Maddening Mom Fusings

Reasons for...

2011-09-08T00:25:00.003-04:00

It's been so long since I've posted in the Mad Mom or Mod Mom pages, since our focus has turned to Eldest Son's Big Adventure--the recent launch of his own blogsite, The NoVA Endangered Species Club. For the past year he has devoted himself to learning what he can about endangered animals, picking manatees as his particular pet project, and pouring himself into making a difference. His father, grandparents & I are very proud of the way he's taken ownership of his club, inviting others to join in, leading discussions, and planning with forward-thinking & innovation. I think the KidsServe ministry of Epiphany Church has definitely made an impact on his understanding that even a young child can change the world.

This coming weekend we will be holding a fundraiser for the Save the Manatee Club (in Florida). Up to 1000 people (yikes!) may come buy a cup of lemonade or a bag of popcorn for us on Saturday. I have to be on my toes to help this be a success for our boy.

Since our Classical Conversations community launched Day One today, and I am a first year tutor for the grades 3-4 Journeymen I have been swamped, so I cut off Facebook almost entirely. I'm weaning myself as I hone my focus in on What Matters: My children. My husband. My house. Schooling. Self care.

I confess that I have been too easily distracted by prattle when the Very Good of life is passing behind me. No human being ought to have my back while the screen has my face. This is why I've been less and less present online. My message to the children has been inconsistent. When they battle over an inconsequential thing (toy, magazine, that last crumb on the plate) I chide them for putting "it" (whatever it may be) before their relationship. "People come first," I repeat. "Your sister will always be there for you," I remind my son, contrasting her with the handful of homespun granola he's greedily snatching from her grip. Do not choose to fight over a thing. Choose to serve each other. Give up your grip & release good gifts to your sibling.

A good message for me. I have had this grip on my selfish time alone, apart from my position as heart of the house. I have escaped time & again from the daily drudgery to this online environment. I need to release, repent & reverse my position. I'm reinventing. I'm rediscovering. I'm writing a piece for My Friend Debbie dot com on this topic. The prefix "re-." It's powerful.

Release.

Remove.

Rediscover.

Revive.

Renew!

More later, once the article posts.

Thanks for popping in!

I'm a Twisted Sister...I mean Mother.

2010-12-18T22:49:00.007-05:00

I stopped blogging mostly because I didn't think I had too much new to say, and secondly because if I did have something relevant then it tended (recently) to be too private. I am ever a work in progress. WE--as a family--are always a work in progress. I think I am expecting us to arrive somewhere at some point. Where? Peace, maybe? Yeah. I think I've been seeking a magical, pixie-dust miracle to fall down on this house. I don't know why I expect each new day to bring change, but I do. And then (of course) I am disappointed, because I am still me. And he is still he. And we are still we.

What I mean is that we struggle.

Do you have any wrinkle-free clothing? My husband LOVES these things. He shops almost exclusively at Haggar so that he can have these sleek, handsome, no-iron-necessary shirts. I have to say, publicly, that I am grateful for that choice, because neither he nor I have time for ironing. Neither do we have ROOM for ironing! There are five of us in a thousand square feet, and we dance around the house in high steps because we are all always in each other's way. But, back to the wrinkle-free shirt concept: our family is NOT a wrinkle-free shirt.

Nope. We are more like the two gorgeous blouses I just dragged out of the dryer that had been waiting in there for a few days, buried under a lot of other heavy items. The arms are twisted, the fronts are a mess, and they MUST be steam ironed before I even think of putting them on.

Some clothes you can get away with wearing with a wrinkle here or there, but these are two of my favorite, fine, bought-them-for-my-own-40th-birthday shirts, and they look an absolute mess right now, hanging in my closet beside each other, awaiting my attention. I am not going to give them my attention, though. It's Christmas season--I have too many other things to do, think about, plan. I do not have time to press the wrinkles out.

My life is pretty wrinkled right now, too. We discovered some little mouse "calling cards" (as my mother tactfully calls mouse turds) before Thanksgiving. Our landlord isn't interested in hiring the exterminator again. I discovered an unused poison box in our under-the-stairs storage & relocated it to under the stove. I have heard the mouse (I hope we have just the one!) gnawing that green poison. Gnaw, mouse! Gnaw!! I haven't seen any calling cards in about 5 days. Maybe more. I'm thinking our mouse crawled off to die.

Turned the light switch on in the dining room. FOUR bulbs popped out at once! Brand new bulbs. Landlord is taking her sweet time coming to check out the broken fixture. I have put a free-standing lamp on a side table in the meantime.

Mice. Burned out lights. Christmas is coming.

The house is currently a trashed & wrinkled mess, and so...so am I. I feel beaten up by the hot dryer cycle, myself. I'm still a doubting homeschooler. I still have an independent, high-spirited, creative son whose ways don't always mesh with mine. I still have a marriage under stress as a new job takes shape. I still have a baby in the house, nursing.

I could use a little Christmas miracle. A little UP in my step, instead of high stepping over my three children (& their accouterments!).

So, I am greatly anticipating the post-Christmas I've been promised. My parents are going to whisk my two eldest kiddos away for a smidge--maybe a week? And, tonight, while talking with my sister, I decided. I am going to go find a babysitter for youngest babe, and a nearby slope to ski!

You know what else I'm going to do? Start counseling back up again.

And...I am going to join our church choir.

Having children--having a high-maintenance son with whom I frequently fight--should NOT overshadow my need to feed my soul. I have fed everyone else three meals a day plus in-between snacks, and I have been starving my own self. I will get a hair cut & style. I will get a pedicure & manicure. I will go skiing.

Now, why do I resist this? Because it's so AMERICAN! It's so Western Civilization 21st Century. I wonder, sometimes, how authentic is this need for "me time?" How necessary is it, really? But, then I remember this: women of days gone by have lived in tight community with their siblings, mothers & extended relatives caring for their children with them. They have quite literally had a village help raise their children. We American mothers (we Western Civilized mothers) live in isolation. No matter how many friends I surround myself with, I never feel comfortable calling on them to help as often as I truly need help (which was recently an increasing amount over a year+ of my husband's unemployment). And, frankly, I don't think I can handle helping others as much as they need when I am so twisted & wrinkled, myself. I do not have family living nearby. My husband are I are here alone. So, I guess I have to accept that even if I don't have American radio blasting in my car, American TV glowing in my living room, or American magazines landing in my mailbox, I am an American, isolated Mom. I need a break. I need a little "me time."

So be it. Do so without guilt, Mad Mom! Do it, and refresh! Do it, and bring along your two beautiful shirts with you--pull out an ironing board & some mist & make them beautiful. Your family will thank you, and you don't have to be a martyr!

Amen?

Amen.*

*literally, "so be it!"

What is working for us these days...

2010-11-15T22:52:00.005-05:00

As I work, daily, on getting more sleep, rising before the children, reading the Word of God & journaling at the start of the new day, we are seeing more peace in our home. My mother's dear friend who is a marriage/family therapist told me that I am the heart of our home. I hear the same message through Dr. Rob Rienow's ministry. Rob is also an old friend with whom I have personal history, so I take his words to heart, not just as a professional, guiding parents all over America, but as one whom I know, and whom I trust.

Other things that are working for us besides improved Mommy habits, and my exhausted husband finally having a new job, are the habits we're putting in place for our eldest, in particular. I have made note before of how Logan would benefit from an 1890's farm life existence: rising with the sun, retiring with the sun; lifting bales of hay, pushing plows, strapping saddles on horses; cranking up the water from a well; building a house from the ground up. He needs to move things. Large & heavy things. As a boy with what has been termed "Sensory Processing Disorder", he benefits from what "America's Calm Coach," Kirk Martin, calls "Meaningful Work," and what Logan's occupational therapist terms an "SI diet" of intentional movement. Sometimes that means wearing an extra-heavy vest while working, or bouncing on an exercise ball...but in the context of a farm, none of those unnatural treatments would be necessary. So, we are seeking more natural therapies. He is now required to take out the trash & recycling bins (they go out thrice a week, and are rather heavy!). He loves this task and does it without complaint. Niiiiiice! And, in our Classical Conversations homeschooling co-op, Logan stays after classes end to help clean the rooms. He enjoys pushing the wide sweeper through the halls, stretching to wipe down the white boards, and the quiet that comes with working one-on-one with our CC director.

What is not working, though, is the penny-whistle. All the students in CC are learning their quarter notes, halves, wholes, etc. via penny-whistle training. Imagine for a moment 12-15 untrained children, ages 6-8, simultaneously trying to control their breath to properly present the squeaky, high-pitched notes of a penny-whistle. Now, imagine that this cacophony actually hurts you to hear.

When Logan responded with "I can't" to the penny-whistle lesson it took me a moment to shift from seeing him as obstinate, to recognizing his sensory overload. He is a musical child, but this was not music to him. We swiftly exited the room together. I was glad to have "tuned in" to his needs, instead of going with my original reaction, which was, "You will do this! All the other kids are doing this! Do not distract them. You are no special case here..." but then I realized, he is a "special case," and I let go of my expectations. I think that action was a loving one.

I am still a daily work in progress. I come to this parenting job with too much complicated childhood baggage of my own, but I am growing, and seeing things I have not seen before. As long as I am relaxed and enjoying this ride we're on together, the experience is a joyful one!

Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.
~Ephesians 6:4

Clarifying

2010-10-12T06:13:00.003-04:00

Have heard on more than one occasion that I am putty in the hands of my controlling child. Specifically, there is one woman who has directly said to me, "He has you right where he wants you--wrapped around his little finger." Then again this week she stated generally, "I'm shocked at how people allow their children to act, excusing bad behavior with a label of dysfunction. Bad behavior should never be excused."

Let's be clear. My child was born with "issues" right out of the gate. He did not transition to change well ever--whether from a dirty diaper into a clean one, or from clothed to naked for a bath. He struggled, so I struggled. I came at parenting with loads of child-rearing experience, having been the full-time caretaker (as a nanny) for numerous families over the years. From age 13, when I first helped a child manage his asthma attack while his baby sister cried in the background & his big brother assisted, I have been caring for children almost non-stop. My own child took me completely aback.

No. He does not get away with bad behavior--he is learning to navigate the world, and he doesn't "fit" into it well. Not as it is written here in America. If he were being raised on a farm he'd rise in the morning & run into the fields to pick up something heavy & push it around...and his body would LOVE that! He'd have responsibility for straightening the crooked chicken wire fencing, and be asked to lug water from the well to the house. My son is meant to be involved in heavy physical labor. This mamsy pamsy technical world of pushing keys to write words, and sitting in couches gaining weight while watching TV, or use your thumbs to play video games...that world? That one makes my son seem like a misfit. But, it is this society that is off, not my son.

Just wanted to clear the air on that. I need to remember, always that I have an obligation to bring REAL smells, REAL textures, REAL experiences to my son. I will not send him to a boxed-in world with bricks to the sky that closes in both his body & his creative mind. Just you wait. He'll rise to the clouds, leaving a dust wake. I will advocate for my child, and I will not listen to the condescending words of naysayers!

Be Mt. Fuji!!

2010-10-12T05:33:00.007-04:00

I have stepped away from blogging for a long time--it has been a healthy choice, as I pull more of my energies together for dealing with family issues in real life, and not depending on cyberspace to be my kvetching outlet. I've rediscovered journaling. You know, in those big paper books? Right now I have a full-size 8x10 spiral bound, with a gorgeous Japanese print of storming waters on the cover ("The Great Wave off Kanagawa" woodblock print by Japanese artist Hokusai). This image is a good reminder to me of the emotions of raising a "Special Needs" child.

There is incredible beauty in this famous print--everyone is fascinated by the majesty of storm waves like this! Surfers dream of the once-in-a-lifetime chance to ride one.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s (New York) writes on “The Great Wave at Kanagawa:”

The preeminence of this print—said to have inspired both Debussy’s “La Mer” and Rilke’s “Der Berg”—can be attributed, in addition to its sheer graphic beauty, to the compelling force of the contrast between the wave and the mountain. The turbulent wave seems to tower above the viewer, whereas the tiny stable pyramid of Mount Fuji sits in the distance. The eternal mountain is envisioned in a single moment frozen in time. Hokusai characteristically cast a traditional theme in a novel interpretation. In the traditional “meisho-e” (scene of a famous place), Mount Fuji was always the focus of the composition. Hokusai inventively inverted this formula and positioned a small Mount Fuji within the midst of a thundering seascape. Foundering among the great waves are three boats thought to be barges conveying fish from the southern islands of Edo (modern Tokyo). Thus a scene of everyday labor is grafted onto the seascape view of the mountain.

I believe I am to be Mount Fuji, when my child loses his way. And he isn't the wave--he is the boat, trying to navigate his way among the waves.

Let me, again, refer to Kirk Martin of Celebrate Calm: When your child is losing control right in front of you and you're tempted to join him in his tantrum, be the pillar.

Be the unmoving, unchanging, dependable Mt. Fuji!

I found an image recently, taken from behind, of a little girl leaning against her father, who is leaning against a pillar at the entrance of their home. It's an advertisement, with the slogan, "Protect Your Family," and a subline of, "While Beautifying Your Home." That's it! By being stable, calm & reliable I protect my family. By staying steady and calm, I beautiful my home!

Takes a block print and a print ad to connect with this visual gal. I, of course, cut out the ad. Added it to my journal.

We grow daily. We're still a work in progress. I'm learning.

Maturing

2010-09-22T04:12:00.003-04:00

Eldest Son & I are maturing together. We have been two organisms dependent on each other's behavior, less like ying & yang, and more like a push-me/pull-me llama! Lately, though, as I coach him with some tools he's accomplishing Bigger Things than either he or I have expected. At Classical Conversations co-op he astounded his tutors last week. At church 7-Continents co-op today he chose to share with the group without paralyzing anxiety. The more I let him just grow into himself, and get my hands out of the mix, the better he seems to grow.

Teeth & Face

2010-03-19T20:35:00.003-04:00

Logan ran the water fast, three times.

"I washed my face & brushed my teeth!" he announced to Daddy, who was downstairs. I had been napping in the bedroom & accused back, "You did not," while Daddy asked, "So soon?"

"Well, I brushed my teeth..."

So, the washing face comment was lie #1.

"Logan, you did not brush your teeth," I chided.

"Yes I did."

"No, you did not!"

"Well, I cannot find my toothbrush & toothpaste..."

So, brushing his teeth was lie #2.

"So, when you just said you brushed your teeth & washed your face you were lying!"

"No! I used a different toothbrush!"

"Logan! Stop it! You did NOT!"

We searched the house until we found his overnight bag from his sleepover with his grandma. Inside were his own toothbrush & toothpaste. I went to the bathroom & picked up the only other toothbrush he might have used & it was, of course, dry.

So, using a different toothbrush was lie #3!!

Let me say that this period of Lent has been an absolutely peaceful & healing time for us all. I have separated myself from the computer almost entirely, I have not even peeked on Facebook once, and I have stayed off of caffeine & any alcohol. I feel so sober & in control of my emotions.

But this really got me. In my just-awakened state I yelled at my son--Daddy took away the nightly privilege of reading himself to sleep, and then he cried & cried & cried. So I told Logan that he does not get to lie three times! and get away with it, so stop crying, and accept the consequences! Not reading is a BIG one in our house--it is Logan's peace. I hate taking it away, but the day is done, so there is nothing else of significance in this day.

Deceitfulness does not set well with me...ever! I have told Logan so many times that he will always want to be a child who is trustworthy--and that lying even a little bit causes us, or others, to question his word.

Despite my 3 minutes or so of conflict with Lo just now, however, it was over swiftly. I am so glad to see the more irrational me fading into the distance. It was a good Mommy moment.

*sigh*

The House of the Verbal Son

2010-02-06T21:32:00.009-05:00

Logan's intelligence is demonstrated well when he decides to advocate for himself, as he did tonight. There were many conflicts today--his disrespecting other adults, being rude to other children, and breaking the rules at the dinner table again. By 8 o'clock I'd had it, and sent him up to bed in the middle of dinner.

After about 40 minutes of screaming, fighting, yelling, etc., he called a family meeting! Tom, Teagan & I sat around to listen as Logan told us that first of all, he feels that every time he does one thing wrong he gets in trouble. I reminded him that the things we'd experienced all day that led to discipline were not the first occasions, but most often the third. He may feel like there's always correction, but it isn't reality.

Secondly, Logan listed once we'd fully discussed his first grievance, he feels "chased" all the time. I agreed. He is often chased...when he runs away! Daddy recalled how, this very day, Logan ran when Daddy called him to come. He had spoken rudely to our neighbor, so Tom was asking Logan to do the right thing...and Logan literally ran away. Yes, we can see why he feels "chased."

Thirdly, Logan said he feels like there is yelling ALL the time..and fourthly, that Daddy yells more, adding to Mommy's yelling. We all agree. There is way too much yelling. Even a little yelling is too much, if you ask me! I have never yelled so much in all my life.

The last thing on my mind was remembering that Logan had called out to us earlier in the day that he feels like he's everyone in the family's enemy! I am so sad that he feels this way. I told him that his choices are creating that feeling in him because he is making decisions that do counter the family goals/expectations. He does not "treat others better than" himself when he yells near his sleeping baby brother. He is not contributing to family peace when he throws things in anger, or leaves things undone with an expectation that someone else will pick up after him. Hitting his sister does not lead to family unity.

Teagan had something to say, after some time of listening & evaluating what she could add.

"I feel like my ears break when people yell."

My sweet children. Let's FIX this!!!

*sigh again...*

I have this image that has been popping up lately of my eldest child when he was 2, and barely verbal. He was blond, curious, handsome, and sweet as pie. Thinking of the contrast between that innocent child peeking his smiling head around the tree to look right into my lens, and this morose boy I'm battling with every day, now, makes me tear up. There is so much sadness in me...so little joy.

H o w t o f i x t h i s?? Is the question...

Baby Boy Joins Our Clan

2010-01-17T18:29:00.002-05:00

Our third born joined us in November--he really does seem perfect--so alert, aware, flexible, tolerant, easy & sweet. He projects peace & brings me great joy! I thank God for choosing us to be a part of his life.

Stephen.

Fuming is not a pretty face...

2009-10-25T14:11:00.014-04:00

..and it's all over me right now. I am so fed up with my child telling me he "needs help" for the most SIMPLE task asked of him DAILY!! EVERY SINGLE DAY starts the same:

I'm hungry
I'm making breakfast right now
But I'm hungry now
Well, go make your bed & get dressed while you wait
No, I'm want to eat something NOW (as he reaches for an apple)
Put that apple back, Logan--breakfast will be ready in ten minutes; please go make your bed & get dressed first, and then you can eat!

Simple rule: Make Your Bed & Get Dressed is the same EVERY day, so if you just rise & do that as a ritual, you will not see your mom get upset. Learn the rule, change your world...

I need help making my bed
Do your best, and then I'll help you
But it's too much work!
It is not, Logan. Just pull the corners to the top--I'm not asking for a perfect bed, I'm asking you to give it your best effort
But I NEED HELP!
Logan, listen. Pull one corner of the sheet to one corner of the bed--that's it. Go now & do that!

I walk away and go back to breakfast-building. He doesn't need help creating elaborate two-level train track set-ups, nor in drawing complex highway designs, and he doesn't need help riding his two-wheeler for hours on end. He doesn't need help spreading toys through all five rooms of our small house--no troubles at all moving toys AWAY from where they belong, but come evening, when we ask him to put them BACK where they belong there is whining, whining, whining all the way. He doesn't need help spreading the blankets across his bed & his sister's to form fun tents to hide under--tucking, then, is easy! But, I'm not even asking him to tuck in this bed-making exercise--just lift the sheets from half way down to the top. That's it!

How many of you parents have gotten out the trash bag? I only ever had it done to me ONE time. You know why? Because I learned that my father was SERIOUS. My children do not take me seriously when I ask them to clean up. They get easily distracted and start playing instead of cleaning. It isn't ten seconds into the "clean up" that they are setting up more toys in play.

Are you cleaning or playing?
Oh! Um...OK, we're cleaning...

It doesn't seem to matter what I do to help, really. I have set up the neatest & most organized room in America with LABELS on every drawer and box--Space toys go here...LEGO bricks go into the huge drawer labeled LEGO!!!! Cars go into the car bag...there is a HUGE canister that says LINCOLN LOGS on it, and another that says TINKER TOYS...everything is OBVIOUS and needs to go in the right place. There is a toy box we call the Animalia box for all toys that represent living things...EVERYTHING HAS A PLACE!!

So, we keep reducing the THINGS the kids own by scooping them up into trash bags..and this is NOT working for any of us! I do it in anger, they scream NOOOOOOOOO! and then my throat is hoarse and our relationship is in need of mending...

I have tried to set up more of a rewards system (praise like crazy & sometimes even stars &/or special privileges when the work is done well...), but I do not want my kids working towards the STAR, I want them to work towards OBEDIENCE. I have read them stories about children who had legitimate CHORES to do every day (like Laura Ingalls Wilder), and encouraged them to be thankful for their tasks, not to whine & complain about them...

We have watched videos of other children in other countries who sweep every morning, go out to collect eggs from the chickens, and always do their dishes...but gratefulness & thankfulness do not come...

So, I said to my husband this morning, "It's time to move to a farm & give the children a horse which they have to feed & tack every single day!" Well, that's impossible right now, and I KNOW it is an extreme, but how did my children end up so spoiled!?

I need you to set the table, Logan. Please put these cups down at your setting.
I don't want to set the table.
Then you won't eat. We are all part of a family, and we each have a role to play. Set the table, please.
(I get silence from him, so I drink his cup of rice milk...)
Nooooooo!!! I wanted that milk!!
Well, you chose not to take it to the table, so I drank it.
I wanted THAT MILK!!

These are real conversations that have all taken place today...it's 2:30 and I am exhausted from the uphill battle of training up my child in the way he should go.

I cleaned up the toy room--all the rest is Teagan's
Please put Teagan's things away, too...
But I don't know where they go...
Logan, the dolls go in the trunk and the doll clothes go in the pink box that says "Doll Clothes..."

It's never-ending.

Like this whiney post...

I'll go see how he's progressing, give him a little hand and then I think we'll both go eat an apple.

I know some are going to read this & say My Expectations Are Too High. Really?! Then what expectations do YOU have for YOUR children? By age 6 1/2, you don't think they should clean up after themselves? They're doing that in PRESCHOOL, aren't they? You know, in the institutions where everyone sings the memorized. "Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere; clean up, clean up, everybody do your share..."? Yeah...I think for a family that is ALWAYS together, everyone needs jobs...and if they were rolling off to school in the big yellow bus their art teacher would want her brushes cleaned in the chrome sink after art class, and their books would go in their lockers before lunch, and their lunch trays would be carried BY THEM to the cafeteria kitchen, and the librarian would appreciate the consideration of not finding books strewn all over the floor after Library Hour. Oh, yes, all kids at age 6 1/2 have tasks to do...

Unbinding Those Family Ties? Maybe not...

2009-10-14T01:42:00.008-04:00

Today was my cousin's birthday--she's 6 years my junior--so I called to catch up a bit, and found myself, once again, encouraged in my Christian faith and as a parent who was born into a family of great adversity & dysfunction. My sweet cousin, who's been through some hellish experiences, lifted me up on her birthday, when I should have been spending my time giving her a boost. But, she said it was nice to feel "needed" as she also spent time on the phone with two friends going through rough days, too. What a better way to spend a birthday, actually, than to help others, and feel the purpose of your life? Cool.

This was not an easy nor simple day for our household, and by this evening my husband & I were again diminished of energy, creativity & parental wisdom. For brevity's sake, I will not share details, but tell you only that it was One of Those Days with our son. They seem to be coming more frequently, and hitting us harder...we find ourselves lost in this maze of complexity & sensitivity. My mom nailed it when she called Logan "the canary in the mine." His behavior ebbs & flows with the stress levels in our home.

Aw, what's to stress about? Let's see...Tom lost his job on August 31st; we have a 3rd child coming in 6 weeks (or less) & I'm experiencing daily early contractions; Tom's new job (based on the wonderful offer he has yet to fully accept) could mean a lengthy commute for him every day, or a move for us out of state; we've rearranged the children's rooms to make space for Baby Stephen, encroaching on Logan's sense of privacy & individualism...hmmm...stress? What's that?

Logan isn't yet seven--so how does a 6 1/2 year old express his own stresses, worries and/or anxieties? Oh, it ain't purty. Not at all. In fact it's so ugly as to be frightening to his parents.

We cannot change some things--Baby is coming & Daddy has a necessary job transition--but we can monitor our responses to the external issues. After many years I still recall a sermon by our former pastor, Vince Antonucci, about our CHOICES in responding to exterior stresses--we do not have to "stress out" when stressful situations are thrown at us. Choice is the important word. I was confessing to a few girlfriends over dinner & dessert tonight that I do not always choose well in this moment (or others like it)--in particular, I've given lip service to TRUST. I may be saying my faith is in Christ to meet our needs, but then I find myself worrying, anyway. This is contradictory. Faith is the opposite of worry--Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1)!

The "Word" that really hit me from my first cousin, tonight, was one that met me where only she knows me--as a woman who had an irrational, perfectionist grandma. Our parents (siblings of each other) also live as perfectionists, and my cousin & I have inherited the same challenge--to serve Christ, and recognize Him as the ONLY perfect man, while striving for the irrationally flawless life, based on childhood foundations of perfectionism. I've written on this topic before, because it truly is the "thorn in my side." My cousin encouraged me that as much as I try to protect or shield my children from inheriting the streak that we live with, I cannot. I am who I am because of who Dad and my grandmother are/were, and there isn't much I can do to truly "save" my kids from knowing that aspect of me. I should fully be myself, with explanations for the "why" of it, always striving to improve myself as a maturing human being, but not trying to override what is reality.

Truth is, we girls (my sister, cousin & I) had a certain childhood--we cannot erase it, and we are each very strong & determined women both in spite of and because of that upbringing. As I pretend to be a more well-rounded and unaffected adult, I am in denial of this childhood--and I do see myself fighting against that every day! I do not want to give my kids the "bad bits" of what I lived, so in a relatively desperate attempt to prevent them the injuries I experienced, I overcompensate, and end up causing the very environment to rise up which I am trying to squelch! Perfectionism leads to judgment. Perfectionism leads to extreme expectations. Perfectionism is an impossible standard! Perfectionism leads to dissatisfaction, short-temper, and misery.

