a little desperation convinced me that I needed to narrow my focus.  I needed to protect and preserve my energies - mental, physical, emotional - and apply them best where I needed to use them most, on the home front.

With two elementary boys to home school and a toddler and a newborn to tend, I sort of felt I'd have enough on my plate to keep me amply occupied.  I feared I would be unable to remember, let alone honor, any commitment I might make to do anything outside of our home.  I was not at all confident that after a day of caring for four children and hopefully keeping our house habitable, I would have any time, energy, or brainpower to perform any additional tasks.  And so I issued a blanket "No" to any and all commitment that would require me to venture beyond the walls of our house at a time I wouldn't otherwise venture out into the world.  I offered to bring desserts and to help as needed in the nursery - since Geoff or I was likely to be in the nursery with the baby anyway, but serving on committees and teaching classes -anything that would cause inconvenience should I be unable to honor my commitment or should I run later that my usual late- that was all out of the question.  I wanted to keep my schedule open should any of the children feel sick, hungry, or clingy.  I wanted to keep my schedule open should I feel the need to rest at home, fellowship with other adults, or just sit and enjoy not being in demand.

It was, I believe, a good choice.  Given the amount of desperation that played into the decision to say "No," to just about everything, I can't honestly call it a wise decision, but it was good.  It gave me the freedom to commit myself fully to my family, adjust to our increased size, and participate in activities without the stress of having to be there.  We did spend plenty of time in the nursery, and I did make plenty of desserts, so it's not like I was totally useless...  And I was still tired, stressed, and run down plenty of times, so it's not like my plan was entirely effective...

Still, "No" gave me room to breathe.

And in time, "Yes" became an option once more.  As Luke has grown older and more independent, I've felt more confident - in him and in myself - committing myself to obligations and enjoyments on the other side of our figurative white picket fence.  It took longer than I might have expected - and there are still things to which I would rather not commit myself - but in the past year, I have felt the baby fog lift enough to teach Children's Church again, start a blog, join a Bible study, train for a 5K (on a couple occasions, though I have yet to run a race), enroll the children in a weekly class...  In short, as I've adjusted to life with four children, and as the youngest of our members has grown more independent, opportunities open and reopen.

And here is where wisdom comes into the picture.  Now I must choose wisely.  Because as simple as it is to issue a blanket "No," issuing a blanket "Yes" has serious side effects.  While "No" may isolate one or keep one from unexpectedly amazing experiences, more often than not, the careless use of "Yes" lands one in a heap of stress.  It is good and right to say, "Yes," of course, provided you are saying "Yes," to the right thing at the right time.  Just because something is good does not mean it is good for you, or for you right now.  We must carefully consider when to say "Yes" and when to say "No."  A poorly timed "Yes" can be as disastrous as a poorly timed "No" can be disappointing.  We must carefully, honestly, prayerfully consider our answers before committing or not committing ourselves to any endeavor, lest we overtax ourselves on the one hand or deprive ourselves of wonderful adventures on the other hand.  That takes a certain amount of wisdom...

And courage. "No" requires a courage that looks beyond expectations to see what is best and refuses to waver when expectations of others and of self seek to take supremacy over what is best.  "Yes," on the other hand, requires a courage that believes in more than what seems possible and dares to make the impossible a reality.

Yes, sometimes desperation is the deciding factor - desperation to shelter what is or desperation to transform what is into what might be.  Maybe there's a little wisdom even in desperation, as if a deep inner someone is jumping up and down, shouting, "Go that way!  Go that way!"

So why am I writing all this today?  Honestly, I'm not entirely sure!  I have enjoyed new experiences lately, so I guess I want to encourage some of you to say "Yes" despite fears of failure.  I've also had to say "No" to other very good things that I wish I'd been able to do, but felt with full peace simply were not the best thing for me or for my family right now.  So, yeah, I want to encourage those of you struggling to say "No," too.  I want you to know that "No" is a perfectly acceptable answer, even when you're saying "No" to something excellent.

Whatever your answer, and whatever combination of wisdom, courage, and desperation lead you to that answer, I pray it leads to peace.  May you march into new, ever-expanding realms with confidence or snuggle in peace in your present, cozy realm.