One dear friend of mine shared with me how he purposely chooses imperfection in life to help him ease up & relax. He wants the imperfect to come into his life to remind him of his own imperfections--I like his philosophy! How can I embrace the less-than-perfect to loosen up and enjoy my life, more? Why are my concerns about my children's futures so heavy on me, when I ought to be concentrating on their present?

My uncle says I take everything too seriously. He's right!

Here's my honest inventory of my worry: I worry that my children will judge the veracity of God's Word based on my ability to live out a life of faith. I worry that as they rebel from me, they will rebel from Christ. I worry that I have already caused enough "damage" from my own hypocritical life to have directed them down that path of doubt & disbelief. Yes, I do have a high expectation of them--and of myself--because I watched how rebellion destroyed so many lives in my family, when the introduction of drugs and/or alcohol took up residence. I really worry about that!. I am trying to prevent tragedy & destruction through my own life...! That's crazy, isn't it?

Now that I have that off my chest, I return to a previously exposed reality--the Good News that Jesus is SO much bigger than my faulty parenting! By worrying about those stupid things--things totally out of my control, like the future choices my children will make--I am denying God HIS place in my kids' lives! How can I think my influence is stronger than that of the HOLY Spirit!? What an asinine &, frankly, self-righteous way to think!

Kevin Lehman comes back into my head again reminding me that my kids don't need a perfect parent--they just need a good parent!

Heaven help me finally get this wisdom into my dense brain!

I know that God gave me this child (all of my children, but particularly my firstborn) to be a Teacher to me--to help me grow, mature & improve myself. He is a wonderful mirror.

Have you ever caught your own face in the mirror during an angry moment? Oh, no, that is NOT the picture I want of myself. Delete! When I see my son's angry face gritting teeth at me it is more than anything a reflection of my own attitude--it's no wonder I want him to wipe that face off! I do not like that in me so I HATE to see it reflected back at me.

Once again I go to bed praying for a more even day, and imploring the Holy Spirit to reign in me!! *sigh* Can I be a better student of these Life Lessons, for crying out loud? Live evenly. Love fully. Chill out!!

"Little More"
~Jennifer Knapp

Turn Your eyes from on this way
I have proved to live a dastardly day
I hid my face from the saints and the angels
Who sing of Your glory
What You had in mind
Through my weakness shines shines, show me grace

CHORUS:
A little more than I can give
A little more than I deserve
On earth is holiness I can't earn
It's a little more than I can give
A little more than I deserve (yeah!)

For all the sin that lives in me
It took a nail to set me free still,
What I do I don't want to do and so goes the story
What You had in mind
When we seek we'll find, shine, show me grace

CHORUS

With all this motivation I still find a hesitation
Deep in my soul (ohh..)
Despite all my demanding I still find You understanding
Show me grace show me grace I know is...

CHORUS

Intention vs. Reaction

2009-09-25T19:37:00.003-04:00

I pretty much hate that I only post here when I've failed at patience and grace--because it paints a picture of me as a hard-nosed mom. I want everyone to know that when I am NOT posting we are just having too much fun to stop & write up a blog entry--or if those days are as beautiful as I'd hope, then my entries are on my twin sister site, Modern Mom Musings, with light & airy photographs to boot. So, after my last post, which I also put up on my Facebook Wall, I got some direct & relatively harsh words from one dear friend, who said I am too hard on my kids. Not that she thinks I am too hard on them, but simply that I am too hard on them. Frankly, it makes me want to stop writing, because I think that is a serious misperception of the reality of our family life, and I think that by demonstrating my Jekyll & Hyde sides online I've neglected to demonstrate the full depth of our days, and may appear a little bipolar or manic/depressive. I believe my children have had, thus far, a very rich childhood, full of all the joys that kids hope for--they walk barefoot in streams, catch caterpillars and watch them spin cocoons, vacation with their grandparents and extended family in four states, and have hugely creative brains overflowing with joy & storytelling that blows my mind every day. They are picking up knowledge about the world in an organic, natural and almost transcendently gorgeous way.

So, am I making a mistake by blogging the missteps I make along the way?

I've thought about that more than any other question in relation to this blog and its purpose, but I conclude that writing about my anger & temper & struggle is supremely important. I know many have shared with me (in comments here, in personal emails & offline in real life) that they find themselves helped by my openness. I cannot see giving it up, regardless of who might misunderstand our realities, because I think there is too much good in having this ground for airing the darkest hours, and in the other space for delighting in our highest risings! So, I will continue to write when the spirit moves me, and hope that my words are used for good--to encourage others that they are not alone in the roughest moments.

I say this especially as a homeschooler. Many times when I've confessed my struggles with friends whose children are not home educated, they respond with what I see as a knee-jerk reaction, by suggesting that maybe we shouldn't homeschool, as if the act of homeschooling is creating our problems, so we just need to remove that element from the picture.

I think the contrary is true--that homeschooling brings to the surface issues that need to be managed & dealt with every day, and that we homeschooling parents are forced into necessary avenues of change as we learn from our children where we are weak. I've been dealing with temper issues since I could sic a serious Evil Eye on my parents by age 7. These anger points in me are not new--ask my sister, ask my mom, ask my husband. What is new is that I have to face down my demons daily, instead of pretending they are not there until they surface at the least opportune moments (like once at work when I lost my temper with a colleague). Now I am humbled daily, and more in prayer than ever, and I am able to make right with my kids in ways I never could with my own dad. Sure, we have an imperfect home--but I love that we are all growing together!

So, my daily intention is to live a life of purpose, to be open to growth and change, to be honest about my struggles, and confess when I'm wrong. I want to be humble enough to admit my defeats, while also always hopeful enough to strive toward perfection. If I am misunderstood here, or elsewhere, I think that comes down to the problem with technology--that conveying our true selves in a flat atmosphere gives a 2-dimensional perspective of who we are. It's like Facebook, right? 523 people list me as a "friend," but how many of them would I feel as open with to cry on the phone as I did today with one of my all time dearest friends in the world? Can I count those gals on one hand? Yes. Only about five ladies know me deeply enough to get the full dimensions of me and read what I write in context with that understanding. I praise God for those women! I am fortunate to have found souls with whom I am so dearly connected, despite time & distance!

So, to all, dear & distant, I apologize if I come off as a mean ogre. I don't think I really am. I think I am deeply human, and maybe a little too honest about my junk, sometimes, but hopefully that openness just leads others to not hide "secrets" in their own homes out of fear of judgment. Today's parenting world is so difficult, full of so many pressures, and if we come to the end of ourselves every once in a while, I believe it is crucial that we grant ourselves grace. I know I have to. Again, I hope this is only a help to you all, not a hindrance in your own attempts to walk as righteous a parenting path as possible.

Clearance

2009-09-15T06:49:00.004-04:00

Logan bought back his jets--his grandma was visiting & gave each child $3 cash at the airport when she left. Logan had already saved almost enough to get the jets. When we counted his coins we found he was slightly shy of $10, so I told him they were on a clearance sale--two for $9--and he had most definitely earned them back (you might recall my original price was $10 each--ridiculous, really!). It was fun for us both because he felt a real sense of accomplishment, a lesson about responsibility was taught, which I hope sunk in, we got a math lesson out of it, he was excited I'd put them on "sale," and I didn't have to carry that guilt of having done away with something so valuable to him.

My mother's mother was an identical twin. When Grandma thought her children were finished with a certain toy or play thing, she often passed it on to her sister's children (or other friends). To this day my mom has memories of some of her favorite items being passed on without her knowledge or "permission," and recognizes those actions as hurtful. It isn't my intention to harm my child's psyche, and I work on the repair aspect of our relationship daily. But certain actions will most certainly remain in his heart and memory long past when I wish they would. He may never forget yesterday, for example, when his new LEGO club magazine came in the mail--I asked him to wait to read it until we were in the car headed for Cub Scouts, as I was teaching a lesson of Scripture memorization, and needed his full attention. My back was turned as I wrote on the white board, and when I looked over at him he was reading LEGO. I said, "Logan, give me that magazine--I asked you to wait until we were in the car!" Now that was all I intended to do--just take the magazine and not allow him to have it in the car, but then wait longer (like till bedtime). Sadly, however, he didn't give me the magazine, he just put it down on the floor.

Some would argue with me for sure that the point was that he stopped reading it, but I didn't see it that way--I saw him as having piled defiance on top of disobedience. So I took the magazine and tossed it into the recycling bin with Tom's full support.

At bedtime Logan was crying that he wanted me to go get the magazine out of recycling. I told him I couldn't do that because he had disobeyed and then defied me, and I wouldn't be a very consistent mom if I gave it back to him now. He was practically begging me to have it back--and my heart was cringing with indecision. I don't like to see him hurting, and I had the power to change that. But, it was past bedtime, and he was ultra tired from Scouts, and I knew that I couldn't give in.

I talked to Tom about it at bedtime, and we thought about this grace factor which so many friends have been encouraging me to salt our parenting with. What does that grace look like? Does it mean responding to his cries then? How would Jesus respond to me if I asked for a reversal of discipline or punishment? I know other parents who don't like that word, "punishment," at all, seeing it as shaming. Shaming is a big no-no in today's parenting traditions. You do not want to shame your child into a guilt-ridden self concept...

But I have said, "Shame on you!" to my children more than once, when they knew the good that they ought to do but chose a different path, and it ended up badly for both them and another (typically, the family). I grew up with so many "parental" influences over the years (five grandparents, three parents, many babysitters) who gave me mixed messages in this area. I love the stronger, more silent, firm messages of correction which were gentle, and they do stand out for me as memories as clear as the harsh, bitter, angry corrections. Yet, I find myself incapable of opting for the more gentle, or "graceful," on a regular basis, despite my boldest attempts to chase away the negative influences on my parenting.

As Logan is 6 1/2, Teagan now rounding her way toward 4, and Stephen on his way into this world, I feel like I have time to correct myself still, in Teagan's & Stephen's upbringing, for certain, but how much "damage" has been done in Logan?

I think Santa will return Logan's LEGO Club magazine in his stocking this Christmas...I'd like Logan to have it, and I'd like to extend grace, but I also do not want to communicate to him that he gets what he wants by manipulating me. Once he knew, last night, that I wasn't going to retrieve his magazine from the backyard bin he went from a nice quiet bedtime talk with mom to anger & rage really quickly. He stomped around the house and came at me aggressively. What then? Certainly no reward for that kind of behavior!

Parenting is such a conundrum--such a twisting of my heart and confusion of my brain! Such a dredging up of my past and a need for reconciliation between that old me and my faith in Christ. I hope I get enough right along the way to see my children grow to be healthier than I, but I fear that I am passing on the generational burdens I have carried without even intending to. In fact, my intentions are all about ripping those roots of my history up out of the deepest earth beneath my feet! Every time I think I've moved forward in maturing my faith and my mothering, I find myself with a wet face in prayer, desperate again for the Lord's forgiveness, the Holy Spirit's wisdom, and the reformation of my soul.

*sigh*

It's a new day. I am awake before anyone, having had less sleep than any, and ready to begin my day right--reading the Word of God, praying on my knees for my children, and having a healthful meal ready for them when they rise. This is the best I can give today, and I will grind out the grit in me day by day until I can shine with Christ's light better than ever. Never reaching perfection, but always striving for it.

II Corinthians 13 was given to me on a women's retreat in the summer--it was a real eye-opener and gift from God to hear this read from the pulpit in a monastery in Newport News, Virginia, sitting beside one of my dearest friends right after a long discussion along the very lines of this post. Here are three sections that stood out, particularly:

vs. 7 Now we pray to God that you will not do anything wrong. Not that people will see that we have stood the test but that you will do what is right even though we may seem to have failed.

vss. 9 & 10 We are glad whenever we are weak but you are strong; and our prayer is for your perfection. This is why I write these things when I am absent, that when I come I may not have to be harsh in my use of authority--the authority the Lord gave me for building you up, not for tearing you down.

vs. 11 Finally, brothers, good-by. Aim for perfection, listen to my appeal, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you.

So, now, peace. I pray for peace in this day.

Amen.

Overdue Follow-Up

2009-08-27T23:33:00.003-04:00

My decision about Logan's items, removed from his room on that conflictual day in June, was to allow him to buy back his three favorite remnants: the Titanic model and the two Blue Angels jets. The jets will cost $10 each (that was their original cost), and I have not set a price on the Titanic. He gets $1 a week for allowance, divided into donation (10c), savings (10c), investing (10c) and spending (70c remaining), so it will take 11 weeks for each jet. HOWEVER, having lost his first tooth recently, he's $1 closer to one jet.

In fact, I might just use these items as rewards for some big thing--but the fact that he has not spent money on anything at all recently in hopes of getting closer to a jet is awesome!

I'm working very hard on a mercy/grace balance with discipline/consequences in our home. Tom & I are getting closer to that balance day by day, but still slip often. Humility is key--knowing that we will always fall back on our old & bad habits without Christ's help & our own awareness keeps us ever-alert to what needs change. I keep having conversations with friends about how parenting shapes & matures us. One friend, tonight, reminded me of the refining process of going through difficult times. Change is hard when you're 39. Admitting you have huge foibles that must be addressed is, at the very least, humbling.

So, I am thankful for the conflict if it helps me mature into a finer parent, wife & human being. I want to reflect Christ's light, not my own inner turmoil & baggage, as my life goes on. $10 an item might be a bit steep, eh? Considering that was retail? Shouldn't I sell back at wholesale? Reconsidering those price tags. One really solid "good" day around here and I may find myself generous at accepting $5 for a jet...

Clean Sweep.

2009-06-20T16:19:00.007-04:00

Headache & exhaustion.

Let the kids look at a photo slideshow while I took a nap right beside them.

After the slideshow I reinforced that Logan needs to clean his room; we've been going on about this for WEEKS, so I told him that if he did not, then I would. He clarified his understanding that I meant I'd come in with a trash bag. Daddy told him last night that this would be the last day things could be on his floor...

We have explained to him that if his belongings are all over the floor, then it means they have no value to him, because he doesn't mind stepping on them. It's gotten so out of control that single ripped-out sheets of magazines are all over, and LEGO bits cover all surfaces. I sat in there with him earlier & put books in the shelves as he handed them to me, but then told him he'd have to do the LEGO blocks himself.

During my nap, he did nothing. I warned him one final time that if I walked into his room & he was not picking up, then I'd be coming in with a bucket.

Of course...Logan & Teagan were in her room, instead of his, and they were throwing stuffed animals all over the place. Is that what was asked of him? NO! So, I got a basket & started scooping up everything on the floor--both children were screaming, "No! No! No! Stop!!" while I did it--and I was not happy about doing it, with a headache, tiredness, and disobedience all mixing together to equal one lovely mothering moment. I did a brilliant job this morning dealing with a similar situation downstairs, in which I totally kept my cool--but not this afternoon. Nope!

Every item that went into the basket was thrown in with a full force of energy--BOTH of his F-18 jets (Blue Angels) into the basket; parts of his favorite LEGO Mars constructions, GONE; cars, trucks, train tracks...I just kept grabbing & tossing, grabbing & tossing. Do I feel any better? Not so much. Do they? For sure not! Earlier this morning he lost his Titanic for the exact same behavior--refusing to pick up something he'd just played with & scattered all over the living room (he lost that thing, too, but the Titanic went away when he threw a piece at his father).

I feel so often like Logan corners me into one of these moments. We try to be gentle & guide him to do the right thing, and we give him boundaries & time limits--then he whines that he cannot do it himself, and so we help a little to get him started, but then after demonstrating the "how," we want to see him do it himself--it's important!

I only remember my dad clearing my bedroom with a trash bag one time. I learned quickly. He told me the exact same thing I just told Logan: if it's on your floor, it's garbage.

I'm not talking about some artful build that's on the floor; I'm talking about C R A P. A huge nasty mess of clutter. A dump! A catch-all.

I just cannot live like that. Sure, sure, it's HIS room, but he's SIX! And, his room has been starting to creep into the rest of the house because he can't enjoy his room anymore--it's impossible to move around! How can he find a good book across the room, where he has to cut a path through the crud to get to the shelves, only to find half of the books strewn all over his reading nook pillow? Unmanageable. Dysfunctional.

So, it's a clean sweep, and there are fewer things to think about, but sadly, many items that remain in his room are now missing some really important parts.

Will I actually throw this stuffed bag into the dumpster? Donate it to the local thrift store? I don't know. Maybe they'll go into a box at the back of my closet. All I know is that he may not have them back. I hate this fight, and it goes on day after day after day.

Fun stuff!

*sigh*

Twelve Steps off the Computer...

2009-06-18T12:38:00.003-04:00

1. I am powerless over connecting online, & my life has become unmanageable.

2. Jesus can restore my sanity.

3. I need to turn my will & life over to Christ DAILY.

4. I have made a searching & fearless moral inventory of myself.

5. I admit to my family & myself & to God, the exact nature of my wrongs.

6. I am entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. I am humbly asking Him to remove my shortcomings.

8. I have made a list of all the people I have harmed, and want to make amends to them all.

9. I have made direct amends to such people.

10. I will continue to take personal inventory, and when I am wrong, promptly admit it.

11. I am seeking, through prayer & meditation, to improve my personal relationship with Christ, praying only for knowledge of His will for me, and the power to carry it out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these Steps & Christ's grace, I will try to carry this message to other addicts & practice these principles in all my affairs.

Think I'm an extremist? Well, every time I get sucked into Facebook, or online games, or checking frantically for new emails, I lose time...I lose a sense of boundaries (like bedtime, and mealtime, and the like). I am willing to step forward & say, this is truly an addiction! It's not pornography, or alcohol, cigarettes or drugs...but it's like a drug--there is some need in my brain that is being fed by all these little electrons--& I'd prefer to pick pea pods off the struggling plant my kids & I grew in our backyard than sit here in this chair that's giving me varicose veins! Hear me?

So, less of the Mad Mom Fusing is a really good thing. So, celebrate with me! ;-)

Ciao for now.

Breaking the Cycle

2009-05-19T09:58:00.002-04:00

Hey! Our day is already starting off better! Here we are in happy days!

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Thank God for Friends!

2009-05-18T17:47:00.009-04:00

Two dear friends have encouraged me that Grace will speak more to my son than Punishment; that we'll probably need to break away from our "routine" here & step back a little; that a trip to VA Beach could be the balm we all need; but mostly that God does not chase us down till we do what he asks! He extends grace after grace after grace.

Thank God for that!!

"But consider the joy for those corrected by God! Do not despise the chastening of the Almighty when you sin. For though He wounds, he also bangages!" Job 5:17,18.

"By Mercy and Truth, inquity is purged..." Prov. 16:6

Seven down; 9 to go! (p.s. the 7th was immediately folded, stuck in an envelope, stamped & put into the mail. Logan was quite eager to get it to his best buddy. It was a BEAUTIFUL map of Eastern Europe with a border in place between East & West Germany, even! I didn't have a chance to scan it before he'd licked the envelope closed, but maybe I can ask his mom to let me photograph it after they open it.

;-)

On the edge...!!!

2009-05-18T16:14:00.004-04:00

I cannot do this!! How can I keep on my son moment after moment for the same task? How can I dedicate myself to homeschooling him if he refuses to follow-through on one simple task? I have asked him to write thank you notes. We broke it up into small groups--work on 6 at a time--he writes simple words, "Thank you for___" and "Love, Logan." That's IT! Do you know how many of the 16 have been finished? THREE! Do you know how many days we've been working on this? MORE THAN THREE!!! Try three WEEKS!!

I just screamed to high heaven because I keep asking him to FINISH the task, and he keeps getting distracted & choosing other things to do instead. I find him on the floor playing with cars. I call him back to the table. He complains that he's hungry; I fix him lunch. He says he wants to play outside; I tell him not until he finishes six thank you notes from today's plan, and the last part of three he left undone from yesterday.

JUST DO IT, and it will be DONE! Just do it & we can all go outside! Just do it & we can go on our vacation to Virginia Beach! JUST DO IT and we can make the banana bread I have ready to go, here. NOTHING is getting accomplished, because he is sitting & staring at me & sitting & staring at the paper. THREE. How on earth will 16 get written!?!? All of us are suffering as Logan CONTROLS us all. He holds onto my emotions--and I am letting him! What on earth!?!?

Well, this is my promise to Logan. If he cannot finish his thank you notes from his 6th birthday before Thursday morning, then we will NOT go to Virginia Beach for the weekend. This is a punishment to Teagan & me as well, as I have a meeting to attend on Thursday night....but, I have to hold my ground! AND, if he cannot finish his thank you notes at all, then we will NOT throw him a 7th birthday party with friends & gifts next year. If he cannot practice gratitude, than we will not invite others to even think about giving to him. Forget it! What can I teach my son if I cannot teach him to say THANK YOU!?!?!

I am so heated & hot & ticked off. I am HATING the person I am turning into! I slammed my fist on the table & yelled at him! That hurt my hand, and poorly displayed how to deal with anger! I am HATING my times with my son! Do you hear me confessing to you? I am NOT enjoying our time together! We have tried, as a family, to create really wonderful experiences--we went to Baltimore and had a magical day for Mother's Day and plan to go into DC for Memorial Day. We found tadpoles in a puddle, and are raising 16 to adulthood (they now have little legs!). But, you know what? NONE of that counts to me when I find myself straining my voice after a screaming fit with him. He stares at me. I glare back.

This is horrible!

Frankly, all I can do right now is ask OTHERS to pray for me. I am so lost. How could a 6-year-old have me so confounded? How can a 6-year-old be UNDOING me?! How can I be SO convicted about homeschooling, but want to DROP HIM OFF tomorrow and let someone else work on this? My son will not and does not listen to me. He thinks I am a joke.

This is one part hormones, one part frustration, one part missing a GORGEOUS day, one part life baggage, and a whole lot of devil getting in. I am losing against my son. I am so lost.

Some Kind of Cocktail!

2009-05-14T22:32:00.002-04:00

I am so out of sorts--I am snapping at everyone in my household, have no sense of humor, and am watching my joy disappear. What is this? Pre-partum depression? It's awful!

Think I might hire a nutritionist 'cause the allergist didn't do squat for me. Advised I give up foods (for baby's allergy sake) which I am already OFF! Dairy. Eggs. Wheat. Nuts.

Aw, foggitaboutit!!

Feel like I've swallowed some kind of wretched concoction that is overwhelming my brain with all sorts of sanity inhibitors! Who is this woman? The kids & Tom are bowled over, and I don't even know how to apologize any more.

Ech.

Whirling Dervish

2009-05-12T19:37:00.018-04:00

I scheduled the appointment a week ago--Teagan's eczema has subsided so significantly, I'd like to retest her food sensitivities so we can introduce some foods we've been keeping out of her diet for nearly a year now, and see if we have any new foods to eliminate for a while. While we're at it, I feel that my overly sensitive reactions to the kids over the past couple weeks have been related to diet, as well. What is it that I am or am not eating that is keeping me on edge? Sure, I'm hormonal, at 12-weeks pregnant, and I feel hungry pretty much all the time, but are hormones the main culprit? Or could my reintroduction of dairy and chicken be the problem? I've begun eating many of the items on my list lately--wheat, too, like there's never been a problem. I think I've just grown weary of being challenged, and want to find normalcy again. Especially now, when I feel continually bloated in the center of my core, like there's a little inflated bubble that won't pop. Pressure. Ech.

When I scheduled the appointment I put Logan on the agenda, too. His temper is certainly triggered by foods, and I'd like to have him tested, too. He overheard me making the appointment and freaked out, yelling at me that he is NOT going to get tested EVER! I refused to engage in the argument, saying we could discuss it later, but that the three of us have an appointment at the allergist, and that I believe his behavior is triggered by certain foods that might not be good for him.

Well, the week went by. He remembered to remind me several times that he would not be seeing the doctor. I told him that he goes where I go, and that Teagan and I have to see this doctor, and that I want Logan to also see him. Again with the fists in the air & gritting teeth and demands and threats. Again, I remained calm, and told him I was not going to argue.

This morning, as we dressed and got ready to go, Logan, again, insisted that he would not be party to this experiment.

We drove to the appointment, walked up one flight of stairs (since Logan's sensitive stomach refuses the elevator), and entered the office. Logan wanted to whisper to me the same message. I told him we were all here to discuss our issues with the doctor, that I didn't know what the doctor would do with us today, but that he needs to come in with us.

Nurse enters. We are requested on the scale. Teagan willingly walks on--38# of cute! Logan, when asked to walk forward, flips into mania I have never witnessed! His arms were swinging with the speed of high-powered turbines, his fingers were wrapped in tight, white fists, and his bottom teeth jutted out like Bruce Springsteen. He was one ticked off kid! My body was in the way and so was Miss Candy's (the nurse). I got hit. I got kicked. I was chased back into the room.

Then Nurse Candy hugged Logan to her bent knee and tried to talk to him: "Logan. You cannot hit your mother." I said, firmly, "Logan, I will not permit you to hit me! We are only asking you to get your weight and height! Calm down, son. Stop hitting me, Logan!"

This is one of my lowest parenting moments. I had no idea how to proceed! He was overwhelming & overcoming me.

"I can just do you & Teagan today," nurse Candy says. I reply: "But that would mean Logan gets his way, wouldn't it? I mean, the reason he's freaking out is because he's afraid he's going to have a painful test today. He doesn't want to be here..."

What would you have done?

I cried.

He is grounded for a week. He has been in his room for most of the day since we came home (except to come down for dinner). I am not sure any of that is sufficient. I was embarrassed, he refused to apologize to "that woman I don't know," (AKA Miss Candy), and he made a total & complete fool of himself! I told him to use his words to tell me how he feels--not his fists!

Nothing was effective except allowing him to hide behind the chair, watch Teagan & me have our appointments, and then slowly come out of hiding to have his blood pressure & heart rate taken. A blood test was prescribed for him--but now I have to figure out how to make it happen. I'm having a hard time even talking to him.

In the meantime, Teagan took a skin prick environmental allergens test like an absolute trooper! Turns out she's allergic to all the trees we live under. Whee Whoo!!

*sigh*

We came home & did a Devotional about Obeying Your Parents (oh, you know, one of the Ten Commandments...), and talked (with Daddy, while Teagan napped) about the importance of controlling ourselves, talking about our problems, never hitting anyone, let alone an adult, and more...Tom & I were very calm, and wonderfully united, though clearly disappointed & upset with him. We both reminded him how much we love him. Still, this behavior will not be tolerated!

So...was it something he ate? Was it fear? Was it anger about lack of control? Did he feel betrayed?

All of the above. My complex son.

*

*second sigh*

*Hector Casanova color illustration a boy having a temper tantrum as his mother calmly observes. The Kansas City Star 2002

The Healing Touch of Nature

2009-05-07T00:01:00.010-04:00

Getting outdoors for two hours was the perfect medicine.

Logan had "water therapy" in the river, and I got to move.

Mommy 12 weeks preggers, looking down over belly; the kids catch a cricket.

Slippery shoes mean a more cautious crossover than usual.

Returning to the tadpole puddle where we found our tads a couple weeks back.

Deer, dog & raccoon tracks.

Cue song, "Wade In The Water," or "Oh! Brother, Where Art Thou" soundtrack!

Logan takes his sister's hand to gently walk her to the crocodile rocks.

Tea is soaked toe to neck, but still holding onto her apple!

No Peace, no piece, no peace...pushing, pushing, pushing

2009-05-06T10:21:00.005-04:00

Sunday was a struggle. Logan refused to look in people's eyes & shake hands during "The Peace" at church (this is a time when all the congregation stands to greet each other. We're trying to teach our kids to behave politely at all times, but this is an especially precious time for them to smile & give their best). I took Logan out of the sanctuary to talk with him privately in the coat closet (it's a big closet--open--don't get the wrong idea here)--detailing the importance of kindness, and that turning your head & body away from someone who extends a hand of friendship is not kind. It's the opposite. It's rude.

We went to a First Communion party later--and Logan played really well with his sister & all the other children in the basement until it was time to come up to cut cake. Logan refused to come upstairs. He didn't want cake. He didn't want to be in the group picture. I have to say that after several morning corrections in church I was fed up with his "not wanting to do."

I pulled him into the 1/2 bath (much smaller than the church coat closet, I might add), and just laid into him in the most authoritative, overbearing, militaristic parenting way. I am not proud of my actions, or my words, my anger, or my attitude. I told him that this day wasn't about him, it was about his friend. And, cutting the cake also wasn't about whether or not he wanted a piece, but about coming around in support of his friend. He did not have the right to continue playing downstairs while everyone else came around the table. And, I was sick of his ____, and wouldn't tolerate his selfish attitude for another minute!

Yes I did. I SWORE at my child!!

Oh, dear God, please forgive me!

Why? Why did that situation so overwhelm me? Why did I respond so tragically inappropriately?

I'd like to know, because the two of us have been recreating that moment for three additional days (without that swear word, but with other sinful ire spewing from me). I say no; he does something anyway. I say yes; he refuses. He has been literally pushing me--and I have been figuratively pushing back.

Yesterday morning he crawled into bed with me and was mauling me. I wake slowly & do not like anyone crawling all over my body--I asked him to stop--and turned away. He literally crawled on top of me to insist on his own way, and I lost it.

GET OFF OF ME, NOW!! That does NOT feel good to me, and I already TOLD you that!

At the grocery store, I'd push the cart to the side so others could get by while I sought a particular item. I'd go to place the item in the cart, and find it 10' away from where I'd parked it, because Logan decided to tool around & cruise down the aisle with it. I kept giving him purposeful tasks in each aisle (giving him the coupon to find the right item, etc.), and we ate the whole time we were there (bought pizza slices, and then ate samples), but he refused to leave the cart in place. Not once or twice, mind you (who would be irritated by that?), but over and over and over and over till I was turning blue with frustration!

Push
Push
Push
Push

Finally, he was whining about something as he interrupted his sister & my nice little time, where I was videotaping her drawing letters into our handmade Mother's Day cards. Did I know where his LEGO piece was? No I did not. (I continued recording & talking with Teagan). But, he just put it over there, and now it's not there... OK. Well, I still don't know where it is. But, puhleeeeeeease can I help him find it... No. I cannot right now. Teagan and I are talking about her letters. But I just had it...

Growing frustration on his part; growing irritation on mine...

Shut off camera. SCREAM!!!!!

Finally, I was carefully putting away all the parts of the most awesome Quadrilla tower he'd ever build, to clean up for the night so we could take up the living room space with our three-person nighttime yoga routine (it was a rainy day and we couldn't take a nice long walk, which we all desperately need!). Logan wanted to topple it all with a swift arm sweep & I said, No, please do not do that, because I am putting them away carefully in an organized way, and...of course, you guessed it...he slammed down on the whole thing and destroyed it so that pieces scattered in a 10' x 10' mess.

I LOST IT!! I chased him up the stairs, said he couldn't have Quadrilla back for a week, and that he was now not allowed to join us for our yoga tape. It looks so much more kind in text--but believe me when I say I would not have wanted anyone to videotape that Mommy Dearest moment. I was a maniac, my head was pounding, I was shaking.

I then went down to center & calm myself with Teagan.

HA!

Logan screamed & cried & hollered for a good 20 minutes, stomping his feet and yelling that he wanted to do yoga with us, and why couldn't he and...blah blah blah...

Well, you cannot do YOGA, of all things, if you are SCREAMING at your MOTHER!!!

I later realized that his blinds were wide open the whole time. It was night. His lights were on. We live in a small community.

All I can think about that is THANK GOD there was VISUAL evidence that his terrified screams did NOT involve anyone else laying a hand on him. I have often feared, when he falls apart like that, that anyone might think he was being torn limb to limb. Last night he was a scene for the world. Anyone who wanted to see his chaos could.

How embarrassing.

This morning I am so ashamed of us both. And, just now I lost it with him AGAIN! He wanted to take out a SMALL screw from his battery-operated train, and asked me for a Phillips screwdriver. I said no, that we can take it with us to the store and remove the batteries there to buy the proper ones, but I do not want a small screw & little batteries lost in the house. What did he do? Found the screwdriver himself, and asked me to show him "righty tighty, lefty loosey," again. NO, I said (still calm), I just asked you NOT to open that up now. DO NOT open that train, Logan!

Well, where is my black battery-operated train?

It was taken from him once-upon-a-time & was downstairs bagged inside a basket which I called "trash" but which I really didn't feel comfortable throwing away...he knew that. He went downstairs & started untying the bag.

From upstairs I called down, "Do NOT open that bag, Logan, or those will NOT be items you can earn back--they will legitimately be trash!"

He calls up to me, "BE QUIET!"

What!?!? What!??!? Be QUIET!?!? To your MOTHER!?!?!?!

Frankly, as open as I like to be on this blog, I do not want to ever even remember the way the two of us yelled when I flew down the stairs to confront him. This has GOT to be traumatic for him--it certainly is for me. I don't WANT his childhood & our together experience to be like this!!!!

Why are we butting heads like this? What is it? My pregnancy hormones? The rain? The awkward schedule that includes Daddy being gone so often? The expectation of changes when baby comes in November? All of the above?

I am flummoxed, tense & very concerned. I cannot afford stress while I am pregnant, and yet I am the MOST stressed I've been in ages. I genuinely feel I was healed of my family-inherited rage issues, but the past four days have been atrocious for me.

And, all this with MOTHER'S DAY only a few days away. Nice.

So, I am going to see a doctor--a natural kind--and I am going to try to get on a diet that can calm me. One for Logan, too.

We ate candy yesterday. Sugar. Dam*ed sugar!! Dyes. Stupid dyes!
We ate breakfast too late... hypoglycemia.
It's been raining for a week...depression.

I have just sequestered myself from him. I asked him to not see nor speak to me while I calm down. I am trying to do this by unleashing here. What else? Wash my face. Make a cup of Tension Tamer. Drink a tall glass of water. Go for a long walk with the kids before it rains (again). Hug each other long & firmly. We each need pressure on our joints & a good reconnection. I keep trying this, actually, and it has only been lasting temporarily, because I am in need of something much bigger--a new allergy test.

Pray for me. Pray for us. Pray that we can find balance, here!!

*ech* And, as I said, shameful. *sigh*

Ding dong. Ding dong!

2009-03-31T17:33:00.004-04:00

I know who's at the door. He always rings twice. It isn't the postman.

We all open the door to greet our eager little neighbor. The children across the street come home at 2:30 on Mondays, and 4:00 the rest of the week. My son is on the edge of his seat every day just waiting for them to arrive. When they do, he expects that he'll be allowed to go out and play till the sun goes down.

I'd love that!

But if, like today, our work hasn't gotten started till 2:00, and we are still struggling learning the minutes on the clock at 4:30, then he cannot run freely out the door to play.

We did not see the gorgeous sun today. It is 65 degrees out, still, at 5:30 PM, and I am mourning the lost day. Logan is, too. He's practically crying. But, we had to turn away his friend at the door because we did not finish our work today.

I tell Logan, "Those kids leave at 8 in the morning and they come back at 4. They are in school all day, you understand? I ask you to sit down with me to do 20 minutes here, 20 minutes there, and you whine & complain and throw a tantrum! Playing outside isn't your right. It is a privilege after your work is done."

To his credit, Logan finished the month of March with a bang! He can now tie his shoes! This was a March goal, and I am so proud of him for working it through--shoe-tying is definitely a more difficult skill to teach than I could have imagined! And, it requires such dexterity! So, horrah for Logan, he can tie his shoes!!

He gets 15 minutes outdoors right now (that is so insignificant!!). He has his watch on--and when the minute hand is on the 12, and the hour hand is on the 6, he is supposed to come in without needing to be reminded. We studied the fourth chapter of Proverbs today, and the corresponding devotional was about taking initiative. Let's see if he can pair his knowledge of his watch with his understanding of the new vocabulary word, to be in the house at six.

I want all DAY tomorrow to be outdoors! I want EVERYday to be outdoors! But the basics have to be taught, right?

So, by "word problems" in the woods, tomorrow, we'll do our addition & subtraction. With the watch on his wrist that Santa put in his stocking, we'll keep working on time. With his ten dimes on Sundays, we'll continue with money & the tithe. Numbers are not my son's strong suit! When he counts by 5's, he always skips from 45 to 60. He's memorizing the skip-counting, instead of understanding it. We have drawn number lines. We have sung songs with Schoolhouse Rock. We have lined up beads on a bead board (which Westerners term an "abacus," but isn't really one...). He isn't getting it.

I am trying to come to terms with my struggle between being an adult child of the public school system, and a homeschooling mom who wants my child to learn in context, context, context!

*sigh* Play outside. Come back for dinner. We'll give the clock another try again tomorrow. And for as many days after as it takes. Then, we'll read the last chapters of Nim tonight (aimed at children twice his age), and get started next on "Five Children and It," (by Edith Nesbitt)--once our copy comes in at the library.

So, gifted in language? YES! Math? n o t s o m u c h

And that's OK.

Children, children, everywhere--all the time!!

2009-03-31T13:13:00.006-04:00

When you homeschool, you will be with your children more than any public school parent. There are so many positives to this opportunity, but there are some definite downsides, as well. I was a nanny/Mother's Helper/babysitter for dozens of families for nearly 20 years. I only remember losing patience with two children in all that time--the incidences stand out so strongly in my mind because I was astounded by my inability to manage the frustrating situation at that time. Both had to do with a those girls' refusal to sleep.

Now I have a night owl cut from the same cloth as his mother, grandmother, great & great great grandmothers. He doesn't know that the setting sun indicates bedtime. He doesn't believe that all other children in America, even on the West Coast are sleeping, as the clock turns to midnight. He wants to read, read, read!

Some nights, if we catch him at just the right moment, we can get him curled up with us and a great read-aloud fiction novel (like Nim's Island by Wendy Orr, Mr. Popper's Penguins, by Richard Atwater, or The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis), and our voices will lull him to sleep. These have been our most recent reads, and if he falls off while we finish a chapter, we start two pages back the next night.

Last night was another one of those insomniac nights for Logan, though, which meant I was also awake past my sleepy time. He was inventing a great way to explain the drop-away of a rocket's stages as it leaves the earth's atmosphere. He was eating dinner very late, because his lunch had been so late, and his mother had fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon. I'm not trying to disrespect my husband, but he doesn't know how to make dinner for a child. "You had an orange," he'll say to one of our kids as they whine that they're hungry...

So I think Logan may have finally fallen asleep by midnight. He slept till 11 AM. This is good! 11 solid hours of sleep!

However, the other thing about being a homeschooler is that you want to participate in activities with other homeschoolers, and while many of us delight in eating breakfast together at 8, instead of sending breakfast with our kids on a yellow school bus, not many field trips & adventures start after noon! Yes, it's a delight to lounge in my PJ's a little in the morning, and not have to put on hose, a suit, scarf around my neck & updo my hair anymore, but I do want a routine that equals some sense of discipline.

So, when the school day starts late (Teagan was up at her typical 7:30 AM, and so I was up with her), like today, I find myself really impatient with Logan because he wouldn't go to bed the prior night. This makes me frustrated as the next night's bedtime comes around. I am also less patient because I am tired from being up with him, when I should have been asleep, myself.

Today, I had to excuse myself from the table to cool off. I asked him to sit down to read scriptures, to which he again whined, "Not yeeeeeeeet...." and I huffed & puffed and blew our dining room in.

Oh, yeah. That's a great way to endear your children to the Word of God--yell at them that we will do this NOW!

I'm chuckling at myself a little bit, even though I'm exasperated.

They're playing outside so I can breathe. I'll go call them in, now, and read about Job's patience. Ha ha!

Gold Coins

2009-03-24T20:23:00.006-04:00

I told Logan he had to earn his way back to a DC weekend trip at one point for every great accomplishment/good behavior he got caught doing, with a goal of 10 points by Saturday morning. We had to go to the dentist from 11 AM till past 1 PM today, and both kids were angels as all three of us got cleanings (no cavities, times three. YAY!). I told them, on the way to the car, that besides the little treasures the dentist gave them for doing such a great job, they also each earned a coin from Mom (plastic coins in a jar). It's Tuesday. That's ONE point for Logan towards a Saturday trip. He has a long way to go.

Running through the aisles in the auto parts store; not a point.

Being so mad at his mom that he had to go to the dentist appointment that he lifted his hand in a fist against me? NOT a point! (In fact, that was another day grounded from neighborhood play). I understand his emotions; I understand his fear coming out as anger; but I do not appreciate, nor allow, threatening gestures!

I feel like I am getting more rigid the more difficult he becomes. And, if I follow the principles Kirk Martin teaches in Celebrate Calm, then I should be reacting in exactly the opposite manner. I should be CALM. I should let him bear the consequence of his own actions. I should step back & sit down, and lean away from the situation.

But I am so high strung right now!

He loves war games--shooting & chasing, turning others into the enemy & gathering together his buddies as the good guys. But, when his little sister talks about "cutting off your head" in play, then I am DONE! I do not want my three-year-old GIRL to talk that way. I don't want him talking that way, either, but when your cheap Army men fall apart head first, well, it happens.

"I can't help it Mom! I'm a boy!!" he protests to me from the backseat of the car as I roll them through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, too tired to think about making the planned hamburger meal that I'd defrosted at home.

I get that. I really do get that. Boys play out aggressions; they need to separate the good from the bad; they look for the righteous and want to be able to define what is wrong. He plays Sheriff as often as Army. He has Army men. Tanks. Toy guns.

But, his sister is a GIRL! Boys have body chemistry that is totally different from girls.

Someone is bound to whop me upside the head with feminist ideology, now; lambaste me for wanting my girl to not talk like a Marine soldier at age three...go ahead. Unleash your wrath. It's OK. We'll just have to agree to disagree. I have science and history on my side...

I do believe there are big differences between boys & girls & that these are not taught to them by their parents, but are embedded in our created make-up! My son has never wanted a pink thing anywhere near him, but as much as I dislike pink, Teagan surrounds herself with it quite purposefully. Has to have her pink bowl, cup, socks, shoes...

Or red.

Or orange.

But not green! No, that is Logan's color.

And, she whines like no child I have ever known. Logan may complain...a lot...or negotiate, cajole, argue (like an attorney!), but whining isn't his M.O.. Pure girl. OK, pure my girl. Oh! The drama!

OK--back to the point. I woke up ready for a Brand New Day, but saw only about 15 minutes of one before Logan threw a fit about going to the dentist, gritting teeth & insisting that he would not be going! I told you--he's Sensitive.

I am so tired. It is 8:30 & I am going to crawl into bed right now. I may be asleep before they are, and there are about 5 dishes in the sink and a load of laundry to do, and a few scattered toys in the living room & a very messy dining room table (littered with homeschool materials). I hate leaving this for Tom to walk into after a 16-hour day, but I have to sleep this off. This Mad Me isn't doing very well. I am so frustrated. I am so discouraged. I am so in need of a larger house and a huge fenced-in yard where I can "let the children out" for an hour while I do whatever else needs to be done.

And as I say that I feel guilty. We live in 1000 square feet--it's tight--but all over the world people with much bigger families live in this space & less--in multiple generations, even. I am truly grateful. But, I am also an American, even as I am practical and satisfied.

I also know that change comes from the inside. Getting married doesn't resolve a dating couple's differences. Having a baby doesn't fill a woman's lonely heart. Buying a new house won't solve what is going on between my son & me. We are too alike. That is not going to change in bigger spaces--I'll just have more rooms to clean, and more places to find him getting into whatever it is he needs to be getting into. It's OK. God is good, and we will be OK.

Coping mechanisms:
Pray--ask for HELP when I need it.
Slow down--rushing makes us all stressed. I need to be a better planner!
Downsize --keep only what we need...excess gives us more to track & more to argue over.
Breathe deeply --this means taking a moment for a cup of tea & inhaling the aromas!
Be grateful (not greedy)--I am so honored to have been entrusted with the raising up of these two gorgeous children! We are so safe in our rented non-over-mortgaged home! We have no debt (besides a random rotating bit on a single credit card), and while the economy is tanking, and we are suffering right alongside, we have a roof over our heads and ten more months on our lease! I have been married for almost 14 years! We have two cars we bought with cash! We have dear friends all over the world! I have no reason to grumble!!
Write.--I have always been a HUGE proponent of journaling. Even with this hour or so I spend on the blog at night a few times a week, I have my tactile, handy, pocket size book to write in as well. This is where my more private thoughts & more intimate prayers are written. This is where I can look back & see my growth over the years--or be reminded of a lesson from my past. Writing them & reading them is therapy. An old friend of mine has written a book on this subject, which I recommend. Mindy also leads nationwide seminars on creative journaling.
Touch! & kiss. My top love language is TOUCH, and so is my son's. We both need to feel another person's warmth near us to feel whole, sometimes. This is most evident for Logan at nighttime, and for me in the morning. We need to celebrate these beginnings and endings of our day with plenty of physical affirmation--big hugs & loads of kisses.

OK. Just gentle reminders to myself to be the woman I want to be, and not fall back on tiredness as an excuse for rude behavior...

OH! And, another one!

Sleep!

I'm off to do that right now!!

Even when I stink...!

2009-03-23T21:25:00.005-04:00

Let me state that there is very little I am as convicted about as homeschooling my children. In particular, my son. He is an amazing & fabulous boy with a lot of quirks. Some of the "issues" we have with him are definitely BOY things that most all MOBs (mothers of boys) deal with, but many other situations are unique to "gifted" or "sensitive" children...and these are among the main motivations for homeschooling (just barely below our religious convictions).

A sensitive child requires light touch--and I do not always feel well-suited for the job. Today was just one of those days...

As I look back at this day I just want to shake a finger at myself. When Logan wiggled I reprimanded him (several times). When he interrupted (& it might have been with a great question, but he didn't say, "Excuse me," beforehand), I nailed him with accusations. I was not his best mom by a long shot! When he & his sister were dancing in the grocery store I lectured them that a grocery store is not a dance studio (laughable, now, but not funny to me at the time). In short, I did to my children, today, all the things I do NOT want done to them by any human being!

I minimized their importance (going with more of the "children are best seen & not heard" philosophy that my paternal grandmother expressed).

I ignored their contributions.

I shut down their creativity!

What kind of homeschooling mom am I?!

One of the beautiful benefits of homeschooling is that children CAN express their individuality without being made to always sit in rows & stand in lines & raise their hands (& risk not getting called on) to be included in a discussion.

One of the amazing gifts of homeschooling is that children can fully explore their creative curiosities without being told there isn't time for that right now--we have more important things to do--we're on a rigid schedule with only 20 minutes for that subject...NEXT!

But I didn't offer those blessings to my kids today. I flattened them. Intimidated them. Towered over them like a giant bully.

Oh!

At the end of a day like this I can only squeeze my eyes tightly and ask the Lord to please be more gentle with their spirits than their mom has been, and to please not only forgive me for my offenses against them, but also enable me to do a much better job tomorrow.

I felt that often-overwhelming feeling, today, that I have 12 more years of homeschooling days to get through. I don't want to see them as days to "get through!" I want to view this experience--this SHORT moment of our lives--as a phenomenal privilege! I have the opportunity, (not burden), to be with my children every day, to know them better than anyone, to guide them & encourage them, and lift them up! If anyone in the world tears them down, I am to build their safe haven in family & faith!

Oh, oh, oh...I am so sorry for this day. Again, as I always plead with the Lord, I ask that it be a mere blip in their rich & deep memories of childhood. Let my son's autobiography NOT begin:

"My mom was always angry. She was a delightful woman who reached out to others with compassion once we left the door of our own miniscule townhouse, but when the door was closed from the inside, only my siblings and I knew the realities of life with our Mad Mom's Fuse. It was always short--she was not happy with our childish ways..."

PLEASE!! Isn't it time for me to GROW UP & be the more mature adult woman I am supposed to be developing into?

One thing I am really grateful for right now is my amazing husband. When he comes home after a day like this I get private time with him in the kitchen to tell him the truth of how it was that day--and he listens, and understands. We work together on our concerns and struggles.

Today I wept.

Am I fit to be this child's teacher? Am I patient enough? Am I offering him my best effort (as I always ask him to give to whatever he does)?

Yes! I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength!* But, the key is letting my own selfish weaknesses go, and let Christ lead me, instead. Today it was all about my expectations--and not one of them was all that reasonable for a 3-year-old & almost-6-year-old. In the grand scheme of things, they are yet so young!

Tomorrow, I reminded the children, will be a better day. We will all rise with hope. We will all rise to love & serve each other. We will all rise to chase away the memory of this day!

Our favorite family expression is, "I love you...even when you stink."

Oh, man, I'm glad I have that kind of love from my kids. And, from our Heavenly Father!!

*Philippians 4:13

That wasn't enough.

2009-03-23T15:08:00.003-04:00

I have zero patience today! I asked Logan to put away his clothes & he said, "But I thought you said we were about to go to our errands..." and I flipped! JUST DO WHAT I ASK YOU TO DO WHEN I ASK YOU TO DO IT!! WE'LL DO THE ERRANDS AFTER THAT!!

I am not happy with myself.

I am not displaying the Fruit of the Spirit!

I am not practicing calm!!

What do I need...?

A cup of Calm tea. A cup of Tension Tamer. A massage!

*sigh*

Having a rough day today

2009-03-23T15:04:00.003-04:00

I'm snapping on the kids over everything! I think I just need to change my clothes. My pants are too tight!

Ultimate Blog Party

2009-03-21T03:25:00.004-04:00

Can a mad mom party? Like it's 1999! You betcha!

I usually only post my more friendly site in the Five Minutes for Mom Ultimate Blog Party's "Mr. Linky," but I want to get this site out as much as the other. Truth is good. Life with an intense child is a daily battle, and I don't want anyone to enter my home to see it clean because I knew they were coming, and think we have it together. We don't. One fabulous recent change in my life is a greater handle on the Me of today--a divorce from my raging past. This is really freeing & delightful; healing!

However, I spewed out some angry hissing at my son in the past week. He hit a dear friend of his, kicked some ten-year-old girls who were bothering him at Burger King, and then sprayed a sweet little boy, who looks up to him, with water! Today he was wild. I don't like when he gets wild. I makes me hiss.

However, no matter how angry I got over the past 7 to 10 days, I managed my own responses so much better than the past (even with hormonal whackoness going on inside of me right now). I am celebrating my calm!! ;-)

So, welcome to my Truth Tales. How does this Adult Child of Alcoholism & Divorce manage to be a Good Parent? Through prayer, humility, and by a lot of mistakes along the way. I fully endorse MENTORS!!

Have a great blogging week and thank you for swinging by my crazy pad!

Healing

2009-03-01T03:31:00.003-05:00

The moment had come, during the women's retreat, to line up for prayer. What work had the Lord been doing in me? Was there something I needed to ask God for? Was he asking something of me?

Women around me were rather emotional. I'm a "T" on the Meyer's Brigg's type indicator--that stands for Thinker (not Feeler)--and I always question emotional responses that occur simultaneously in a group setting. I wasn't feeling "it," so I hung back for a long time. Once the lines had shortened, I jumped in with only one thing in my mind--that Thorn in my Side...

Only, there just didn't seem to be a thorn anymore!

One week beforehand I had the wonderful opportunity to walk forward during a unique Sunday service. Matt Maher was a special guest at Truro, and his music played live as the altar was open for prayer & healing. I had been waiting for the day, and was one of the first to stand to my feet. On that Sunday (February 15th), there was no emotional pressure--I just felt fully present, and moved to respond. A stranger prayed over me, and when she was finished I could not leave the kneeling bench. I tried, but the crowds were too thick, so I returned to my knees, as tears bled my mascara down my cheeks, and I took the extra time to let everything go. I didn't rush the moment, so it didn't rush me.

When prayer time came at the retreat, then, I felt that I'd received my full healing from the bitter root of anger which has held me back for so many years! Going forward to ask for it to be removed (again) was akin to not trusting that it truly had been six days ago. I mentioned this "root" to our speaker, who prayed for me, but it was an empty prayer for me, and felt rote, because I knew that I knew that I knew that there was no longer a root to be ripped out. God had done it!

Wow. I have never felt the peace and calm that I've felt since Feb. 15th. My voice is different, my sight is different, my hands feel and touch and respond differently to the world around me. The Lord used me the weekend of the 20th to interpret for a Deaf woman who was on the retreat, too. So, in the end, I'd had my retreat individually at Truro, under the umbrella of a uniting musical concert, and I was free, then, to respond to the Lord's call for me to be available as an interpreter for another in need.

I'm excited about 2009. I think this will be an even keeled year for me.

Community

2009-02-13T10:24:00.009-05:00

A dear friend I've known almost 25 years read a LOT about community when we were in college, and was always telling me about his guru, Dr. M. Scott Peck. While I never made time to read any of Peck's works, nor get involved in the organization which taught Peck's philosophies, the importance of community, as communicated to me by Nathan, has always remained with me.

Homeschooling is an intense commitment, and some days are lonely. Yesterday I reached out to a dozen homeschooling friends in a moment of desperation, and community came back at me with such thoughtfulness and love, that I am revived again. None of us in an island...

Typical American living keeps us apart from each other, not tightly knit. I have been so fortunate to have developed authentic relationships with friends over the years who are now scattered from shore to shore across our great nation, as well as planted overseas. Maintaining these friendships is often difficult, even taxing. Many of us can point to a moment in time when we pushed past a really difficult conflict, and came out the other side stronger in relationship.

When I was pregnant with Logan our Bradley birth instructor advised all the moms and dads to lean on community. If we didn't have one, MAKE one. One of my PRIMARY objectives in 2008 was finding/making/developing friendships for the children and me during our first official year as homeschoolers. It was a wise decision.

However, another friend of mine has shared her life openly within our homeschooling community over this past year, and it came to bite her in the rear, when another mother looked at her "parenting style" and judged her very harshly. It stirred up a great commotion & drama, and I was so sorry to watch my friend get dragged over the coals of scrutiny by people who have not taken time to get to know her wholly. To me, this was a betrayal of our community trust. We need to support each other as we can! It is really difficult to swim upstream, to buck the system, to choose your every day so intentionally. Oh, Man! Wouldn't my life be so much easier if we hadn't chosen this path? But, as my maternal grandmother always said, and my mom repeated, "Nothing worth anything comes easily," or "Anything worth anything, takes hard work!"

Choosing to sew yourself into the fiber of another person's life is RISKY business. Sometimes we dive in too quickly--we overwhelm another with "TMI," too much information. I know I wore my own emotions on my sleeve all the way through my 20's. Now I am more cautious, and choose my close circles more intentionally, but there is always risk in letting others in. But, risks are a necessary part of relationships. When we step out and open up we leave ourselves a bit vulnerable with every uncovered layer of "personal," and if the risk was made in a safe enough space, and the other party proved her/himself to be trustworthy, the deep friendship that develops is priceless.

Sharing this blog, for example. You can watch my roller coaster parenting ride, and be thankful that your life is more even than mine, or you can find comfort in knowing that you are not alone in the ups and downs in your own days as a mom or dad. I hope that rather than judge me by my darker moments, you can see all the angles of my life--or of your own life--or of those around you! (Oh, and read my kinder, gentler blog, too!)

When I was a preteen my paternal grandmother sent me a greeting card with an American Indian expression across the painting of a peaceful landscape:

"Don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his moccasins."

I don't know why that card etched such an impression in my memory--but ironically EVERYone judged and continues judging that particular member of my family... Anyway, I am learning the wisdom of this proverb more and more every day, as I experience the real issues of parenting, and know the pressures and stresses that can sometimes push a person just one step too far. So, rather than judge, I try to come alongside! Thankfully, as I "cried out" to my dozen homeschooling friends last night, they all came alongside.

Thanks, gals!! (And, thanks, hub, too!). I am so appreciative of you!!

Ups and Downs...and more downs

2009-02-12T19:33:00.006-05:00

Homeshooling is a commitment to be with your child more often than you are not.
Sometimes that is blissful; sometimes it is like today.

Humility

2009-01-12T14:23:00.003-05:00

I felt it coming. I tried to stop it. We were arguing, Logan & I. I wanted him to rinse his hair off under the faucet, since the bathtub water was too dirty to do cup-scoop rinse, and he fought me & fought me. I've gone 12 days with a wonderful calm spirit. I've LOVED these peaceful family moments, and was so delighted in our successes! Just now, though, I failed--screaming, fighting, losing control.

I KNOW there is no such thing as perfection. I do understand this. I know we'll all make mistakes. It's the intensity of temper, though, that is so FAR from perfection, that depresses me. My tender son & I forgave each other after his hair was rinsed under the faucet with water that wouldn't get warm fast enough. It took about 5 seconds to rinse out his hair after 10 minutes of arguing about it. Sometimes the swift response gets the job done--but was it right and/or good? I don't know. We are back on "OK" terms, so perhaps this moment won't stain his childhood mother-memories. I always wonder...

When my children are grown enough to reflect on their childhoods, I pray, pray, pray that they remember all the creative, funny, rich experiences, instead of their swift, angry mommy.

*sigh*

Peace.

2009-01-10T21:40:00.003-05:00

I made a delicious slow-cooker meal last night. The chopping & prep took about 45 minutes, and then it cooked for four hours while we ran a bunch of errands. There was an additional 30 minutes of work to prepare it on the plate with a sauce & rice. Tom was oohing & ahhing like crazy at the taste, but my sensitive son got the idea that he couldn't SWALLOW the massive forkful that was now in his cheek. I really cannot explain to anyone how he reacted next--you'd think he was being bitten by fire ants! I told him he could NOT spit it out (he has a really bad habit of doing this, and we need to work it out of him, b/c you simply cannot be a good guest in someone's home if you turn and spit out what they've slaved over!). Tears were rolling down his face as he jumped up & down, walking from one parent to another & crying out that he needed to SPIT!

Here's the deal. I reacted with more calm than I ever have--I just calmly repeated that if he chose to spit out the delicious meal that was making the rest of us feel heavenly, then his meal would be over, and it would be bed time. I made him a promise. You know what? My son did NOT spit out that bite! He actually ended up chewing it, swallowing it, and then choosing not to eat any more. I was fine with that, just so long as he didn't go spit into the sink. There was nothing poisonous or dangerous in his mouth! I didn't force him to eat a whole plate full of food that disagreed with him somehow. We feel that the self-discipline we all have to learn, to grin & bear it sometimes is worth these occasional struggles. I still have to learn to do that as an adult. Like in the workplace. Or with a neighbor. At a wedding reception with an accidental bite into a food you detest. In spaces where you really DON'T have choices. Sometimes, chewing & swallowing is the only option. I have to tell you, I felt a LOT of peace last night as my husband and I both remained steady and CALM, continuing our conversation over & around his tantrum until he rejoined us at the table.

Why am I blogging it? Because it was a VICTORY for our WHOLE family!! Logan decided to go ahead and get that meat past his tonsils, regardless of how he felt about it; Tom & I did not get angry, or react to his carrying on--we just made steady reminders of our expectations; and in the end I have to say, we had an enjoyable dinner that was briefly interrupted by a minor storm. WOW! This is a while different family than the one we were a year ago!

Sigh.

That is peace.

Whaa haa haa haaaaaaaaaa....Happy FREAKY Halloween!!!

2008-11-01T10:51:00.003-04:00

I do not think Halloween is evil because of my religious convictions, but because of how lastnight's candy created turmoil in our home this morning--Logan woke up whining & arguing with his father & me...and we drew the immediate conclusion that it was the chocolate, the sugar and the dyes he ate just 12 hours before that created havoc in the home this morning. Oh, yes, Halloween CANDY is evil (though we throughly enjoyed meeting & visiting with our beloved neighbors for a couple hours lastnight, and will again this evening, at our community Harvest Party).

Jersey

2008-10-28T23:27:00.001-04:00

Something snapped on the New Jersey Turnpike somewhere between Lincoln Tunnel and IKEA. There was loud screeching followed by deafening silence that lasted 20 minutes or so. It always goes down this way in Jersey--my husband and I get into some sort of dangerous battle at 65 MPH. On Saturday the rain made our latest argument all the more intense.

I have yet to determine why he won't let me drive in New York & Jersey--they are Tom's personal hell. I thrive on bright lights, honking taxis and quick decision, while he closes his human kindness completely off, the blood pressure rises, and he barks at anyone in the car who dares to make the slightest sound as he concentrates intently on driving.

The earlier nine days of our family vacation were delightful, and then we had to take the car home through two states of Purgatory.

I have friends who live in both states, and so I apologize for not stopping in to say "hullo," but we try to get through without much dirt on our noses. I apologized to Tom for my silent treatment, and wondered aloud about why we were fighting over simple things, like where to stop to eat.

"Oh, no! Don't apologize. It isn't us, Lis. It's just New Jersey."

Unruffled...

2008-09-24T17:24:00.014-04:00

I am so excited! As I mentioned before , Tom & I appreciated hearing from Kirk Martin of Celebrate! Calm a few months ago. Kirk and Casey's testimony was featured in The Washington Post right after we met him.

I have been working this month on gathering homeschoolers from around Northern Virginia together to meet Kirk and hear from him specifically about homeschooling our "intense" kids. I get responses daily, and think we're going to have a really great turn-out.

Here is a wonderful quotation Kirk ended a post with today:

"Nothing gives one person so much of an advantage over another as to remain cool and unruffled under all circumstances." ~Thomas Jefferson

Now, isn't that sharp?

And, here's another classic:

"A foolish man gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control."
~Proverbs 29:11

I'd prefer to be the "wise man."

Bear Cub & His Momma figuring it out still...

2008-09-22T20:57:00.004-04:00

Our son has been a towering angry bear lately--therefore, I have been a grump, myself. Today was pure ugly. I do not like myself at the end of a long battle like this. My son is not my enemy, nor am I his! It feels, however, like I have been beaten down all day.

In the Spring, Logan participated in T-Ball, on a team of eleven boys, and Teagan took her first six-week ice skating class with three other little people.

Summer held all that hot days promise--days at the beach, outdoor seating, long playtime with neighbors and friends, free events across the county. Both children attended a one-week-long Vacation Bible School, as well. Logan took a science class at Curiosity Zone, and an additional church camp, called KidsServe.

Yes, there were struggles with our son during the delicious days of summer--defiance, rebellion, independence to be reckoned with. It seemed, though, that many of the issues melted down over the hill with Lake Michigan's sunsets. Time with his grandparents was freeing--the definition of what a child's summers ought to be.

As I flipped the calendar page to September, however, our days turned sour.

September. School officially began in our community and around the country. My children started as well, but in a different capacity than others. We now attend a homeschool co-op on Fridays with several other families who swap instruction and assistance. They are learning geography and culture, civics, nature and sign language. My children have sat in Sunday School classes, in weddings, in church and in restaurants, but they had not, yet, taken seats in a semi-circle with a whiteboard and an instructor. In addition to Friday classes from 10 AM to 1 PM, and their obviously-necessary lunch break, we are also attending Odyssey of the Mind for one hour each week, on Thursdays. In both cases, the kids are being lead by others besides their parents. (Teagan is also in an ice skating class on Thursday mornings).

I'm not trying to overschedule my children. I fully realize they'd be in 40 hours of institutionalized life if not at home with me. Passing periods, chatter, transitions, lunchtime and recess all take from the considered teaching time in any day--in fact, we may spend more instructional hours per week with our kids than what is offered to public schoolers.

But, while I say that I am not trying to overschedule them, I do feel slightly overscheduled. I think Logan's temperament is highly affected by weariness. He isn't participating in an organized sport this Fall (yet), but we have regularly planned days with other homeschoolers on Mondays--mostly in nature, and this, too, adds to the driving around & going places that I have to schedule week-by-week. Logan is never in heaven more than when he is up to his neck in a "river study" with other homeschool kids. Joy effervesces from his every pour.

So, do the nature days fall away? No. They are his therapy.

Balance is hard to come by, I'm finding. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are wide open--we pull together projects that supplement the "Reading, Riting, 'Rithmatic" skills needed to function in the world. Crafts that might serve as birthday/Christmas gifts are in order.

If my child's intense mind is so very different, and a traditional classroom isn't meant for him (as experts agree), then why do I keep hearing the doubtful and insulting voices of others, who are quick to blame his behavior issues on homeschooling? Why do I care at all what others think of our choices? This is our family and these are our children. Each one of us has to take account of our resources and capacities, and care for our children the best way we know how. Right?

So--he reads like a 13-year old, and has the vocabulary of one at least that age--tell me, now, you naysayers, how would he be integrated into a public school kindergarten classroom where the kids are working out the first words on the 1-5-letter Dolce primer words? He has far surpassed the third grade list! He can write all of his letters, and is learning to spell. We discuss fractions in the kitchen almost daily, and he will spin you a yarn that will blow your socks off! What a storyteller! He's written really cool poetry, and has so many friends that I was overwhelmed with cupcakes at his fifth birthday.

Socialization? Is that what others think a homeschooler is lacking? Not our kids--we have spent hours on end, week-upon-week, with children of dozens of racial & religious backgrounds that are different from our own. They learn to be polite to adults, to treat young ones with respect, and to learn from the elder kids in class.

Yes, he is a pistol! Today he was a red-hot one! But, he is FIVE, and has a long way to go and a long way to grow.

I wouldn't quit on my marriage when times got tough, and I won't quit on my son. Sometimes I really feel like it, I confess. When my bones feel bruised from exhaustion, and my throat is dry from arguing, I wonder, are the naysayers right? Is "School" the answer? Should I quit before we've even gotten started?

No, no, time and again I will say NO!

I know my son better than those naysayers. I know my son better than the school system. Mothers know their boys better than anyone. I WILL stick it out. I will learn to be patient. I will grow, as my knees become calloused in prayer. This is the Lord's work for me.

In our home, we start the day with a breakfast that is nutritious and never rushed. We read a daily devotion and its appropriate scriptures. My kids know the Pledge of Allegiance, the Lord's Prayer, and additional scriptures by heart. In this post-Christian society, these are the TOOLS they need more than a class in health and fitness, as they eat pre-packaged lunches which defeat the lessons.

In our home, if our children have an accident we can get them medical attention immediately without needing to call anyone for permission. In our home, if they are cranky, they are given naps & down time until they get themselves straightened back out. In our home, we cook together, and today we cleaned together. Integrating into the world is more aligned with these activities than my children's abilities to sit in rows when their young bodies need to move. My kinesthetic learner twirls and moves and wriggles, and there is NO SITTING HIM DOWN! It is frustrating for me, his mother, but would likely be given some sort of label in a public school setting, so his teacher could give her attention to her entire class. He might be medicated. He might be put into segregated special education, instead of seen as gifted.

I am committed to this lifestyle, no matter the challenges. My mom & grandma always told me, "Anything worth anything takes hard work."

Water Log

2008-09-13T02:46:00.012-04:00

How much trouble can a house give a person?

In Virginia Beach, we moved into 800 square feet for about 7 months, and found the place flea infested. Oh, that was a joyous experience. Then, on the day before our move to Northern Virginia, the neighbor's apartment unit flooded...right into ours (where boxes were packed in the kitchen in perfect placement for water absorption).

Since living in this townhouse outside of DC, we've been fighting against some ingenious and determined mice, with poison baits, and the closing of every space we could find where they might enter the house from the walls or outside. They are capable climbers. Resourceful!

Ants were an easy enough fix. Ripped screens are just a pain. But, then on Saturday, the rain fell down all day as Hurricane Hanna teased us with a flip of her long tresses.

On Sunday morning, as I prepared for the day, I swung the closet door open wide to evaluate my options & stepped my bare feet down on warped floor tiles. Entering the closet, I stood, astounded. My folded shirts were...wet!?!? WET!? A quick inspection of the environs revealed what I feared. Our landlords were quick to respond, but the repair work has been a lovely challenge. Roof shingles replaced, ceiling sawed out, wooden parkay flooring pulled up, drywall, plaster & paint...but there's more to go as our handymen lay new floor (the original is no longer available)

We had to remove every item from the closet, which meant not only our clothes hung on hangers (many recently pressed), but also the bins beneath and crates above. Once we filled the bedroom with all the contents of the closet, I had greater appreciation for that small square's capacity! Layers and piles of clothes have overtaken our bed & tight floor spaces since Sunday night, so Tom has been sleeping in Teagan's bed, she in Logan's bed, he in his reading nook, and I on the couch for 6 nights. Hopefully we will have our own silkie sheets back by Monday!!

Yeii!

Still chemical free...

2008-09-13T02:28:00.004-04:00

No alcohol (not a drop!) or caffeine (other than the little bit found in chocolate) since August 4th. I am definitely more even. However, I still lost control with Logan today for about 10 seconds, but I found the recovery quicker, and the reactive intensity so much less. I think this is a good path. I also started a running/walking routine when I returned from vacation, just in time to find out my husband is getting laid off (contract ends 9/26). So, stresses pile up, but we are coping as a team, better than ever before. Very nice! Cooperative, thoughtful.

However, BOY, do I have the munchies!! I am absolutely craving Heath bars and a bottle of Coke and anything super sweet with enough crunch to break a tooth or two. Since we do not keep these things in stock in the house (because we truly strive to be a healthy family!), I am crawling out of my skin!! I popped popcorn. It didn't cut it. I drank some ice water (chewing on the ice) and ate an apple. Nope. Not enough! Carrot? HA HA HA!!

Wow, my body is rebelling from my detox plan. It's been 5 weeks since I cut out soda, black teas, and wine. CANNOT SLEEP!! Could really use the downer (wine). Choosing well, but I cannot sleep!! UGH!!

And, the real downside of that is that a tired mommy might as well be a chemically influenced mommy. When I am tired I am like a drunk! So, now, how to sleep? Warm rice milk isn't doing the job. Cutting off all the lights & lying down is torturous. I just lie in bed & stare into the darkness with ten thousand thoughts spinning my cerebral juices around & around till I'm excruciatingly dizzy (therefore, a DITZ the next day!).

I continue to learn about my son's unique needs, as an academically gifted, intense child. As I read more and more about "twice exceptional" kids, I find myself. Insomnia has been my life partner. My brain doesn't understand the concept of rest. It is maddening (I have often felt insane in the moments when I am SO tired, but CANNOT fall asleep!).

Anyway, regardless of my desire to drink Tom's beer to put me to sleep, I am committed to this healthier place for me. Healthier, only, if I can catch some ZZZZZZ's!!

Seeking Serenity

2008-08-22T06:46:00.003-04:00

I gave up caffeine & alcohol entirely on my vacation. I felt very peaceful for two weeks, and was calm with my kids. But, that could have been due to the bald eagle that flew over my head, the tiny frog that leapt into by hand, or the Monarch butterfly that played tag with my family. Nature brings peace. My tiny townhouse does not--we found 6 mouse droppings (my mother calls them "calling cards") in the cabinet again on Thursday. I had to call the exterminator and the landlord, again. We were bombarded with friendly neighbors on the lawn within seconds of arriving home. There is tension here that melts away at the lake.

What are the things that help me relax?

Listening to music.
Swimming.
Singing.
Walking in the woods.
Climbing!
Skiing.
Writing.
Lake Michigan.

Although I am a Christian, I cannot say that prayer always relaxes me, though sometimes it does. I think silence is more relaxing than just searching my mind for all the words to put into a prayer. Yes, I know that silence is the Listening part of a conversational relationship with God. I need more of that silent time than anything.

In Michigan, I took one day at the house completely to myself as the kids wandered off for fun with their grandparents and my aunt & uncle. I took a long, hot shower with Bebo Norman's music on full volume. I sat by the water and sifted sand to explore the treasures on my parents' beach. I ate some fresh blueberries we'd purchased at the roadside stand of a local farmer. Everything slowed down for a couple hours as I fell asleep inside a large yellow raft.

Vacations are good, but when I returned home on Wednesday all that has to be done dwelt inside my little townhouse. I knew the to-do lists would be written soon, the bills would need to be paid, suitcases would need to be emptied, and the regular grind of life would begin churning again. In many areas of my life, I am BEHIND. What needs to drop away to make room for the good and necessary? What must be pushed to the top, so that I can retain serenity?

I will, at the very least, maintain my caffeine-free, alcohol-free living. Anything else right now seems to add layers of complication.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference!

The Root

2008-07-29T01:41:00.006-04:00

I was reading an insightful article about perfectionism in children, and its origins. I started thinking about the Adult Child of an Alcoholic that I am, and how I can certainly be defined as a recovering perfectionist...

Quoting that article:

Some perfectionistic parents raise their children to be perfectionists by actively praising and rewarding success and punishing failure. These parents offer or withdraw their love based on whether their children meet their perfectionistic expectations. These children get the message that if they want their parents' love, they must be perfect.

One thing I have tried to be consistent about is repeating a few messages to my children:

1) Your dad & I love you more than anyone on earth does!

2) The LORD loves you even MORE, and loved you before we did.

3) We love you, "even when you stink," we say. (Some would say, "love you unconditionally").

It is not my intention to harm my dad by posting here about my childhood experiences, but he has been reading my blog (!), so I ought to say, now, that he has been SOBER for 25 years, and we have an always-growing relationship & love that is valuable to me!! In the not sober years, however, he & his mother were very short-tempered, and I can see how that played a role in my perfectionism.

Our home was a tense and anxious one. When my sister & I spilled our open glasses of milk at the table (this has been reported to me as not a necessarily rare event), my dad hit the roof. Let's just say he cried out about spilt milk, not just cried. Small mistakes yielded dramatic reactions, which turned to traumatic experiences.

Like my dad, cousin & sister, I am not friendly when I am tired. If my children bounce on the bed to wake me after I've had only 4 hours of sleep, I snap like a whip as I desperately clamber back into my dreams for as long as I possibly can. If you really want to see my ugliest face, test my patience when I am weary!

So, am I reactive like Dad was? Yes. I have been guilty of this, for sure. ANY member of my family could share evidence to that effect, including Dad, with whom I lost my temper as recently as January (in that case, it involved some really odd/rare relational tensions plus a now-understood-as-unwise glass of wine...).

Roots.

My kids & I planted some sunflower seeds last week as part of this really wonderful project. In order to free up a space for the seeds to develop, grow & thrive, I had to yank some clover & dandelion weeds. My mom taught me when I was still a child how to pinch a weed right at the ground level, hold firmly and pull slowly to effectively remove the root.

I want to develop, grow & thrive, so I am working on tilling the soil of my past to remove those invasive and destructive roots. Wow--they run generations deep, and are so hard to tackle alone. Here I squat in the dirt with my sister and my cousins trying to fertilize a new generation of citizens who are part of solving problems, not creating more! In my case, that change is so important as my own evolution personally improves the future for my children.

Here's a GREAT song that just popped up on my iPod from my "James and John" mix!!

I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make a better place
With my own two hands
Make a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

Im gonna make it a brighter place
Im gonna make it a safer place
Im gonna help the human race
With my own
With my own two hands

I can hold you
With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands

With our own
With our own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

Takes two hands to remove the tough roots that wend under a garden bed. Green, emerging sprouts don't always tell the truth of what's beneath. If you really want to change the soil and what it produces, you have to use two hands to get deep below.

Thanks Jack Johnson & Ben Harper!

Ben Harper & Jack Johnson - With my own two hands (Live)
by Butler-the-trio

Jus' Simma Don Na

2008-07-29T00:19:00.015-04:00

Didja ever see that crazy Cheri Oteri skit on SNL where the woman keeps cutting off a customer/patient person with a rude and over-reactive, "Jus' Simma Don Na!" (Simmer down, now).

I guess that should be the new voice that talks to our family, since Tom & I attended a free two-hour talk by this guy a couple Fridays ago. His organization, "Celebrate Calm" has already greatly affected our household, as Tom & I continue to hold our own, rather than freaking out, losing our tempers/control, and giving our power away to a 45# little person.

I regularly get helpful material from Kirk Martin in my email inbox now. Next, we'll probably buy some big fat CD set, and find our family renewed/rejuvenated/revived...or some other re- word. Re...re...resurrected!

HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU CHECK THIS STUFF OUT to help your intense child/family!

OK. OK. Now, everybody just stay calm...

OR

Jus' Simma Don Na!!

Here is the skit version I remember the most. Pardon the mild "French." My favorite line is, "What part of 'simma down' da ya na understan’?! The 'simma,' the 'down,' or the 'na'?! "

Or, BETTER YET:

Proverbs 29:11 (New International Version)

A fool gives full vent to his anger,
but a wise man keeps himself under control.

New International Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

Is it the weather?

2008-07-09T19:40:00.003-04:00

Three of my last four posts have been on rainy days...

Steady Breathing

2008-07-09T19:26:00.004-04:00

A couple great days with Lo. Today, and I couldn't believe this, he spent almost 10 hours doing NOTHING but creating fabulous space vehicles and rockets with his Lego bricks, and only taking necessary breaks. He was content getting his Lego blocks back, which had been taken away last week when he refused to clean up his room. This morning, when our beautiful daytime plans were rained out, he asked me if he could have his Lego box back. I am so glad I agreed; we had such a good day.

Yesterday, he stayed at a friend's house and got a little wild--broke something there--but overall I think it was an OK day. Monday was also pretty top notch. This weekend was family time in D.C. and at church. So, we might have had 5 fairly decent days in a row!?!? Am I remembering correctly?

I attended a talk last night about the effects of food additives/colors in our diets. I'd love to blog about that on the ModMom site at some point--but suffice to say, I enjoyed the speaker's presentation, and learned some family food modifications we can make. We already live with a pretty stripped down diet--very few "treats" of any real consequence. Now, even those may be up for auction.

Anyway, more later at the other site. Life is good. We're all inhaling & exhaling for today without screaming. Nice!

A Declaration of Independence

2008-07-04T17:00:00.006-04:00

Because he was excited to remember today as the 4th of July, my son chose to dress himself with Old Glory on his chest. I should have seen that as a harbinger of the morning as yet unfurled. He fought for independence from the monarchy for hours, as we let our capital plans wash away with the threat of rain storms & the presence of his storm.

At five-years-old, our independent thinker is revolutionary!

However, that doesn't fly well with his father and me, when his declarations are sassy, rude and inappropriate. With swinging fists or arms disrespectfully akimbo, he grits his teeth and angrily runs out the door. "I am leaving, and you will not see me again," he states, emphatically. I keep him in sight around every corner as his bare feet take him down the sidewalk and around the bend. I see him halt for a moment, seemingly afraid of a passing car. He looks back to get a peek of me, waves goodbye again, and turns behind a bush. I still see him, as he continues the Battle of Country Walk (or the Sierra Woods Stand Off) on his own. I turn on my heels, using those infamous eyes in the back of my head to continue watching him with love, and concern.

No car to jump into. No best friend to call for culpability. He's not 16...yet. Today, he has to return home after the 15 minutes stand-off, because he is thirsty.

"Son," I say, "I will tell you this now, and repeat it all your life if necessary. Listen up. This home is your protection and the door will always be open to you. Do not run away from us, Child. We love you. God loves you more. You need us and we need you."

He thinks for a moment.

"And my sister needs my protection, too."

So he sees it this way: Daddy protects Mommy, Mommy protects him, he protects his sister. It's an interesting view of our family. All I want is for him to see us as a collaborative body. A team. ONE in the world--all for one, and one for all. None of us should be apart from each other--but we ought to help each other face the world.

Tom & I will be attending a seminar in about two weeks called Celebrate Calm. I wish it were tomorrow!!

Upsetting the apple cart?

2008-05-17T20:18:00.005-04:00

I have excerpted & edited this out of an email I just sent a friend--it pretty clearly describes my regular up & down issues with perfectionism:

The busyness of our lives has drowned out...well...my priorities have gotten very fuzzy recently, as I've found myself desperately trying to simplify my life & strip away the crap that gets in the way of my hearing from the Lord. Emails, blogs, yahoo groups...I'm guilty of communication overload as I claw desperately with my Type-A personality as this Thing Called Homeschooling...wanting to do it RIGHT...do it PERFECTLY. My son is so smart it is scary, and I do not put him in public school b/c I do not want his mind to be under-served when he is developmentally in advance of a kindergartener...but we cannot afford private school (& I'm not even sure that would be the answer for him...), so it falls on me, and I do not want to miss his needs...

Coming from dysfunction makes me too serious about Life--too afraid to screw everyone around me up--too worried that the fingers will point at me when my children are older. So, I overcompensate for my parents' mistakes...and nearly kill myself along the way...BALANCE is key for me. REMEMBER THAT AMAZING ANIMATION?? Where the men were all keeping a plane balancing in space, until one of them moved toward the center (curious about a box...is that right?), and the plane's integrity was endangered? Yeah. Finding balance...it's a challenge for me, as a driven lady. Finding peace in the moment, without feeling restless...

OH! I found it on Youtube--the exact piece. So, you can see for yourself what the costs of misplaced priorities can be...

Still Raining

2008-05-12T13:55:00.004-04:00

We have now had three struggling days in our home--and it was dramatized today in contrast to the movie I chose from the library, American Girls', "Felicity."

Do you think children were truly so compliant and easy to manage in 1775 as those here presented? Felicity displayed a great deal of rebellion (they called it "independence") against the rules of the home (going out every morning to talk to & train a mean old man's beautiful, but beaten horse; stealing away the apprentice's pants so that she may wear them in secret to ride that same horse, etc.), and on each occurrence, is offered overflowing grace & forgiveness from her father, mother & grandfather. You refuse to ride sidesaddle, like a lady should? Oh, that's OK. It's your tenth birthday. You can get away with anything today.

It hasn't been so easy here these last few rainy days.

You sass your mom & dad, you lose that toy. You scream at me about losing that toy, you go to your room. You won't go to your room? I'll carry you (shoot! you're heavy!). You won't stay in your room? I'll put you in again. And again. You don't like that? Well, then I'll scream back at you! You want to lose more privileges?...

It's been a rapidly sinking mess here. John Schneider makes it look so easy in "Felicity."

"I know you broke contract with me, and that I put out a reward for a large sum of money on you, and that there are bounty hunters in the woods trying to track you down, but, oh! Felicity convinced you to return, Ben? Well, then. You may return without punishment because of your noble desire to serve the militia, but don't run away again. And, when you are of age you may go, but promise me you'll return."

A promise held a lot of weight in 1775.

Loyalty did too.

And family unity (& growth, don't you know).

Well, according to the writers & producers of "Felicity," anyway!

I WANT to be a gentlewoman, kind to my children ALL the time, wise in discipline and direction...is it today's society that makes that so very weird & difficult to do?

Where did all the paper come from that surrounds me every day (calendars, bills, notes, maps)? Where did all the complication come from? I mean, isn't it complicated to run an estate...or a plantation? Well, I suppose if you employ slaves then you can simplify your own personal daily routines...

UGH! Really. I know that was a very complicated period of history--would your sons go off with the militia? Would you chose loyalty to the king, or chose to throw tea overboard? The stress of that was real. Why do I always feel, though, that this era is so very differently pressured?

Being away from family is probably one of the most difficult aspects of modern living. My dad lives in KY. My cousin in FL. My sister in MI. My mom & stepdad in three states. My in-laws in CT & FL...and so on, etc. Our family of four lives alone here, with occasional treats of visits from loved ones & friends. But, for all the moving I've done, the rebuilding time after time wears on the spirit.

I hope we can really settle here. I want to put down roots, and I want my children to love living here, too! I need that constant. Who doesn't? I mean, really!?

So, the rain falls all month. Our son fights back at us like an untamed bronco. Then the sun breaks through and the sky is painted with majesty in charcoal grey, military blue and the shining white that laces the edges of the foreboding clouds.

We trudge along. As my girlfriend told me today, "You wake up, you smile, and you start a new day." That's about all there is to it, some days!

Thank God, it's been a while...

2008-05-11T01:12:00.005-04:00

When I was in high school my dear friend (and then-secret admirer) gave me the gift of a pewter unicorn prancing forward, head held high. Ironically, I had another pewter figurine, which was part of a growing collection my grandmother had started for me, of a unicorn who had fallen flat on her chin, rear end high up to the sky. I put them together in my wall display case as a commentary that

pride cometh before a fall.

So it happened to me again today.

I was just thinking to myself proudly yesterday that I had not lost my temper with my children in a good long while. I was taking pride in my accomplishment, and thinking that I might have licked that angry demon.

tHeN caMe THis dAy.

Yup. It weren't purty.

My son, who is smart beyond his years, has been wowing more people again. All he had to do is open his mouth, really, and this week he impressed his new pediatrician with his intelligence just by being his charming and funny self. Only, we ought not ever feel bloated ego in any area of life, least of all when we are merely five-years-old! He speaks like a 12-year-old, is tall as a 7-year-old, and is funny as all get-out, and charming to boot. So...he's starting to get a bit of a swollen cranium.

And, I am clearly a contributor to his maladapted sense of self...as are all other who dote on him to point of adoration. There's a malady...an affliction of sorts...with a name...um...spoiled?

So, yes, my son is spoiling a little...and he's gotten haughty with the adults around him...and I DO NOT care for his attitude!

So, today his father called him (& his sister) in from outdoors...and they did not budge (testing Daddy, of course). Tom repeated himself, and they still stood like two statues (albeit gorgeous statues) on the front step. Since this has become a recent trend, I lost it.

YOU GET IN THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT! WE ARE NOT GOING TO D.C. TODAY. THAT'S IT!!

It was meant to be a pretty big day for our family--the four of us were going to venture in on the Metro to the First Annual National Train Day, and we were all looking forward to it, but whining from 8 AM to noon, and complaining, and not listening killed the deal. Needless to say, dear son was NOT happy with the loss of TRAINS, of all things!

So, I tried to keep it short & sweet, though I wanted to give a twenty-minute lecture about honoring your mother & father, and respect, and listening, and...

He fell apart, however, and refused to go to his room on his own, when told to. So, I carried him up & slammed the door (breaking a family rule) behind myself.

Do NOT come out of there until you cool off! I screamed. My husband told me I was off the wall. Calm down.

Well, let's just say the next 30+ minutes involved escalation, and power struggles, and very unfriendly behavior on all of our parts. It was one of those moments you hope is never caught on some hidden Dr. Phil camera...

So, I lost it again. BUT, I will NOT be defeated by this ONE incident. I am a mom who is TRYING my best to BE more than I've ever been before. Take one woman's New Year's Resolutions and apply them to every single day of a year: That is the life of this mom, who is trying to live authentically, live biblically, live in control of her weakest parts & live in the Spirit!

Truth is, I fail.

Some days.

Hopefully, not again for a long while!

Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves. Do you not realize that Christ Jesus is in you—unless, of course, you fail the test? And I trust that you will discover that we have not failed the test. Now we pray to God that you will not do anything wrong. Not that people will see that we have stood the test but that you will do what is right even though we may seem to have failed. For we cannot do anything against the truth, but only for the truth. We are glad whenever we are weak but you are strong; and our prayer is for your perfection. 2 Corinthians 13:5-10, New International Version (NIV) © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

Whew! That's strong!

2008-03-31T08:59:00.005-04:00

I read a post on a yahoo group today, & felt a need to respond. I thought I'd post my reply here, leaving other parties' names hidden, in case this resonates with any other mommas who are struggling with the same. The group is made up of unschooling parents from around the globe, with which I associate, but do not necessarily fully align. I'm learning, growing in all areas as a parent, as a wife, as a woman, and as a human being, so Lord knows where I'll be 12 months from now, but you'll see my disconnect within the words below...

I wrote a book review at epinions about Cynthia Ulrich Tobias' book, "You
Can't Make Me, But I Can Be Pursuaded."

As that title, alone, will be offensive to many, let me say, first, that I am taking a huge risk by writing anything here at all, since, as I have previously stated, we "unschool" in that we use the world as our classroom, not any curriculum out of a book, but that I do NOT qualify as a philosophical Unschooler. That means that my "eclectic" homeschooling will clearly offend the die-hard Unschoolers on this list--it happens every time I write.

HOWEVER, as I believe that out of the 2,131 members on this board, SOMEONE else can empathize with [name], (who appears to be posting for the first time), as another frustrated/desperate parent of a Spirited child.

I am a Spirited Child. Always have been; always will be. It gives me an I Can attitude about EVERY thing, and I am a known leader in whatever environment I choose. I have an independent spirit/mind/intellect, and was a "gifted" kid who struggled severely in public schools b/c I didn't like the condescending bookwork. I was accepted to a FINE college
(ivy-league), but got wildly social (not chemically-induced, just curiously excited), and was unable to hunker down on the schoolwork which could have opened millions of doors for my future. So, I understand the mind of a "Strong-Willed Child" as well as anybody. I'm "textbook" in that way...

However, I am not at all keen on the expresssion "Strong-Willed Child" because of what has come out of that nomenclature--a sense of a child who is "impossible" or "difficult," still seen as "rebellious" at age 37 to her mother, etc. I then gave birth to a Firstborn of Great Mind, who is wildly (frighteningly) intelligent, and with whom I find keeping pace quite a challenge. He picks up everything around him with such ease, that he frustrates easily if something takes too much concentration of him. In other words, he has MASTERED chess at age 5, as well as Battleship, and Stratego, and knows more about the Titanic than I ever have, loves trains with incredible passion, and is fully engaged in his own life. However, he screams with terrorizing intensity when he cannot get his socks on (I still assist, of course), and isn't interested in learning how to tie shoes just yet (I have always been opposed to velcro shoes as I felt they rob our kids of tying motivation...however, at age 5 we are all about the easy slip-on rain boot! And, I am still tying his sneaks as I talk it through..."How do we start? (make an 'X'). What's next?..."

It is the whining & screaming that grates on my nerves & brings out the Irish in me despite my best efforts to stay steady & do the right Attachment Parenting (AP)/unschooly things!

So, b/c I am "strong-willed" and he is, as well, we have oft "butted heads," b/c there just are times when the momma has to say, "Let's go...now!" like when I have a chiropractor appointment, have requested his shoes to be put on about six times, and we're already running late. I mean, you, [name], know precisely which moments I address.

SO.....b/c I started out my parenting life as thinking myself AP, having had a miraculously pleasant unmedicated midwife-assisted birth, feeding organic homemade foods, practicing extended breastfeeding, not circumcising, not vaccinating, etc... homeschooling became a natural outbirth of those early decisions, I was GUILT-RIDDEN when I couldn't "make" natural parenting continue to "work" as ds aged. (Please, don't attack the words. I found myself unable to *function* on a daily basis with a child who resisted EVERYthing simply for the sake of resisting. I have come close to the decision to medicate myself b/c sleep deprivation was bringing out the demons in me). It started with his first diaper & first bath, to tell you the truth, so we were very flexible to my son from Day One. I'd remind my mom, "He doesn't take to transitions to well, remember...," and to my husband, "Be patient. Try a different approach..."

We didn't let infant-ds "cry-it-out," we always responded to his voice. So, I continued to try to do this to the best of my ability as he grew. HOWEVER, some dramatic change occured about the time he hit FOUR. He started using violent words against me,
and threats about himself--which have since completely disappeared not because of any meds for him or for me, but b/c of how I was helped by this book I'm telling you about.

I've read so much about that particular year (age 4) of development being quite taxing on parents--the beautifully wild unpredictability of four can throw Moms & Dads for a loop-de-loop, as it really did me, since my husband was out of town for NINE (9) months, excluding occasional weekend/holiday visits. Single momming a willful child, as a willful child, myself, I hit a wall that drove me into a spiral of depression, anger, and toddler-like-tempers. The guilt of not finding a happy place that allowed me to still call myself an AP parent, was wracking this perfectionist me in a terrible way. Prayer only moderately
helped. Yoga & spiritual breathing...well there just wasn't time to get in that "me" time when I was constantly attending to my high-maintenance "joy." I LOVED him with my whole heart, but wasn't finding the active loving all that easy...every day was
a labor I wasn't sure I was built for.

SO, with all that background necessary so I can defend myself, and possibly bond with [name], below is the link (c) to my review, if you feel you can still read my very non unschooly response to our stressful & intense situation.

I am a Christian, the book was written by a Christian, and the cultural/faith aspects of that perspective play heavily in both the author's presentation, and my analysis of it.

In addition, I started [this] new blog during that time, b/c I needed to be totally honest with someone about my anger--even if it was total strangers--and I thought it might help others struggling with the same.

BTW: I have been drastically converted BACK to my AP ways after a bout of hard-nosed authoritarianism overtook me in frustration...

Teaser: "SWCs can count themselves in good company with the likes of 'Thomas Jefferson, Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, Joan of Arc, Thomas Edison and others.'"

So, as I brace for impact (oh, man, there will be some...!), I think you'll find that I was discovering this group's popular parenting approach as I went along..a conversion from my upbringing in a harsh authoritative environment, which comes in as the baggage in my parenting, to a more natural conversational AP style, which I have since adopted even more... Here is the link:

It Takes One To Know One! reviewed Nov 04 '07.

{Yawn}....Oh! Excuse me, I was dozing off...!

2008-03-29T18:08:00.003-04:00

60 Minutes (Lesley Stahl) recently (3/19/08) aired a phenomenal piece on The Science of SLEEP...

Part 1 (endure the embedded commercial, please--this video is worth your 13:02)):

Part 2 (12:28):

The enitre article is located at 60 Minutes-The Science of Sleep.

Of all the advice I've received over the years about my sleep habits (that is, my lack-of-sleep habits), this piece was the most convicting. I'm remembering Grandpa, who took a little cat nap every day--and how he lived to almost-89, and was very fit & healthy despite heart issues over the years. Were it not for his little snoozle, would we even have had him for so long? And, my "Graham," (who had the same sleep deprivation struggles as I do), left us far too early--after suffering an couple aneurysms in her brain. If she had slept better, might she have met our sweet Tea?

My cos in Florida & I were just discussing the genetic upset in our family from all of us identifying with the owls. None of us wakes easily, nor necessarily enjoys rising in the morning at all. If I could I'd sleep midnight to noon (or maybe midnight to 9).

According to CBS News, 51% of adults in America suffer from some symptom of insomnia. I am not alone! So, it is epidemic, according to this piece, and a serious threat to our health (accidents, diabetes, etc.). And only 30-31% of adults who are married with children think they are getting enough sleep (or, 69% do NOT feel they get enough sleep...).

So...how to rearrange my time/schedule/habits/routines to go to bed earlier, and benefit from a healthier mind? So...as if Lent wasn't enough for Giving it Up, now I have to consider giving up my alone-time in the house in the wee hours...that is, if I want to LIVE long enough to see my children have their own children some day!!

Nah...no antidepressant needed for me, just yet. I'll take this new prescription for sleep for a while & see how I even out. (Interesting brain scans in the piece show the sleep-deprived brain resembling someone with psychosis!)

Eat well. Exercise. GO TO BED!

There is a little evolutionary discussion in the first 2 minutes--but it is brief, and the point is this: there is a REASON why we need sleep, and why we need as much as we do (~1/3 of our lives is spent sleeping). If there wasn't a REASON for all that sleep, animals who are in danger in the wild would not sleep, for the sake of their own safety/protection. Those of us who believe in a Divine creator, cannot deny the logic of the statements spoken--sleep has critically important purpose written into our coding from the beginning.

(Cross posted at modmomuse)

Factors in Finding Balance

2008-03-25T16:25:00.004-04:00

Why I am feeling so great these days...

* A delightful Lent where I chose to pay attention to my angry streak and fight it like a prizefighter. I will not go down! I will stand firm! And, because of prayer, meditation & blogging, counsel with friends and Scriptural investigations, I feel stronger.

* Seeing a little girl dying in the arms of her parents and loved ones changed me forever. I will celebrate every First Day of Spring of my life with new plantings for Mary-Claire, and others I know (Megan, Laurie, Zig, Freddie) who have died during the Passover/Easter season.

* Hitting my bottom and believing Christ not only was resurrected, but also promises me resurrection. And, not only is there a heavenly resurrection for me, but also in the Here and Now. I feel raised anew with the coming of Spring & celebration of Easter.

*Walking through spiritual lessons with my son that culminated in his baptism and First Communion during Easter's Holy Week. I felt such joy to celebrate with ceremony our desire to raise our children in the church--in Christian faith--and with others helping us do so. I feel that Truro has saved me a second time!

* Getting a little more intentional with our homeschooling routines--giving Teagan her own "work" to do while her big brother continues practicing his penmanship and reading with Mommy. She is also excited about the moments around the table.

*Having my husband HOME makes a HUGE difference in my evenness. It does take two of us to build this household, and I am appreciating him so much more than ever before now that we are reunited. The Lord used our nine-months apart for His purpose--no matter how difficult they were for us!

*Finding a like-minded homeschooling fellowship with other parents of Gifted Students! Of all the yahoo groups I have joined, this one is ministering to me the best. Finally, others who understand my son like I do!!

*Finally, blogging has kept me honest with myself...a regular place to confess has helped me line myself back up with a more even walk. Still, days ahead will be difficult, and I will return to this location again...and again. For now, though, if there is a long period between now & my next post, know that to be a GOOD THING! YAY!!

Practicing

2008-03-25T16:13:00.005-04:00

I could feel the tension building--it was my own invention, from tasks undone, that pile up around me in each space of my house. Undone projects, hopes, duties...they have a tangible presence as piles of laundry, magazines unread, receipts lost in a pile somewhere. Never is there enough time in a single day to tackle all of these undone items while I also parent fully & completely. The urgent takes precedence day-after-day, OR, I throw out the "to-do's" as I choose the "I wants." Like yesterday--we gave a whole day to DC, enjoying the South Lawn at the White House with a tens of thousands of others, celebrating Easter. Forget the dishes! There's the White House for us today, kiddos!!

But, mid-day today the tension was rising in me. The sun is high, Spring is here, the children want to go outside. I cannot blame them, I want to run through the woods, myself. But, today is a To-Do day. So, when they asked me to do something to which I knew I must answer "no," that physical pressure so familiar to me, brought me near The Scream. But! I stopped. I asked them to give me a moment. I bent at the hip to touch my toes. I exhaled. I rose again, looked into their beautiful faces and explained that some days are high with joy & energetic outdoor activities, and some are low with menial tasks like a 5' pile of laundry. I understand their needs/desires, but I need them to please understand that today is a lower day. Tomorrow might be high again--it's like waves at the ocean.

And, instead of letting loose on the innocents, I gathered myself and responded with reason. The result? They've been playing well together all day! Inhale, 2, 3, 4, 5...hold, exhale, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Could I be growing!?

Freedom

2008-03-14T22:22:00.005-04:00

I was driving to see my old floormate--the drive was longer than a Sunday afternoon excursion, but not too long to miss the opportunity to be by his side as his daughter dies. Before I packed the car with my bags and my children I realized I had finally been released from an old lingering sadness I'd felt since I'd last seen this dear friend. I used to be engaged to his best high school friend, and my sorrow over our break-up had never really left me--I've been weeping off and on for years about some of the situations he and I experienced together. But, finally, that large, gaping, raw, open wound from 1992 has healed. Even some of the scarring seems to have smoothed into new skin. What relief to know that I never have to revisit those memories. God has come in like a wisp of fragrance to refresh my heart and soul. Where pain once existed, I have peace. Thanks be to God!

Tonight I received a weekly post from our church, with a letter from our rector. In it he quoted Fredrick Beuchner from his autobiographical book, Telling Secrets,

“We cannot undo our old mistakes or their consequences any more than we can erase old wounds that we have both suffered and inflicted, but through the power that memory gives us of thinking, feeling, imagining our way back through time we can at long last finally finish with the past in the sense of removing its power to hurt us and other people and to stunt our growth as human beings.”

I really love that quotation. Some "pasts" for me go back 30+ years, some nearly 20, and some, just a few days ago. But, in truth, even the past that is minutes ago cannot be undone. I must practice conscious living; conscious decision-making; intentional lifestyle.

And then last night I had the wonderful privilege of hearing a great speaker at a women's event whom I had not heard since Fall 2000. She had wonderful words of wisdom and encouragement about the way a woman ought to seek a peaceful household.

Little things are changing me. Seeing a dying child and her coping family; hearing from a woman my senior who can say, "Hey! You can make a decision to not make the same familial mistakes I did!"; realizing I may be in over my head in emotion, and may need to seek help once again...

I had joy today. I was happy with my children today. We did practical and impractical things. We laughed. We kissed. We hugged.

Lent is coming to a close, and while I may have failed my anger-free forty days, I succeeded far more. If I look at the forest, instead of the trees, this Lent has been a time of great growth in me. No, I have not been a perfect mother--and I never will be! So, I must hear the wonderful word of our Lord that was spoken into the heart of our MOPS speaker last night, "I am a perfect God, and my children disappoint me all the time." Our children's behavior is no reflection of our own parenting. Great word!!

Growing wings, realizing freedom. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

And it is for freedom that Christ has set us free!!

Confessional Booth

2008-03-13T01:53:00.004-04:00

Slipping into psychological coma. Intervention necessary in more serious and intentional form than chocolate. Am genuinely considering meds for the first time.

Now, discuss amongst yourselves.

I have fought against the idea of popping a daily anti-depressant for a very long time b/c it seems like the "thing to do," among my mom pals, and therefor so "common" as to seem...well, wrong! How can so many of us "need" medication? In truth, how many of us do need medication, vs. how many have been told/sold the idea?

How did this happen to American moms? How did this happen to me, is my real question.

Well, I'm sure you've read & already discovered what I cannot see: "I am no superman; I am no hero, oh that’s for sure."*

Had a friend a few years back who wouldn't go on meds, when I (& others) could see clearly as day that if she did not she might not survive. Guess I hit that wall tonight, myself. The Mirror, Mirror on my wall (well, it was the rearview mirror in my car, actually) wouldn't lie to me, right?

Tomorrow I might wake up and forget tonight's epiphany, though, so I have to drop a post, so I'll read it, and go get help. Must find ways to manage myself better. Must listen to my own advice. If...I...could...just...reach...a...little...bit...further...

There!

*Where are you going?
With the long face pulling down
Don’t hide away like the ocean
That you can’t see
But you can smell
And the sound of waves crash down

I am no superman
I have no reasons for you
I am no hero, oh that’s for sure
But I do know one thing:
It’s where you are is where I belong

I do know, where you go
Is where I wanna be

Where are you going?
Where do you go?

Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars
If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day, and you’re ok

[Chorus:]
I am no superman
And I have no answers for you
I am no hero, oh that’s for sure
But I do know one thing:
Where you are, is where I belong
I do know, where you go
Is where I wanna be

Where are you going?
Where do you go?

Where do you go?
Where are you going?
Where do you go?

[Chorus]

Where are you going?
Where do you go?
And where are you going?
Where this goes

(c) Dave Matthews Band

Poison.

2008-03-02T21:18:00.005-05:00

A friend (MV) shared this quotation with our small group tonight and I just LOVE it:

"Bitterness is the poison we swallow, while hoping the other person dies."
Skip Gray, Navigators missionary

In the life of a Christ follower, it is critical that we are ever working out forgiveness when we have been hurt or offended in some way. Sometimes it takes days, weeks, months or years to really work out the issues. We ought not look at our concerns lightly and think forgiveness is simple enough for a magic wand's quick solution. Instead, when hurts are deeply sliced, the resulting wounds may need to heal in layers, not unlike a physical injury. And, in the case of a really bad break or cut on our skin, there may even remain a scar in the end, reminding us of the growth we've experienced. If we actively pursue healing by working out forgiveness, we can move it along, and get to a healthier place more quickly. If we stew and wait for the offending party to approach us, we may exhaust ourselves with the emotional labor of holding onto such a heavy burden, and we will not attain peace.

I've struggled significantly with completing the process many times. Layer upon layer, and sometimes with the (expensive) assistance of a skilled counselor, I've had to get to a place of readiness for relationships that I might have, in my flesh, wanted to cut off forever. The work was worth it! Anything worth anything takes work, you know.

I wrote about it once-upon-a-time here.

Do as I say, not as I do...

2008-02-16T01:16:00.001-05:00

Found on random blog tonight:

"If some are still dominated by their former bad habits, and yet can teach by mere words, let them teach... For perhaps, being put to shame by their own words, they will eventually begin to practice what they teach."

7th century ascetic, John the ladder

And then...not so much.

2008-02-14T12:17:00.004-05:00

Well, I started this Valentine's Day loving my kids so much--I made heart-shaped pancakes with the first letters of their names inside, we ate & all was good. Then, because we've had so many chaotic nights & have missed baths, they got to take a long, fun bath and play with every bath toy they own--which my husband feels is too much. They have lots of underwater animals, a couple boats and some spraying water animals. They enjoy their bathtimes when they aren't rushed, so I did laundry beside them while they laughed & splashed and had a good time. They even helped put away the toys without complaint until Logan asked if I could add more water (it was draining) so he could practice his kicking. Well, we have an appointment in about 90 minutes in Fairfax, I have to take a shower & we have to eat lunch between now and then, so my plan was to cut his too-long bangs after the bath..my answer was no. He flipped out, of course, as always, and you know? I have just HAD it! I put the warm towels on them right out of the dryer and started to comb his hair, still calm, but then he started to whine AGAIN about how the hair is in his eyes--I said THAT is why I need to cut it, Logan! That is why I need to cut it!

He does NOT want to get his hair cut at a place in a mall--freaks out. It might have something to do with that time my parents took him to the barber & said "This is the kind of place where Dampa gets his hair cut..." only, Dampa is bald, so I think maybe Logan has some misconception that he'll lose all of his hair at a barber or stylist. So, I have always cut it, and I enjoy doing it. TODAY, though, I will NOT. He freaked out, I lifted him up & put him in his room, slamming the door behind him. I cannot deal with his whining.

Those pancakes I told you about? Well the last one I served him (with the"L" in the middle) apparently didn't have enough blueberries for his liking!! FORGET IT!!

I stayed up to 3 AM last night cleaning up downstairs and the house looks gorgeous for Valentine's Day. Why do I do these things? Who cares!?!?

Heart-shaped pancakes. WHY!?!? (not enough blueberries, whine whine whine...). Cut his hair at home, why? Hair is in my eyes...whine whine whine. Let him play a long time in the tub with all his favorite toys why?? Want to have more water...whine whine whine.

NEVER SATISFIED!

Good God in heaven...HELP ME!

How do you make that sound...?

2008-02-13T14:33:00.005-05:00

You know in a game show when the person gets the wrong answer and there's a big Hnnnnnhgh buzzing sound...how would you type that out? Ehnnnnn? Ehhhhhhhhhhhhnnn?

That's the sound in my head right now. Like when I'm playing Taboo and I say one of the words in the list and someone is holding that damned buzzer a centimeter from my ear, thinking it's funny, and they hold down the big circle so that it goes Ehhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnn.

There isn't a b in the buzz...it's just this long annoying n. EhNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Yes, I am FAILING this day. It is very rainy--was icy yesterday and took Tom hours to get home after having slipped and hurt his knees. I knew we'd likely throw today's plan out the window (a drive to Fairfax in this weather isn't the joy of my life), but I didn't know how far from the mark we'd go. I am riled up & wound up and ticked off and unsettled and frustrated and...blogging to get out my fusings. I don't feel fit to be a mom today. Yesterday I had so much joy--today I am just annoyed.

Ugh.

WHY?? WHY can't I be even?

Don't answer that. It's rhetorical.

Or maybe do. If you have some good advice or a word of encouragement!

I don't mean to compare myself to others, but I know there are so many happier mommas out there. And I really LOVE my children and I always wanted to HAVE them and hold them and kiss them. But they WHINE so much!! And they whine so much! and they whine so much.

Firm and consistent. Yep. We do that. Then we just turn to angry and edgy when they whine and whine and whine.

I know I need The Nanny or some other such healing person to come in and say to me, "Well, what I see, Love, is that you need some sort of a chart here. A chart will make everything smell roses."

We use charts. We use boards. We use praise.

It's nap time. My daughter is giving it up & my son still needs it, so everyone is walking around by 3 PM cranky and irritated because we're ALL supposed to be sleeping!! And, I try lying gently with them in the big bed & reading stories until we all just d r i f t off to sleep...only, I'm the only one who crashes, then they tear up the house while I rest, meaning I wake to disasters of more work to do, feel hugely disrespected & taken advantage of, and still have to make dinner.

Is there any way I can just get off?? What if someone else watches my children for a month so I can sunbathe!? How about that!?!? I remember when I was a nanny the people whose children I watched played tennis and went to tea with their girlfriends (probably eating crumpets & scones, none the less). All I need is another PARENT here who is in TUNE with me, who stands right alongside and says, "OH! I see there are some dishes to be done. Let me do those. You put up your feet, sweet gal!"

Mouse man is here. Gotta go get the door. Breathe deeply. IN...hale......ex...HALE.

Oh--my son just told me it was a florist...bringing flowers for...the neighbor.

Great.

Ehnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

Sorry!

Try again.

Deep Breathing

2008-02-12T03:00:00.001-05:00

Great day today--Monday, that is (I'm posting on Tuesday morning).

1) Teagan had pedi appointment at very AP-friendly* practice. Beautiful mobiles hung throughout every corner of the office and over the reception counter. Bookshelves were overflowing with books. There was CARPET (previous pedi was sterile, unfriendly & unwelcoming environment...reason for change). Oh, delight! I was so pleased.

2) We went to homeschool playgroup--one Mormon mom, one Muslim mom, others are secular & Christian. Delight! Kids played well (made big messes but host momma was fine with it), conversations were funny. Getting to know you time was great. Not lots of homeschool talk, but that is fine as we all get comfortable with each other. Ahhhhh.

3) MINISTERED TO OTHER PEOPLE: one homeschool family is having trials with their son which include his needing to be temporarily hospitalized. This takes their guinea pigs' caretaker away, so we are stepping in to foster-with-an-adoption-option little Trixie (Belatrix) and Mitzi. I had instant flashback to Tom's & my years before our babes when we had three piggies: Cocoa, Coffee & Hazelnut (we called them our Mocha Java Team). The kids were delighted--Teagan picked out the Abbysinian (Trixie) as hers. "My goo pig," she calls her. Well, this is an experiment. If all goes well with the care & feeding (& keeping CLEAN), then maybe Trixie can become her goo pig. Today, there was lots of petting. It was so calming. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

4) Logan had first Tae Kwon Do class--resisted a little bit of the authority from Mister Alex & Master Jake, but by end of one hour, he was bowing & grinning from ear-to-ear. He especially liked the RUNNING part. Kept looking up at me with big smiles & even gave me an "OK" sign as I signed I Love You through the glass. GOD IS GOOD!! And, greatly to be praised.

5) Salmon, cooked by my husband, for dinner, with a glass of Chardonnay!

6) SERVING MY FRIEND! I have a very dear friend who has a very big need. A mutual friend asked me to be part of a precious time of praying the Psalms for her--and in my first night of doing so, I kept N on my mind in so many hopeful and beautiful ways. Tonight, the same. We have known each other since 1987...that's 21 years!! I am so pleased to be able to intercede on her behalf with our Father in heaven. Mmmmmm.

Can't every day be like this one?

Well, no. Actually, I'd prefer not, because it was tiring by bedtime. But a very wonderful evening for dh & me, too, as we fell asleep with Logan between us. We love sleeping with the kids. It's so sweet, and will only last this short time. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe deeply. This is intentional living.

Amen!!

(cross-posted at my other blog site.)

*AP=Attachment Parenting. This is not, necessarily, the way we parent. In fact, I am certain you can tell by this blogsite that we are far from attachment...but it is the mom I WANT to be most days. Gentle, patient, loving, nurturing, caressing, understanding, gracious...it comes down to letting children grow at their own pace, not rushing them. I nursed the children past the one-year pedi recommendation, for example, we sleep with the kids a lot (but not always, as most AP mommas/poppas do), we are naturally-minded, we carried the babes in slings, I gave birth naturally (unmedicated), we never let the kids "cry it out" as infants...anyway, that either muddies your understanding, or clarifies the acronym...for more info on AP read what Dr. Sears has to say.

Acting Out

2008-02-09T21:38:00.000-05:00

Hearing my son asleep across the room, breathing so quietly--it is hard to believe he was bouncing off the walls all day. Now there is no movement except for his flaring nostrils, but this day did not go by so calmly. He is soft and sweet and gorgeous as he spreads out so long on the bed. He is getting older & taller every day.

And he is fighting against every boundary, every rule, every authority in his life. He is coming out swinging, literally, at one thing or another every day. His dad and I are sad, recalling how sweet and tender he was before he turned four. Before our family was divided by a couple hundred miles for nine months. Before his mommy became wildly impatient and difficult to trust.

THIS is the reason I dedicate myself to change now. Logan is a different child, and I am certain that I played a part in unsettling his sweetness. What shall I do to recover my boy? What shall we do? I only pray we can move swiftly to settle him. I pray that the referral I've gotten for a therapist is brilliantly perfect for our family's needs.

It's become a vicious circle. He acts out, we try patiently to manage the situation. He acts out again, we give him another chance to line himself up. He acts out more, we lose our patience. He acts out louder, or more aggressively, and we lose our tempers. This makes him act out more again, because he always resists the harder line, the sterner word, the more direct correction. Then the whole house is screaming and anxious and in turmoil.

We need help.

Tehillim

2008-02-09T18:48:00.000-05:00

I've got it, I've got it!! Replace rage with the Psalms. Of course!!

I have been asked by an old friend of mine to pray the Psalms for a mutual friend of ours (one of my favorite people), who is Jewish, as she has a unique need in her life right now. It is Jewish tradition to pray the Psalms with another person in mind in times of trials and difficulties, and I am honored to participate...and with the timing of it--to come during these Holy Weeks--well, what could soothe my soul better than the Word of God, used toward the service of a friend?

Ahhhhhhhhhhh. I'm inhaling & exhaling His name right now. And, from Sunday to Saturday sundown I will be devouring Psalms 107-150 (the Fifth Book). Oh, yes, that includes the alphabet...the longest book...119. Well, may it be as God desires. I'll pray 119 on Tuesday.

Progress report:
Everyone else in my home has been falling apart today (lots of chaos, screaming, etc.) but I had to work behind a closed door, so I let Daddy take care of it (even if he was one of the raised voices) as I interviewed a 92 (1/2)-year-old Holocaust survivor!! What an amazing opportunity! I LOVE MY JOB!

Lent...How's It Going?

2008-02-09T10:42:00.001-05:00

It's Saturday. Day 4 of 40. I'd say I am aware, and trying, but not necessarily killing the demons.

Luke 10:19
"I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you."

Authority. That's an interesting word. I have struggled with the concept for as long as I can remember. Here, the Lord is giving me an unbelievable amount of authority. If my struggles with anger are struggles of control, then, the best way to GAIN control is to recognize this proper perspective on authority. My authority is over the power of the enemy. My husband is not my enemy. My children are not my enemies. The rages that overpower me--those are the enemy! Rather than let my old ways reign, I need to reign them in & reign over them.

Knowing the right thing isn't the same thing as doing it, though, is it? A friend of mine who also confesses to raging issues has been sharing her counseling sessions with me. What is the trigger point, she asks me. What is the bottom line? Why do I feel ready to snap before I do...?

Well, for me it often comes down to a sense of being disregarded, disrespected, under-appreciated, invisible...irrelevant.

So, let's say I have just waxed the floor (I never wax the floor...so this is clearly an example, only). It shines like the top of the Chrysler Building. In tramps our muddy dog (we don't have a dog...so, again, this is an example), who proceeds to shake out his wet hair. Now I have brown floors instead of white, and splatter walls instead of gloss. Ooooooooooooh!!! This is a maddening situation, isn't it?

Now, that dog is not intentional about his mess...he has no idea what a clean floor looks like compared to a messy one, nor would he care if he could distinguish them from each other. Spouses, though, should be able to see a clean room and not drop new messes down. Children, I think, ought to remember the rules to put one thing away before taking out, before taking out, before taking out three more things...Parents who spend their days bent at the hip discovering lost socks, moving laundry into one machine after another, loading and unloading dishes, cleaning floors, making meals and teaching, shouldn't be taken for granted.

Now, YES, I do these things every day because I love my family. YES, I do! It's just that I can start to feel a swirl of fatalism when every done thing is so swiftly undone; when a just-shined mirror is spat upon; when a just-dried floor is splashed upon; when a just-tidied bed is thrown apart. Like, what's the point anyway? Let's just live in a pig sty!!

So how do I get over feeling that it's personal? How do I stop seeing them as messing with me, and start just seeing it as Life? How do I stop being so Strong-Willed, angry & scrappy? How do I stop opposing everyone & everything?

Well, I have 36 more days to keep working at it.

I got a Lent email from a friend today in which she talked about not just giving up, but taking on--like my post a few days back. So, just trying to not be mad all the time isn't the trick, I have to replace the old habit with a new one. I haven't done that, yet. What shall it be? Yoga? Deep breathing? Prayer? A scriptural reading plan?

I'll meditate on that & get back to you.

Saturday. No outbursts.
Friday--justifiable anger well-controlled, but also loss of control and regret.
Thursday--better than Wednesday.

I have a long way to go.

Peace

2008-02-06T08:29:00.000-05:00

My littler angel just crawled up into my lap with her typical, "Me seep mommy shou'duh," and promptly fell asleep on my shoulder. I just kissed the corner of her eye. Perhaps this day can be rectified.

Could it me, uh, maybe uh....Satan?!

2008-02-06T07:50:00.001-05:00

I've been oft irritated with the frequent blame people put on Satan for decisions they downright make themselves, by their own will, and of their own intent.

But, this morning...

Well, I committed to be temper-free for Lent. Good morning. It's Wednesday. ASH Wednesday.

To help Teagan fall asleep last night I crawled up into her loft, and promptly fell asleep myself. At somewhere about 3 hours into it I woke to the wretched sound of my husband letting the ironing board drop open. It was like nails on a chalkboard times ten to a woman sound asleep. Then I realized I was still in my oh-so-fine L.L. Bean flare-leg jeans and a tricot purple turtleneck over a black bra...and it was freakin' hot! But I was also plumb tuckered out, so I couldn't consider lifting my neck to crawl out from under my daughter's bed tent. Instead I called out to Tom in a loud enough voice for him to hear, but not enough to wake my babe, "What was THAT?" and then, "Can you please turn down the HEAT?!"

Still, I thought he might wake me back up before he retired, so I drifted off again. He did not wake me. At about 3 AM I was kicked a dozen times as Teagan tossed and turned...still, I tried to sleep. What was I thinking? I got NO sleep all night. Nothing of significance. Then, at 5 AM I realized there were two other bodies in the single bed with me, not one. Only the bed rails held us all in. Logan was curled up around my legs with his hand on my belly, Teagan was on my left arm. I was pinned down, but they were waking. I was exhausted, but they were starting their day...EARLY by three hours.

My children have always been on a later schedule than most of their area peers. Because we have not had to get them onto a bus at 8 AM, nor out the door for preschool by 7:30, I have never awoken them before their own biology did. I believe the body knows how much sleep it needs at this age, and so, we set a bed time based on them getting at least 10 hours of sleep. They usually are sleeping by 8:30 or 9, so they rise between 7:30 and 8. It works for us.

Not today.

As I tried to compose myself before the mirror, I noticed my glasses were crooked on my face. I adjusted them, again, and they broke in my hands. I slowly and patiently cut the adhesive part off a Band-aid to fit, and set in my head that this day means, first, a trip to get new glasses. It's an emergency. I am blind without them and this is my only pair. I am unshowered and my hair is in a freakin' ponytail--this is no way to see how well glasses look on me...and a vision test will be required, so who the freak is going to watch the children while I do this?

By 8 AM I have lost my temper about a dozen times. But now the sun has risen, so can we pretend THAT was my Shrove Tuesday??

Dear Lord in heaven above, I see what's happening here. The devil roused my kids all night to see how I would react. The devil tickled their ribs three hours early to wake them so I could be tested in my commitment to not blow it. The devil ripened the environment for ultimate melt-down, and I failed miserably. Everyone is unhappy. Everyone is screaming. It is chaos in my house at this very moment as the children fight below me. And, it is best if I do NOT interfere right now, because I might do something that everyone would regret my doing. Instead, I type as fast as a banshee....

...God, HELP ME!

Take It On!

2008-02-04T00:53:00.000-05:00

My dear friend, RF, shared with me last Easter the value of committing to take something ON during Lent, rather than giving something up. That is so relevant to me. I already give up 12 foods every day which give me sundry physical reactions from heartburn or cold sores to eczema, exhaustion or other digestive discomfort...

Today I made a MEAN stack of cinnamon French toast for my family. Eggs, milk & sourdough bread--a total no-no for this little person. I ate a bowl of Crispix & Puffins (wheat free) with rice milk, instead, and a few slices of bacon. I actually enjoyed feeding them something that looked so marvelous, and brought yummy sounds to table.

But, for Lent it just doesn't seem appropriate for me to have to let go of some food...what would it be, water? LOL! (I'll tell you that with severe eczema on my hands it can often feel like I am allergic to water!!).

So, instead of seeing Lent as a time of more food sacrifices, as I mentioned lastnight, I see it as a time to give up something bigger for me, which is my childish temper tantrums. I simply must TAKE ON patience, endurance and maturity instead!!

So, I will start blogging on Wednesday about my new life of commitment to inhaling and exhaling more. I will stop before I explode and catch myself, retreating to some secret place to grit my teeth until I can simma down na.

Inhale. Just did it. Felt good.

Exhale, and 2, 3, 4, 5... Felt good.

Takin' it ON!

1 Corinthians 13
Love

"If I speak in the tongues[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Lent Approaches...

2008-02-02T23:43:00.001-05:00

In the spring of 1984 I traveled from our hometown of Dallas to South Padre Island for a church retreat. I had attended church as a child in Michigan as a default when my parents used a charismatic Christian family for Saturday overnight babysitting--my sister and I went to a Pentecostal church service with the pastor's family in their basement after we woke to the pastor's wife's hot & delicious sunny-side-up eggs and crisp toast. We dunked the triangles of toast into the mushy yolk, and referred to them as "dunkin' eggs." I make them for my children, now, even though they are among my dietary restrictions.

I remember our children's church occupying one corner of the basement, where room dividers made for a little space where a teacher sat and instructed us from a felt board, illustrating the classic biblical stories like David & Goliath, Samson & Delilah, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

And when we moved from Michigan to Virginia after the divorce, my mother, sister & I religiously fell in step with my grandparents' patterns at their Presbyterian church. (In the 70's there was still one basic nationwide Presby church, wasn't there?). I got to participate in church choir (which I loved!), was presented my first red leather Bible in front of the congregation (I still have this now-tattered Bible), sat each week with my grandparents, and enjoyed the meeting times with other children my age.

Still, I wasn't infant baptized, and church didn't really matter to my mom (nor my dad), so I was essentially "unchurched." Anyway, I didn't know much more about Jesus than that he was central in the stories of the New Testament. That he could transform a person's life? Well, that wasn't ever discussed.

And so, at almost fourteen, as I traveled with mostly strangers to this little island near Mexico, I was trusting that the few girls and boys I'd met in middle school who were nice (not catty) to me, and who seemed downright joyful...well, it seemed to me that they were people I could trust in general. And I needed people I could trust at that point.

The youth pastor of this Presby church (that had suddenly become important to my mom & her new husband) was handsome, athletic, funny, tall, married, and smart! I remember one time he took all of us out to the field at a nearby school. It was nighttime and we crawled up into those huge rectangular mats where the pole vaulters fall after a jump. That was so cool--I'd never dared to do that before--especially at night! The stars were out, and he had our complete attention. He told us about how he discovered the story of Jesus, and how it changed his life, and how Jesus could change our lives, too. I remember being very focused on listening.

School was not going well for me. Prior to Dallas I had been in advanced placement or "gifted" classes from 3rd grade on. I had been an early reader, I was in some wonderful creative extra curricular courses, and I had been a spelling bee finisher. In three different school settings before this one I had found popularity and comfort. Here, though, in Dallas, I felt lost. I had a highly critical history teacher who was not afraid to berate students in front of other classmates (I was frequently the object of her abuse), I didn't look like any of the high-fashionistas who were my new classmates, and I had braces for the first time. I didn't like the way I looked, I couldn't get my groove, except in English, with Mrs. Gerrun (sp), and in Science with Mrs. Irizarri.

A student in our school who was only 12 years old took his own life. It was the most frightening and awkward time any girl 13-going-on-14, going-through-puberty, adjusting-to-a-new-nuclear-family-structure could conceive of. Let's say I was, at the least, depressed. Perhaps, even, on the edge of fatalistic...or near-suicidal! A few exciting highlights of my 1983-1984 school year included touching an Apple computer for the first time and learning a basic programming command or two, painting apres Cezanne with Q-tips in my art class, and designing a charm for a James Avery jewelry contest, that won me a certificate and...eventually a place in his catalog (without a commission...).

Other than that, though, I was very alone, and sad, and hurt.

In that state, then, I accepted the invitation of a barely-friend, named Monique, to use spring break to go on this Padre trip with other kids from church.

The youth pastor and some older kids did this cool slow-mo football game on the beach that attracted a crowd, and then they shared about Jesus (I learned later that is a style of "beach evangelism"). We went over to Brownsville, TX and into Mexico, where I bought a Mexican blanket in several shades of blue, and a leather stamped change purse for my grandpa. I have both, still.

Then one night our pastor had us all in one room and he presented the story of Christ, again. He asked us all to bow our heads, and pray to ourselves if we felt so compelled, to ask Jesus to enter our lives and hearts and live with us forever. I wish I knew where cool Neal is now in this life--I'd love to confess to him that I peeked to see if anyone else was raising their hands so I wouldn't be alone in my commitment.

This cute guy I knew from Mrs. Irizarri's science class lifted his arm up--so I did too.

I enjoyed the youth group band--there was a tall towhead named Glenn who played electric guitar with a couple other guys as they covered U2 songs like "Sunday, Bloody Sunday". Four years later Glenn accepted my invitation to a choir dance, even though he was an upper classman, and I wasn't in the "in" crowd. I liked youth group. I loved hearing Amy Grant & Michael W. Smith in live concerts at SMU, and then buying their concert t-shirts & cassettes. I was so glad to have found a group where I could belong! It was my community, and my salvation.

Amy told me I was "Never Alone."

The space shuttle blew to bits a couple years later (Mrs. Irizarri was apparently a contender for Christa McAullife's seat!).

We moved again. Right at the peak of my finally rising contentment. I had joined band, I sang in choir, I was excelling in art, I was taking French & Latin...I had boyfriends...

We had already left the Presby church in Dallas to attend a "Bible Church" there, and when that senior pastor went on to pastor a congregation in Connecticut, where we were ironically (or not ironically) moving, we sort of "followed him" to that church--a Baptist General Conference congregation.

I hadn't realized before then that there were different kinds of Baptists...

And then I went off to college and joined Intervarsity Christian Fellowship (IVCF, or, more simply, "I.V."). I popped into a Catholic church for a while because I loved a Catholic boy. I went more regularly, though, to an Episcopal church in Pittsburgh, because my peers from I.V. loved it. At both the Catholic & Episcopal churches I found liturgy and ceremony that had been completely absent from my Presby, Baptist, Bible & Pentecostal background, and I liked it.

There was something so soothing about the structure of the services and entering old brick buildings that had been around for a hundred years. The experience was enriching, artful and satisfying. I left clear-headed, with a sense of connection to the history of my still-young faith. Good old names of Christian heros were spoken often, and the sound of united voices rising in one unified prayer to the Father gave me a hint of what I thought it might sound like to hear angels in heaven.

I moved again, though, and The Catholic and I tried to find compromise in a ground-breaking "Seeker-Sensitive" church in North Carolina. I was part of the music ministry, leading with contemporary music (like Michael W. Smith, in fact). The group that worshiped together was small, so the relationships were authentic and intimate. I loved it there.

But I moved again.

Do you see the pattern?

Anyway, between then and now I've added another half dozen addresses to my bio, and have finally found myself back at the traditional church that attracted me in college! My husband and I were actively involved in a cutting-edge group in VA Beach, and fell in love with the music of our generation played there, which spoke so richly to the brokenness of my heart...but we always felt like something was missing from our spiritual experience there.

So, after three NOVA churches, we settled on the third. Truro. We couldn't be happier!

Truth be told, I feel in many ways like a NEW BELIEVER because the rich heritage of this denomination leaves me facing my church history ignorance, and drives me to want to attend seminary and read about our Christian forefathers in great depth!

Tuesday, for example, it Shrove Tuesday. Did you know that? Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, will mean I take my children to church to have ashes crossed onto our foreheads.

I remember entering the elevator at my corporate job in Hartford, Connecticut, to find one after another forehead crossed with a black smudge, and seeing some mystery in that.

You can look at these images & tell me to which religious group these people belong:

Muslim women identify themselves with hijab (head covering), Rastafarians mat their hair in dreadlocks, Jewish men put a kippah on their heads, and Catholics? Anglicans? They get their foreheads crossed once a year.

My LIFE, is the reflection of my faith, not some scarf I put over my shoulders, a pair of long underwear I put on every day, or any other way I dress.

But to take on these sacrifices of religion--to purposely identify yourself as a believer from the moment you step out the door in the morning--well, that is a bold and courageous decision, if you ask me!

That moment in Padre, when Neal asked the lot of us to consider Jesus, we hid our faces and shied away from a public account of our decision. We could safely say we'd follow, because no one else knew we were choosing to (unless, like me, they were cheating, by pretending their eyes were closed tightly). The Evangelical church tends to help Christians keep their decisions to themselves )"This is between you and God..."), unless the newly converted opt for a public dunking of baptism. But, in most denominations, that is not considered required for salvation; it is just encouraged, so you go from bowed head to a raised one. You cannot keep your faith a secret when you stand chest deep in a pool in front of a bunch of people and say Yes and Amen to the call to follow Christ...typically in front of a slew of others who have already done the same. Again, this is internal...inclusive...insider stuff.

At our VA Beach church I felt that new believers were immediately empowered to walk in faith, as their first act of faith was a decision to step out onto the beach and submerge with the pastor, to come out Whole. There, public baptism is Act One. There is no hiding of the face.

And, why should anyone who ever decides to walk where Jesus walked, (into ministry to his neighbors, his tax collectors, his accusers) keep that decision to herself? For even a moment? There ought to be no embarrassment in our decision to follow Jesus' way!!

Good grief. This Tuesday night I am going to join our new family congregation in the "Undercroft" (not unlike the basement of my childhood church experience) to pig out on pancake supper while New Orleans residents Mardi Gras and toss beads at each other. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. Before I found Truro, that meant NOTHING to me. Now, it is the kick-off to a really important season in my life...LENT!

And, you know what I am going to fast from this year?

My temper.

That doesn't mean I get to rage on & on all Tuesday...but fasting from any food is difficult for me since I have given up twelve already, due to my food sensitivities. Better for me is to give up a really bad habit...and my temper has often spiraled out of control, so let the coming forty days be a time of cleansing for me!!

Shrove Tuesday...it is JUST like the days before Passover. My Jewish friends clean up all the yeast in their houses to prepare. I'm just gonna clean up the yeast in my heart!

"Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth."
1 Corinthians 5:8 (NIV) © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth? That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you. "A little yeast works through the whole batch of dough.""
Galatians 5: 6b-9

Pray for me to be more successful this Lent than those of my past, since I understand its significance better!!

This is posted just FYI, since it was NEW TO ME (!), maybe its news to you, too:

A Historic View of Shrove Tuesday
by Marlene Jones (from Truro)
Shrove Tuesday is the Tuesday before Ash
Wednesday which is the first day of Lent. It’s
a day of penitence, to clean the soul, and a
day of celebration as the last chance to feast
before Lent begins. But there’s more to
Shrove Tuesday than pigging out on pancakes
or taking part in a public pancake race. The
pancakes themselves are part of an ancient
custom with deeply religious roots.

Shrove Tuesday gets its name from the ritual
of shriving that Christians used to undergo
in the past. In shriving, a person confesses
his sins and receives absolution for them.
When a person receives absolution for his
sins, he is forgiven and released from the
guilt and pain that his sins have caused him.
In the Catholic or Orthodox context, the
absolution is pronounced by a priest. This
tradition is very old. Over 1000 years ago a
monk wrote in the Anglo-Saxon Ecclesiastical
Institutes:
“In the week immediately before Lent
everyone shall go to his confessor and
confess his deeds and the confessor shall so
shrive him.”

Shrove Tuesday is a day of celebration as
well as penitence, because it’s the last day
before Lent. Lent is a time of abstinence, of
giving things up. So Shrove Tuesday is the last
chance to indulge yourself, and to use up the
foods that aren’t allowed in Lent. In the old
days there were many foods that observant
Christians would not eat during Lent: foods
such as meat, fish, fats, eggs, and milky foods.
So that no food was wasted, families would
have a feast on the shriving Tuesday, and eat
up all the foods that wouldn’t last the forty
days of Lent without spoiling.

This Shrove Tuesday, as we come together
as a community of believers to celebrate at
the pancake supper, we would do well to
remember all that Christ has done for us
through His suffering, death and resurrection,
making it possible for us to go directly to God
our Heavenly Father for forgiveness of sins.

Mission Mice...or, Marriage!

2008-01-20T15:40:00.000-05:00

Every married couple should let a wild house mouse go in their kitchen.

It's my new suggestion for marriage therapy!

Tom & I have had unprecedented union in this mission against the mice. We are working together as a team against our enemy. We needed this. We've been apart for nine months, and we needed some uniting purpose!

See? Thank God for ALL THINGS. As the fleas kept Corrie ten Boom and her sister safe from the Nazi prison guards to give them sanctuary for Bible Study, so these mice have served as a force to be reckoned with for Tom & me.

There have been some tense moments--I will not try to cover that. We've bitten at each other a time or two about how one or the other of us would prefer to re-organize a pantry shelf or cabinet, but overall, I am very impressed with our combined efforts to take down the enemy. I couldn't have done this without him. You know it's true--the situation was making me crazy until he came alongside to help.

As he washed dishes, I washed linens. As he washed the floor, I put items back into the pantry. As he bought frozen meals to keep us out of the kitchen for a couple weeks, I moved everything from kitchen to dining room. When he brought home sushi, I pulled out & set up the coffee table for a fun family meal in the living room. None of this has been ideal--but if I keep a good attitude (my friend Jen reminds me, "This too shall pass"), then we can just have FUN where possible. That is, when our arms aren't up to the elbow in elbow grease, and the fumes from Lysol, Mr. Clean, Windex and rubbing alcohol aren't knocking us to woozy senselessness.

Boooooooooo, Mice.

YAY, Marriage!!

Nine O'Clock Nagging

2008-01-18T08:43:00.000-05:00

It isn't even nine o'clock, yet, and Logan & I have already had a yelling argument. While I ran upstairs to get dressed, the children sat at the table drinking their fresh, homemade, lukewarm hot chocolates. I was upstairs for about 45 seconds when Teagan started to scream--over the banister I called down, "What's going on down there?" to which Logan answered truthfully...

He'd just punched his sister, and her hot cocoa had spilled on the table.

Punching his sister --great! Yesterday he punched his daddy the whole walk home from some friends of ours, having kicked my friend in his tantrum, told one of his friends to go away, and hit me in the face with a pillow when I wouldn't wake up from Teagan & my nap when he wanted me to, and whined that he didn't like his hat or his boots...

All of this after five brilliant days when Tom & I were sure Logan was really doing well.

So, I bolted downstairs when I heard about the hitting, and yelled at him, "There is NO HITTING! No hitting ANYone. You may NOT hit your SISTER, Logan!!" I took his hot cocoa away, and sent him upstairs. I considered giving him a spanking...but they seem fully ineffective on this boy. The behavior does NOT stop in the long term, and I just end up lording over him with authority, but we do not get anywhere. I'd prefer to stop spanking all together, since it is NOT working.

This is where I struggle. I like so many of the tenants of Attachment Parenting that come with infancy--baby wearing, longer term nursing (I nursed to 23 months with Teagan, 27 months with Logan), sleeping with or near Baby, cloth diapering, etc., but it all falls apart for me when children hit these really tough ages...I try to nurture, but I'm just really ticked off! Lastnight, Logan went to bed without dinner for the first time (that was for punching his daddy & kicking my friend). I held him while he ranted and whined about needing to eat, and explained to him that he may not sit at the table with the family, when he has done nothing but attack each of us all day. I held him and held him and held him. It was only 6 o'clock, but I crawled up into his bed with him and let him rant until we both finally fell asleep. I told him, again, how much God loves him, and how much his daddy & I love him. I told him again that we love him no matter what, and that we will not allow anyone in our family to hurt anyone else in our family.

Yes, LOVE is where I start--but how that is practically defined is the struggle. There is the highly-toted, "Tough Love" concept that circulates in Christian culture...and I DO believe in setting boundaries and being consistent. We do both. There is the child-led childrearing concept, which is illogical to me, when adults come to the child/parent relationship with experience that ought to be passed on to children where and when it makes sense...which is not always when the child might consider it...I mean, children are CHILDREN, in the end, starting with only as much knowledge as they have accumulated...not the wisdom of the universe, for crying out loud!

It isn't enough to just say I'll parent like a Christian...there are methods upon methods, and some of them make me gasp!! It isn't enough to say I'll parent by instinct, because sometimes my "instinct" is more animal than human, and I MUST override that with logic!

Mom tells me I ought to play the "Just wait till your father comes home" card. In the meantime, how do I handle the full 8-10 hours without Daddy, if every discipline is on delay? I don't think that will work effectively for all situations...

There is TMI (too much information) about parenting out there. Even if I did NOT have the Internet, every parent I know does their own thing differently. What I know for certain is what I do NOT want to be as a mom...and, yet, I find myself here, yelling at my son, again. That is not who I want to be. Trying to reign that in has been my Big Parenting Struggle.

OK, the clock is turning nine...can I make it through the rest of this day without raising my voice? Can I try to remember that Logan & I are both strong-headed, and that in order to NOT butt into each other, I, as the mature (supposedly) adult, ought to not engage in battles with him? Can I simply use a FIRM voice, instead of a screaming one? Can I not expect too much of him? (<--That, by the way , is very hard, when he is so capable. His intelligence and creativity makes it difficult for me to remember his age as not even yet five...). Can I relax my standards a little? How much more could they relax??

Good grief. At the very least I can pray.

Dear Lord, HELP me be the best parent I can be. Help me to take deep breaths when I want to throw my own little four-year-old tantrum. Help me, please, to see my son as YOU see him, with all of his giftedness, his sensitivities, his needs and struggles. Help me be compassionate with him, and empathetic, not just always ANGRY. And, please, help him to learn anger management techniques, himself. Guide me to improve my own management of anger, so that I can demonstrate a better result for Logan! And, as always, thank you for your forgiveness when I mess up royally. Amen!

Comforters

2008-01-17T01:32:00.000-05:00

"When I was a little girl," I whisper to Teagan, as I stroke her hair and help her drift back to sleep. "When I was a little girl, I had a small bed with an old saggy mattress. A couple of the boards of the bed frame were broken and missing from under the mattress, so it sunk down in the center and made a little hole."

I remember this so well. I keep stroking Teagan's hair, and push it gently away from her eyes. "I would curl up in that hole as tightly as a roly poly bug, Teagan--only softer." I imagine, maybe, as tightly as a house mouse... "And, I loved that hole. I was cozy under my Snoopy sheets."

Teagan is barely hearing me now. Her breathing has deepened and I think she's totally out. She is wrapped up tightly under my retro Snoopy sheets now--the same ones I slept under 35 years ago when I was her age. It strikes me with a great deal of irony.

"I was cozy under my Snoopy sheets and I loved that saggy mattress. I was safe there. Even though there wasn't any wallpaper on the walls around me, and even though I could see pink insulation in the door jam frame of my closet, I was curled up with my Raggedy Ann doll..." and then it hit me--"Just like you are right now."

I kiss her, and thank God that, already, she's had a much better start than I.

"Mouse Seeping"

2008-01-16T18:55:00.000-05:00

Teagan & Logan peered over my shoulder. The mouse wasn't moving--but he looked sweet & cute. Logan understood--the poison had worked. We had found "our mouse" dead on the counter (yuck). Once I saw him there (after the immediate scream of surprise), I felt such sadness for having had the job of executing him (or her).

But, it was a life lesson, none-the-less. Mice are cute in a glass box at Petco. They are not cute in your Tupperware cabinet!

We double-bagged him & stuck him in our freezer morgue. Tomorrow we'll have a respectful burial service. Seriously! I feel so sorry about the little guy. He was stealth, he was creative, he was a survivor. In our battles, he was cunning and a very smart escape artist. But, in the end, we won the war.

Every soldier has sorrow. I have sorrow, OK!?

Here he is, Rest in Peace. Teagan, who'd been silent as Logan chattered away about the mouse, quietly said, "Mouse seeping." That's when I got a little teary-eyed.

Think we should name him, now that he's dead?

From Journal: July 8, 2006

2008-01-07T16:32:00.000-05:00

Before NoVA, we were in 800 square feet--a tall standard poodle named "Shadow," a seven-month-old baby Teagan, recently turned three-year-old, Logan, dh & me. That's too many people for 800 square feet outside of China.

At that time I wrote this in my Mac Journal, and thought, today, that a reprint is appropriate, in light of our mouse plight.

Here, from the pages of Journal dated 07/08/06:
QUOTE:

Since we’ve moved into the apartment I feel like we’ve been going through some kind of test. Or a series of tests. I’m not sure how well we’re doing in the Lord’s eyes, but I remembered tonight what the test was for Job.

Satan approached the Lord and pointed out Upright Job. Of course he worships you, God! He has everything he needs. Let me take it all away, and then, let’s see if he still thinks you are All and All. So, God gave Satan permission to take just one thing, Job’s livestock. It was his living. His income. His purpose and identity. But Job kept praising God and loving him. Then Satan thought that wasn’t enough, so God trusted Job to endure another test, and allowed Satan to take Job’s health. Job was covered with boils, and was in great pain, but he thanked the Lord for the things he still had, and did not doubt God’s sovereignty. A third time, Satan approached God to ask if he could bring on a greater attack, and God sadly gave the go-ahead. He knew Job’s heart and knew his faith. Job’s children were killed.

After each trial, Job stood strong in faith, although his anger and confusion mounted. He wondered, he struggled, but he believed in a God who Knew and cared for him. Finally, his nagging friends broke Job’s will--and the losses were overwhelming. Job stopped believing, and began accusing. God’s response to Job’s shaking fists was strong--a verbal spanking from Job’s heavenly Father.

JOB 38 & 39

I’ve already gone to a place of accusation and my losses haven’t been nearly as great as even one of the phases Job went through. In our own way, though, we are certainly going through a Trial, and in some ways I feel more like an Egyptian enduring plagues brought on by my king’s (pharaoh's) arrogance and unwavering Will. For the Egyptians there were rivers of blood, flies, locusts, death of livestock and fish. In the end they even lost their firstborn children.

Job and the Egyptians ought to remind me of what I still have, not what I have lost. But this is what I need to recall for my own acknowledgment of the stress that comes with this day: We left our house to serve God. We took up temporary shelter to follow His call. We let go of our sweet dog after the move, because he could not endure the stress from day to day. We’ve killed spiders, a huge cockroach, flies and now, fleas! We’ve had a slow-cooking stovetop and a hand-pinching accordion door. Doors have fallen off hinges and out of runners. Water has flooded our dining room through the phone line from an overflowing dishwasher in the upstairs apartment. The newly installed wall-to-wall carpet has continually put off itchy lint that shows up everywhere, no matter how often I vacuum. It gets stuck to Teagan’s hands, between her toes and in her mouth.

Worst of all is the most recent situation with the fleas, though.

Miniature vampires
Snack on my children
And snap across the room
At my attempt
To snatch them
Up & off

Devil bugs
Of advantageous size
And unmatchable power
Spring unseen
Until they are seen
Fling unnoticed
Until they sting

Hair against my neck
Sends me to itch
Breezes on my arm
Cause me to twitch
Dreams in the night
Won’t let me be
From the neurosis I’m having
Over these damned fleas!!

I have been honest about my anger, and I have questioned God’s point in urging us out of heaven into purgatory. I have jumped too quickly to a place of frustration with my God. The Israelites had to suffer alongside the Egyptians when the hail fell, but in the end, they entered a Promised Land. Along the way God provided Quail & Manna, but they complained, nonetheless. Here I have two wonderfully healthy children. My son bounces back & remains healthy and secure, while my daughter just grabs our attention with wide, sincere and joyful grins. We are all in good health, so I ought to be thanking God for that! Tom has a job with good benefits, so I need to praise God for that. We want more--and maybe that is where we are wrong. As we wait, I need to learn! Now, I ask the Lord--TEACH ME!

When Corrie ten Boom was annoyed by fleas, her wise sister reminded her to thank God for all things. Corrie thought Betsie was delusional in thanking God for the “devil bugs,” as I call them, but her sister was right. After some time it became apparent that the only reason the female guards in the concentration camp would not enter the women prisoners’s barracks was because of the flea infestation. In that environment, protected by Angel Fleas, Corrie and Betsie were able to conduct a Bible Study with other prisoners, and lead many to know about & trust Christ.

What can I glean from the fleas? Again, Patience!! God knows better than I do why we are still here. Is it for Grandpa’s health? Or is there something yet to happen which will reveal the wisdom of all? I do not know the future, so I need to rest in the fact that God does.

I don't know about tomorrow, I just live from day to day;
I don't borrow from its sunshine,
For its skies may turn to gray.
I don't worry o'er the future, For I know what Jesus said;
And today I'll walk beside Him, For He knows what lies ahead

(chorus)
Many things about tomorrow I don't seem to understand;
But I know who holds tomorrow, and I know who holds my hand

Ev'ry step is getting brighter
As the golden stairs I climb; ev'ry burden's getting lighter,
Ev'ry cloud is silver-lined.
There the sun is always shining,
There no tear will dim the eye;
At the ending of the rainbow,
Where the mountains touch the sky.

(chorus)

~Alison Krauss

END QUOTE

Patter of Little Feet

2008-01-07T14:30:00.001-05:00

It is one thing to realize you have a mouse in the house, and another all together to be struck with the horrific reality that there is more than one. Oh, yes, we have mice in our small townhouse, and there ain't room in these parts for all of us.

Firstly, I am a full-blown nature-lover. I adore all things created by our God. I admire the slinky movement of a snake, am awestruck by the weavings of spiders, and enjoy logging our bird sightings. I grew up traipsing through the mountains of West Virginia & New York, skiing down the slopes of Colorado and Vermont, frolicking over meadows on my grandparents' Kentucky farmland (you can frolic when you're seven), and hiking the Appalachian Trail in Connecticut. I hunted mushrooms in Michigan, which we dried on screens in the sun, stored in Ball jars and sauteed with freshly picked asparagus stalks. I collected houseflies with my sister, which we kept in baby food jars until they died. I have moved many creatures from inside our home to the safer outdoors. But mice in the house…

In fact, mice and I have a hysterical history! In 1990, as a sophomore at Carnegie Mellon University, I saved a couple live mice from the menu of my neighbor's (illegal) Savannah Monitor's mealtime. Not unlike Fern of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web I faced the Monitor's owner with a firm, "I will not let you kill (them)!", swept two little rodents into my hands and immediately found them a plastic box home in my apartment unit to join my African water frog & firebellied newt named Allan. When it was time for me to say sayonara (or, rather, "Annyeonghi kyeseyo"--Korean for goodbye) to CMU and to start a new life as a Continental Singer, I didn't know how to get my mice from Pittsburgh to Avon, Connecticut. The airline would not let me put their "cage" underneath, nor would they permit my carrying them in my lap aboard the flight. What options did I have? I wore my large bright "safety cone orange" rain slicker with the huge, square, velcro pockets and a mouse tucked away secretly on each side!

True story. I am sitting, window-side, as the plane takes off, wondering what on earth I am doing (and, BTW, yes I did get by Airport Security with two mice in my pockets), as I keep a hand gently in each pocket to hold the mice in place. They wiggle into a comfortable sleeping position and off we fly over Pennsylvania and New Jersey, as I sweat the whole way. Then someone bites me. I jump, of course, surprised by the sharp snip, and then try to look subtle and natural instead of like an escaped psychotic...

How I got away with two stowaways in my pockets is still a mystery to me--especially in light of the new post-911 world we know--but fly with mice? I did.

That is why my initial response to finding "calling cards" of a mouse left under our kitchen sink was, "Oh, crap. Where can I get some live traps & release this bugger into the wild?" Shopped the grocery store, where only cut-your-head-off traps are sold beside eat-this-and-die poisons. Didn't buy either one. Shopped another grocery store that stocks more of the same, and left without a solution again. Big mistake.

Time passed.

I bit the bullet on mouse elimination once I found more black pellet mouse reminders in more conspicuous spots and bought little triangular black boxes which I baited with peanut butter and, in our case, birdseed. They are supposed to work like a cockroach motel, luring the mousey inside, where the executioner's blade falls in the dark. When you read the word "trapped," on top, just fling the whole kit & caboodle into the dumpster.

But one spring box broke, and the other one didn't do the trick.

Tom came home with a dozen sticky plates, the packaging of which bragged of catching the dirty rascals like flies on flypaper. We built a fortress of sticky traps under the sink, with a big enticing log of seeded bread in the middle, smothered with a large slop of peanut butter, flavoring the bait all the more. I cautiously peeled back the cabinet door to peek underneath the next morning, sort of hoping to find a mouse stuck in a terrified death posture...but dreading the sight all the same. No peanut butter. Cool. No mouse! Uncool!!

Oh,yes, these little devils were taunting us. There were visible footprints across that damnable sticky trap, showing that our plot hadn't slowed the mouse's scheme one bit. We'd actually just fed the demon.

Then I made the horrifying discovery that this war is not against one solitary mouse (whose ever is?).

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

HA!

It was the eve of Christmas Eve. I was up later than the rest of the house, writing individual captions beside every photo in a book I was to give my mother the next day. My feet were kicked up high on a second chair, as I made my lap into a desk. Few lights were on, so the room glowed with our lit-up Christmas tree & decorations. I was enjoying the peace, when all of a sudden, there arose such a clatter...no, no, not the sounds of hooves in the snow or on the rooftop for goodness sakes...dagnabbit if I wasn't staring eye-to-eye with a tiny dark grey house mouse with the biggest black eyes I could have imagined. His nose wiggled as he froze, surprised to find me up at this hour, and then proceeded to disappear behind the media cabinet that holds my children's homeschooling materials.

Ugh!! I just saw a mouse alive and wild in my house!

Isn't he deceptively adorable?

THEN I saw a second scampering action across the kitchen floor! TWO mice!!

Time to get to work, folks. We called the landlord. We got an exterminator. He hid a dozen boxes of green poison cakes around our kitchen. Now we wait. Up to thirty days! In 2006 I fought against random fleas. Now, 2008 and our mouse caper!

This irritation has me all riled up. Last-night, I found poops in more unimaginable places--high & low, inside drawers, inside cabinets...on top of the fridge!?!? I told Tom we need to do take-out for a month until these wretched things are eliminated from our lives!

Oh, sure, I saved an octopus baby from drying up on the shores of a Bermuda beach on my honeymoon. Yes, yes, I drove with Tom to a "bird woman's" secluded home in Virginia Beach to deliver a baby bird who had been knocked nearly senseless by her fall. I remember, of course, the day Logan & I cupped the life of an infant rabbit in our hands as we rescued him from our lawn (and therefore, our dog) and brought him to the SPCA for a hopeful recovery. And, once upon a time I snatched two mice from the jaws of a hungry Monitor...but, today, I am a Mouse Hunter (& not the Steve Irwin observational scientist kind). I am a prowler. I am a killer who seeks out a swift and complete annihilation of the infestation in my KITCHEN, where food for my family and guests is prepared! God help us! I'm praying for these mice to eat fully, and dry up to stone cold dead. Today wouldn't be too soon.

Irish Roots

2008-01-07T13:25:00.001-05:00

Is it a chemical imbalance thing? Why, when I KNOW how to count to ten (had that down by age three, I'm sure), do I jump immediately from ONE to total and complete blow-up?

Here's what's going on in my world. My diet is a mess. I have twelve foods I have to avoid, because they make me itchy & irritable or create other unmentionable physical responses. One of those foods is wheat. If you take on a wheat-free diet, alone, you will likely find yourself tense from the constant vigilance from any food you have not prepared yourself...meals at restaurants are difficult, meals at others' homes turn into socially awkward questions about food ingredients, or the resolution to suck-it-up and swallow it down, regardless of tomorrow's consequences.

I have been out-of-town for a week. I ate breakfast for five of the seven days at a little diner where the Greek Salad was the only possibility for myself, [minus tomatoes (allergen) and croutons (wheat), plus ham. Hmmmmm. That ham might have had a wheat filler...]

Anyway, wheat is, by itself, difficult to avoid. Now, also exclude all dairy items (butter, sour cream, cheese, milk, etc.) and eggs...and you have the short list of only three American Diet staples that I must avoid every day. Again, a dairy-free life is rough. An egg-free life is sleuth work. Now, before you go all, "Poor Miss Lisa," on me, remember that I have to add tomatoes to the list, coconut and a few others which I failed to avoid while in Kentucky for a week.

Thus, one of the main causes of my daily struggle comes to light. My kids are taking on their creative morning energy again as I pour over the vegan entree recipes in the past year's Vegetarian Times magazines. If you believe, as one of my local friends does, that our American-marketed tofu, soy milk & soy-based dairy/egg substitutes are elemental to "what is wrong with our red, white & blue diet" (but mostly white), then you'll find my diet ought to also exclude soy. For me, that is not an option...since I also cannot eat chicken!

Including soy, then, I peruse the helpful index, where "vegan" recipes are specifically marked. I don't have to be free of meat, nor do I necessarily choose that for our family, but it is easiest to start with the vegan lists in most recipe annals, since they will immediately eliminate three of my worst physical enemies: milk, eggs & chicken. There is a long list of about twenty-five vegetarian recipes. Approximately 12 of those are listed as vegan. I read through all twelve, eliminating any where tomatoes are a main ingredient, where the meal is tucked into phyllo dough or a pie crust, and then reduce the list down to approximately six recipes which I can eat. Of those six, sincerely, I am only interested in one which I believe my children & husband might also enjoy (one, in particular, although rather appealing for Tom & me, is loaded with curry, jalapeno peppers and ginger...so I think the children might be a little overwhelmed, although I am never afraid to try spices with them).

After fifteen minutes and only two of the twelve periodicals in my lap finished, I am tense. Everyone likes options in their lives. Citizens of the USA, in particular, are big on choices. My choices are continually being limited. This builds frustrations in me that I tend to scream out at others, as if Teagan or Logan have anything to do with the eczema which has, again, cracked my every knuckle painfully open to bleed. Dry skin, cracking & peeling, can be avoided easily when I stick to the "diet." But family reunions, weddings, gift exchanges, and gentle southern hospitality go against my physical grain. Boxes of delish chocolates are just too tempting!!

So, here I am, again, back at freakin' square one. Angry, frustrated, & on edge...wondering what in God's green earth (literally) I can fix for the family tonight. We can always eat potatoes. That's very Irish of me, anyway. So glad I have a Williams-Sonoma cookbook dedicated to the roots of my heritage. I can make a fine plate of hashbrowns...sans ketchup, of course.

Ugh.

Paper Pulp & Packing Peanuts

2007-12-20T21:41:00.000-05:00

I heard the happy sounds of my children playing together downstairs as I began to ease out of the light sleep I was still trying to hold onto. We'd all already kissed our good-mornings, as I gave them my traditional, "Just five more minutes," plea. They skittered off to find five minutes of fun before breakfast, and give me a moment to rise. Only, the familiar sounds I heard below told me to cut that cat nap short--the children were playing in a box downstairs.

When it arrived yesterday, full of beautifully-wrapped Christmas gifts, my children and I shared in the giggles over removing one package after another, reading the tags and placing each present beneath the tree. The box which had been delivered by UPS to our door from Great Uncle Larry & Great Aunt Linda was quite large, so I told my children, as we unpeeled the tape, that it would make a good playbox--a ship, perhaps. That was before I pulled back the flaps to find, under layers of Sunday comics, hundreds of green styrofoam packing peanuts.

Styrofoam peanuts.

I set the box aside after we emptied its more important contents, and promised myself to gather those peanuts, somehow, before giving the children the box--only I'd gone to bed without doing so, and this morning, I paid the price.

Oh, yes, they found that beautiful brown cardboard cube, and they decided it really ought to be a ship. Hey! Green foam! That looks like fun! From upstairs all I heard were occasional words like, "get in," and, "look," and "ok, get out."

Deliberately, slowly, and patiently, I pulled myself out of Logan's loft, taking each step carefully. With the same purposeful plodding, I took our stairs to the landing, and down. I was considering my children, not myself, as I imagined what I would find once I turned the corner. I was calm.

What I saw was everything I dreaded and more. They had been breaking the peanuts into smaller bits, as if the litter itself wasn't enough of a challenge. There were green remnants in their hair, on the wall, on the box, on the floor, and a few still in the box. I asked them, "Well, what do we have here?" and Logan excitedly told me how this is the Atlantic Ocean, and these are icebergs!! How could I do anything other than marvel at his creative mind!? They were thrilled!

But I had to hit them with a little reality check--this is a BIG mess. A really BIG mess. And, by the way, YOU are going to have to clean it up. Oh, and let me share a new piece of information with you. Peanuts like to stick to you with static electricity, so, good luck with that!

I put a little soapy water in a shallow bowl, encouraging them to start with damp fingers, so they didn't find boomerang pieces returning to their hands on every attempt to drop them into the paper bag I had propped open in the middle of the chaos. I am proud to say that my children cleaned that front hall of the icebergs, together, as I piped in frequent encouragement to keep at the task.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because this was a MAJOR victory for me, today. I think most moms would understand how I could have gone wholesale ballistic on those two, since there was a thirty-minute clean-up job just to put the green devils into bags, plus a vacuuming session for the tiny pieces. But, I did not lose it. God gave me great peace, patience & understanding.

For the record, I thought you might enjoy a video of the situation, to fully wrap your mind around.

Green Peanut Icebergs from lisandrea on Vimeo.

What I did not remember to photograph was yesterday's disaster, for which I was not so patient. In fact, in that case I am ashamed to say I swore & flailed around in ridiculous foolishness. My son, who enjoys plugging the sink and playing with toys in the water, decided to see what happens to toilet paper in water.

Toilet paper...in water...in my bathroom SINK!!!

Well, the sink has been draining slowly anyway, and I know it needs a good snake cleaning (ladies with long hair are used to this quarterly problem). But, this was a disaster. Toilet paper is meant to turn into paper pulp in water--it floats everywhere, but is not a liquid nor a solid. It is simply a MESS! I tried to scoop up what I could with my hands, as no water was clearing the drain whatsoever. Then I knew the only way to clean this drain was to plunge it.

Yuck to the idea of my toilet plunger in the sink, but everything can be cleaned...

I plunged, and from that little drain hole at the front inside of the basin, water shot straight out across the mirror, absolutely like vomit. But, it was paper pulp vomit--now, isn't that cool?

Oh, yes, I was swearing. I was totally and completely beyond disgusted, and frustrated, and angry. What was he thinking!?!? Well, I am sure I know the answer--he was just living out that cliche, "Curiosity kills the cat." Oh, Man, is Logan curious. This is a good character trait for his education--and as a homeschooling mom, I am so delighted to see his mind always searching, always exploring. But, last night, the last thing I wanted to be doing, with Christmas only 6 days away, was cleaning soggy paper pulp off of my clothes, the sink & mirror. It took half an hour, and it was a big nasty mess.

So, one hour lost to paper pulp and packing peanuts.

No matter how well I did in the clean-up job on those little green demons, however, I'm sure I'll be finding them next time I clean up Easter grass. Good thing we have an artificial tree, or there'd be pine needles mixed in.

Ahhhhh. Those four-year-olds will get yer goat, I tell ya!

Fur Flies

2007-12-13T16:08:00.000-05:00

Nothing I intended to post here should be shared with a reading public--suffice to say I failed desperately today in the temper department. I raged in this very white space, then deleted it and sent the text to a friend instead. Even when I really want to open up to the world about the heat inside me, and my speedy heartbeat, and my loss of control, this world isn't really a safe place to do that. So, I hope that you are each finding safe people you can share with, too, when all of your to-do's are six steps too long, and your health isn't good, and the house isn't ready for company, and the bills are chasing you, and the year is coming to a close, and you don't know what to "get" for a bunch of people on the Christmas list.

I just get bogged down with anxiety that comes out as plain old Mad Mom.

Really mad mom, actually. Fur flies.

Just to do my best...

2007-12-12T00:58:00.001-05:00

Really, my "anger" post is on ModMomMuse today. It's more a frustration or shaking-of-the-head entry than one about anger, but it was a two-hour post, giving me little to no time to write here. It's better that way sometimes.

I have had a few outbursts over the past two days, but the thing to record tonight is this:

Logan, Teagan & I were enjoying time together on the couch today when Lo suddenly turned to me and said, "You're the best Mommy ever!" Then a slight pause, "But, please stop yelling at us, OK?"

Inhale.

Exhale.

Yes, Logan, I understand. Mommy is trying not to yell so much anymore.

He replies, "Say you'll do your best Mommy. Just say you'll do your best."

I will do my best. And, afterall, their best is all I ever should ask of them!

Tonight's advent reading, themed with a bell sticker (demonstrating the difference between clanging of symbols, and the joyous sound of Christmas bells), was a teaching on I Corinthians 13:1-13--you know, the famous love verses. The devotional was as good for me as it was for the kids--it brought out a clear definition of what it means to love. The list was strangely familiar--the author used the Fruits of the Spirit to draw out the definition. That was one of the first Bible verses Logan learned, so I showed him how we see that theme, again, as we learn about what it means for us to follow Christ. The little book suggested we discuss which aspect of love is our favorite, and which we have the most difficult time with. I asked Logan which of the Fruits of the Spirit he needs more in his life. He wisely replied, "All of them!" then smiled. Yes, all of them is right. Let me start, though, with Self-Control.

Going to bed now--yes, I know. Missed curfew by an hour. I'm getting SO much better, though! If you look back at ModMomMuse, you'll find me blogging at 3 AM, not 1 AM!

Last night I heard the screaming, Loud voices behind the wall...

2007-12-09T22:15:00.000-05:00

The good news is that I have not blogged for two days because I have been too busy enjoying my children, knitting a green scarf for my son, and cleaning my trashed and filthy house as I try to rid it of a stealth mouse under the kitchen sink. So, tonight I am merely saying Hola, and then Hasta la vista, because I am back to work now that one of my children is truly asleep. Baby Girl doesn't understand what 10:15 means--she's reading her board book, "Oh, Baby!" contentedly, so I will work around her. Advent has been good to me.

However, I learned today that my neighbor has been lying to me. My son was over there playing and I could hear him very clearly through the wall--stomping up & down the stairs, yelling loudly, having raucous fun. They have always assured me they cannot hear us through the walls, but now I know for certain that she was giving me polite BS. Great. Now I have to do the right thing and curb my yelling volume. Now I'll grit my teeth and sneer instead of scream, I guess. Whatever is effective...but not annoying the lying folk next door. Ugh.

(*Tracy Chapman, Behind The Wall)

Sisters in the Stew

2007-12-08T01:23:00.000-05:00

When I decided to start talk openly about what an angry momma I am, I was fairly surprised to discover how many other ladies responded to my confessions with a hearty, "Oh, yeah. Me too!" One gal, as I started to hint at my concerns talked about "grabbing little limbs too tightly," another talked about slapping her son's cheek, a third confessed to having sworn at her two-year-old, and another, who is a social worker & licensed therapist, sent me the lyrics to the Rolling Stones 1965 hit, "Mother's Little Helper," to encourage me that moms have been medicating themselves for decades--this rash I see is nothing new.* For the record, if it makes a difference, I am not medicated, but about 90% of my parenting peers seem to either be currently on some sort of antidepressant, be weaning off of an antidepressant, have a history of having taken them since mothering began, or are contemplating getting their first prescription. As a homeopathically-minded momma, I prefer to look at the source of my upset and face it head-on. It is difficult work, slower and more drawn-out, and I don't even know if I'm right to avoid the topic, but for now this is where I stand, until He leads me on, and I will listen to His voice. [from Twila Paris, "I Will Listen," **]

Why are we all so angry? Is it really so "normal" to yell/scream/holler from room to room at our children, get right up in their precious faces and bellow demands at them? One of the biggest struggles I have in life is the ability to address which actions in my life I'm performing authentically, and which are done to reach someone else's standard or expectation for me. Oftentimes I find myself lighting in on my children when there is some outside force that is overwhelming me--the anticipation of approaching guests or an approaching holiday, for example. If Tom is coming home for the weekend, and it's been ten days since his last visit, then I'm going to want to have "everything in order," before he gets here. So many things never do end up in order, but I do try. So, if I have just put all the puzzle pieces neatly back into their place, then turn around and find them scattered to Kingdom Come, oh, yes, I lose it.

I have heard reiterated from leadership throughout my life (teachers, pastors, counselors) that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. That, my dear friends, is called Motherhood! I rise in the morning, cook and see it eaten, wash dishes & clothes only to see them dirtied again, help the children put away their things, only to turn and find chaos within seconds. Every day feels like treading upstream. What changes those moments from insanity to peace is all about attitude: realizing that progress actually is being made, but that it is at an unseen level--spiritually, emotionally, psychologically. As I reign my kids in one more time to stop fidgeting at the dining room, but to sit their bottoms back down in their seats and eat, instead of playing with, their food, then I am training them to observe good manners at our table, in a restaurant and in the home of some other host or hostess. Whew, the slow progress is torture to me, though.

I am so Type A, such a perfectionist, so very ACOA, first-born, etc. Letting go has never been my style. I could have been a defense attorney; I can be relentless. Reframing my worldview to include the idea that children always follow a completely different standard than adults is difficult for me. I'm thirty-seven: I think I should have started mothering when I was more flexible!

I was a nanny, mother's helper and babysitter for years. I was so patient! I was so creative! I was in my twenties. There is an expansive gap between the care-taking of others and the care-taking of your own brood, though. One girlfriend and I were confessing our sins to each other on Thursday night, and we talked about the pressures we feel, as children from divorce, to give our children a better experience than we had. We both had critical raging fathers, for example, so we don't want our children to be seared by the same hot irons that wounded us--and yet we find ourselves behaving precisely the opposite of our plans.

Again, I come face-to-face with this question: Where would I be without my Savior? This friend and I agreed that in the end we are contributing members of our communities, and that Christ made good on the bad that started our lives. I am so grateful for a forgiving and gracious God. I know that even when I have fouled up terribly, I am not the only influence on my children's lives, that they are cared for by their Creator, and that I can always start fresh the next day. If I did not have forgiveness, an ebb of depression would overwhelm me. Somedays it does, regardless, but if I get my mind set again on Jesus, I can settle into peace, if only for a moment.

Whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are pure and lovely, think on these things! And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your heart, will keep your mind, on Jesus Christ. Philippians 4:7. This was our Advent reading tonight! I need to keep it in my brain as a mantra. And one verse above that, Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, with prayer and supplication, in thanksgiving, make your requests known to God."

May I dole forgiveness out so easily to my kids--may I draw nearer to God and exhibit His level of patience with my Little Ones! Let the children come unto me, Christ said. It's no wonder! They might not want to come to their momma on some of my worst days--so let them have that sense of eternal, nonjudgmental, unconditional acceptance and support from a loving Father! This is where I found my salvation, and I need to trust my children in God's hands, not in my own (For heaven's sake! Not in my hands!).

Even if I have 3 good days out of a given week, I pray that the children remember those instead of resenting me in the future for being too harsh, too impatient or too mean. May they remember our creative days! May they remember a whole picture, and not be able to pick at the little bark on one tree in the forest that is their childhood. May they see the rougher times as part and parcel with a otherwise good life.

For me, recalling some of the days I've listed here, already, where my father had checked out of parenting--that's really the forest, OK? "Normal" for the children of alcoholics, whose parents are divorced, is nothing but confusing, chaotic and painful--I'm not sharing isolated incidents/unique moments--no, these are more like morsels on a sample platter--each looks and tastes basically the same as every other piece. Bad. If I started telling you stories about good times with my dad before I was in my 20's, then we'd be reflecting on the isolated incident(s). We can talk more about that another time because I have a curfew to follow.

Yes, I know, the clock says 1:17--but I fell asleep on the sofa at 9:15 and woke after midnight, again, so going to bed right now qualifies for curfew. Want to pray that I get a more steady sleep routine? Now, that would be a miracle, since this is a lifelong issue--but we're talking about rewiring ourselves, here, right?

I raise a non-alcoholic glass in toast to rewiring!

*Mother's Little Helper, Rolling Stones, 1965

What a drag it is getting old
"Kids are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she's not really ill
There's a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day

"Things are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Cooking fresh food for a husband's just a drag
So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak
And goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And two help her on her way, get her through her busy day

Doctor please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old

"Men just aren't the same today"
I hear ev'ry mother say
They just don't appreciate that you get tired
They're so hard to satisfy, You can tranquilize your mind
So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And four help you through the night,
help to minimize your plight

Doctor please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old

"Life's just much too hard today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
The pusuit of happiness just seems a bore
And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose
No more running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
They just helped you on your way, through your busy dying day

[ Lyrics provided by www.mp3lyrics.org ]

**
"I Will Listen," Twila Paris, 1996

Hard as it seems
Standing in dreams
Where is the dreamer now
Wonder if I
Wanted to try
Would I remember how
I don't know the way to go from here
But I know that I have made my choice
And this is where I stand
Until He moves me on
And I will listen to His voice
This the faith
Patience to wait
When there is nothing clear
Nothing to see
Still we believe
Jesus is very near
I can not imagine what will come
But I've already made my choice
And this is where I stand
Until He moves me on
And I will listen to His voice
Could it be that He is only waiting there to see
If I will learn to love the dreams that He has dreamed for me
Can't imagine what the future holds
But I've already made my choice
And this is where I stand
Until He moves me on
And I will listen to His voice

Exhausted

2007-12-06T08:37:00.001-05:00

Let's pretend it's Wednesday and I'm sticking to a) my goal to blog on anger every day and, b) my midnight curfew.

I fell asleep with Logan on the couch at 9:15 last night and woke at 1 AM when Teagan started crying for me from upstairs. Does that qualify as meeting curfew?

I got up at 8 this morning, as Teagan pawed at me with the massage wand in my face. Well, a massage would certainly be nice, but, despite her heart, my two-year-old isn't the very best one to tackle those sore spots on me, you know?

Found my cell phone to plug in--it was flashing that I had a voicemail. My sister called after 11 PM to let me know that, no, it wasn't a pick-up I drove home that night--it was a sports coup. And she also went on to tell me that Dad's knee kept hitting the button on the lights preventing us from illuminating the padlock to get home.

Well, I am searching my mind for both of those memories and they are unfamiliar to me. For the sake of sincerity, let's leave it as I wrote it, but confess that my memory may be flawed in that. Afterall, this situation was equally traumatic for my sister--perhaps more so, since her life was in the hands of her unlicensed big sister and her drunk father. So, let's say it was a sports coup, and that I had somehow shoved Dad over out of the drivers seat when he passed out, or that I was sitting on his lap, or somehow steering from beside him...damn! That's bad. I really ought to praise God every single day for my life, because we should have flown right over that cliff on the way back. I attribute our existence to some strong and mighty angels standing alongside us.

End post.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

2007-12-04T20:55:00.000-05:00

I am not sure my childhood memories are erased from my mind so much as that they probably never stuck to the surface to begin with. Severe trauma in a child's life can be repressed from memory when the child is in shock; I think I was in shock for many of my little-person years.

One of the things I do remember, however, is the reaction my dad had at the dinner table if my sister or I spilled something (typically our glass of milk). He dove into full-on rage. What? Not again! Why does this happen night after night? How could you be so careless...G-D it! etc. (including some unsavory words I don't recall any more, or would prefer not to post here, turning my blog into a certain "R" rating). He didn't understand accidents, apparently. Ironically, the more frequently he ranted, the more frequently we spilled our milk. We feared him--we were nervous & unsteady when we were around him.

Children make mistakes because they are still learning, because their bodies cannot always accomplish bigger-person tasks, and because we all make mistakes. Not one of us is perfect; no, not one. To expect perfection of a child is ludicrous. So, why do I ever do it?

I am reading a fundamentally freeing book right now, by Dr. Gary Chapman, called Anger: Handling A Powerful Emotion in a Healthy Way. I'll review it on epinions once I'm done, but for now, let me tell you this has already been life-changing.

The first chapter discusses the origins of anger, particularly explaining anger's purpose. It is an important emotion which we need to understand for ourselves. Chapter two demonstrates positive changes that can come about in our environment when we apply anger properly to correct a seemingly unjust situation. And chapter three outlines actions you can take when you are dealing with justifiable anger--how to respond without reacting, act without sinning, or decide to just let it go in God's hands instead of pursuing.

I highly recommend this book--I'm only three chapters in, but feel more patient already. There seems to always be so much to change in my life--but it's a good thing I'm continuing this process at 37 instead of discovering at 57 that my children are resentful of their life with an irrationally furious mom.

Seven Second Storm

2007-12-04T14:06:00.000-05:00

Heart is racing. Breathing is heavy. Fury is in full storm.

It is TWO O'CLOCK and my son still is not dressed for the day. I have told him he may not leave his room to go downstairs until he is dressed. He has had no formal breakfast & no formal lunch--he has sneaked a couple snacks while I was on the phone. This is how we butt heads. So, I just gave him a spanking & my harsh voice, closed his door, again, and told him he can avoid seeing Mommy mad if he just does what he is asked when he is asked!

He is obsessed with his The Adventures of Tintin loans from our local library & cannot seem to move onto normal everyday activities. His nose is in the books. (I also loved these stories when I was a child...). I am certainly pleased that my son loves to read and that he is reading so well...I just need to see more balance in his life.

OK. He's four. But I know that is old enough to contribute to the family. We talk about all of us being on the same team, and every one of us needing to participate as full team members. We each have different duties and capabilities, but we all have to be a part.

Anyway. One quick burst. Intensely lasted about 7 seconds. He's dressed now & looks pretty nice. I have company coming in a few hours--better get back to cleaning up.

Broke curfew

2007-12-04T00:53:00.001-05:00

Booger. I broke curfew. I'll be out like a light as soon as I post, but wanted to write to say I didn't do too well today with patience.

I have had mounds of paperwork related to medical bills that I can never fully attend to--one call to our health insurance company last week had me transferred twice while I was waiting in the long car inspection line. Once I finally got up to the inspector, after 30 minutes accomplishing nothing significant on the phone, I had to disconnect to call back later...

So I did that today. This is one of the duties of life that bogs me down. Sometimes when I am too tired to think, the last thing I want to add to my to-do list is "change that lightbulb, for which you'll need a ladder..." because it involves two too many steps. Getting out a new lightbulb from above the dryer, removing the old & throwing it away (as long as it isn't mercury-filled), replacing the bulb...those are enough steps for this tired momma. Add in find ladder; drag it out; set it up in proper safe location; walk up ladder without endangering self or children; descend ladder safely, as well; put ladder away again, then I choose to leave the bulb burned out...for weeks.

So, when Dear Husband walks in the door after a couple weeks away from home I turn to him & ask, "Can you please change that lightbulb?"

Do I sound pitiful, or what? Anyway, paperwork (especially car-related or health-related paperwork) nags me like that dead bulb. It's not easy enough to just pick up the phone, get a live person, explain the problem, get it resolved & hang-up. No. It all begins with an interactive voice response system (IVR). In order to use an IVR you first have to HEAR the voice of the automated operator, and secondly, the computer has to be able to distinguish the words you speak back. When children are screaming in the background neither of those operations functions without a hitch! So, I got exceptionally impatient with both children when I had to hang up multiple times & redial to get back in queue for IVR mistakes.

My yelling has gotten much better over the past year. I remember entering last Christmas with a hoarse voice from too much of the kind of hollering that is very hard on the throat. Today I did not strain my voice, but I did use shutting down words with them...

Here were some of my actual words:

"Look at me! Look at me! I need you to understand what I am saying to you! I am ON...THE...PHONE! I cannot hear the person on the other end, and she cannot hear me while the two of you are screaming at each other. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU! You have beautiful toys in THAT room. GO THERE NOW and play by yourself. YOU! You have beautiful toys in THAT room THERE. You, also, GO TO YOUR ROOM AND PLAY BY YOURSELF...NOW!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I do NOT want to hear another SOUND from the two of you until I open my door. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? DO I?"

Intimidating. But, Man, I can get frustrated with telephones and IVR menus and foreign accents in customer service. Was I really mad at my children for being loud? Well, yes, I was, because Teagan spent the entire day testing her volume. But, more than that I was upset because my husband called me at 10:43 on his way to an 11 AM interview...and he was lost...and I was supposed to do for him in less than 17 minutes what his $500 Garmin GPS navigator was failing to do--help him find his way to that critical interview! Well, that ridiculous GPS (we call her Navigator Nancy) does seem to get herself turned around sometimes! Good thing I just happened to have the right street maps at my fingertips (in a paper book form--not Internet) to find a) his goal and b) his point of confusion. I stayed on the line saying, "Your turn is coming up in seconds. Do you see it yet? Tell me when you're there. OK, your next road, on the right is..." as he expressed his own frustration with many grunts, howls and raging sounds. Tom hates being lost. Trying to keep the kids quiet while he and I navigated his turns was, also, very frustrating.

Aurrrrgh!! How do we stay calm when everyone around us is in chaos? I'm working on that. Today I didn't have to ask forgiveness for big things...I really did need compliance from my children in order to do some of my other Mommy tasks, so I wasn't wrong in asking them to simma down, na. When Tom got home about two hours later I sequestered myself to finish the phone calling blither blather. Tom put Teagan down for her nap very easily and then spent time solo with Logo...so everything turned out well.

I wonder so often: which of my mean and mad days will stay in my children's memories? From my own childhood there are several days that blend into a few general overall feelings or memories of my ticked-off dad...

More on that tomorrow. Tonight, at 1:11 AM I am crashing on that beautiful Cuddle Ewe pillow. Night!

Previously...on MMM

2007-12-02T20:54:00.001-05:00

These are posts from Modern Mom Musings related to my anger struggle, FYI & lookback:

A Battle of the Wills

Parenting Waves

Day Two: Bear With Me

What A Day

Thorns In Our Sides

Executive Mother Perfectionist

Identity Theft

Fruit

Short Shoe Shopper

2007-12-01T23:30:00.000-05:00

Went into the consignment shop to hunt for turtleneck treasures. Came out with bundles, and all on a surprise anniversary sale--so that was a real find! While there, however, I was the uncomfortable eavesdropper of a frustrated and impatient mom. To begin, this store is overflowing with items--clothes bulge from every corner and cranny--one has to squeeze through any aisle by pushing clothing aside, and there is never room for more than one person at a time to walk past. Therefore, I have found, it is not an ideal environment for children. Little ones want to sit on the floor and play with all the toys--but that leaves no passing room for any shopping adults.

This tall blond momma was aware of that--hyper aware--and she continued sternly correcting her son again and again, "I told you get up off the floor. I told you move over. Didn't you hear me? You can't sit there. Get up! Move." etc. There really wasn't a kind or loving exchange for the full thirty minutes I spent rifling through the thick stacks of socks and sorting over the dense rows of size 5's. She was trying shoes on her daughter and told her, "Stand up. how does that feel? Oh, you can't tell me how it feels--what am I thinking?" Later I noticed that her daughter appeared to, at the least, have Down's Syndrome. Her son was, by the way, very well-behaved and did a good job of occupying himself. It isn't the boy who was at fault. The store is too small! It cannot be up to fire safety codes...can it?

I felt for the mom because I have been in the same location with both children in tow and it is very difficult to keep track of them and to keep them out of others' way. So, in compassion I told her, "I feel your pain," after she gave me the "other-mother" eye roll. After I found two pairs of cute flannel red plaid pj's for my kiddos, I met her at an intersection, briefly touched her arm and whispered, "This store is just too small, isn't it? There's just no room for the kids! I have had the same experience you're having--I totally understand." She sort of responded, but also projected full exhaustion, and seemed to claustrophobically want it all to be over ASAP.

Tonight, I am praying for this woman, because I think she is like me--a struggler with this anger issue. If, in public, she was so desperately impatient with her two, then I cannot imagine how she behaves in private. Oh, wait a minute, yes I can. And, that, my friends, is why she is in my prayers at 11:45 PM, as I write my last thoughts here. I hope my touch connected with her somehow. I hope others reach out to her as well.

As for me: today was fairly good. I did get slightly impatient with each child at some point, but nothing was out of control, no regrettable words were spewed, and no one got hurt in any emotional or psychological way. It was a good day. It is the first day of advent!

Also, as I waited in the DMV line, I read another chapter of this great book on anger...I'll talk about that more later. Good night!

Serenity

2007-12-01T07:39:00.001-05:00

I started this day ahead of my son. Teagan woke me before 7, as usual, and used the potty by herself then started echoing my morning greeting to her, "Happy December." She sang it again & again without the "b." Teagan is a happy December baby. Her birthday is five days away.

Lord, let me look to you in all things today--you are my fortress, you are my deliverer, you are the bright morning star. Help me hear Teagan's voice all day singing to me, "Happy Deee-cemmm-er."

I am approaching my anger recovery with an AA attitude, starting with the serenity prayer. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Wisdom--I could use a whole heaping of that. And, last Sunday we heard a great sermon about what a Christian's attitude ought to be in adversity. We display our courage when something present causes us fear. I need to discover what it is I fear so much, and stop reacting to everything around me! More on that later. I have to go to the DMV this morning--that's one place where I'll need serenity! I got pulled over for an expired registration yesterday...

Happy Decem'er, y'all.

Weighty Words

2007-11-30T23:40:00.000-05:00

It was after 10:30 last night and my son was still awake, trying desperately to engage me in conversation after I had already put him down for bed again & again. I was trying so hard to tie up the loose ends of the day and get myself into bed that I turned & sharply said to him, "Just lie down and shut up!"

When I used the words "shut-up" as a preteen, I understood that there was a direct and immediate punishment--a bar of soap in my mouth. How could it be that I would turn on my young child and scream these indelicate words at him? Believe me when I tell you last night was not the first time. I am ashamed to say I have told him to shut up at least three times. It upsets me--I do not want to say it. It is demeaning! He should not learn those words from me.

Logan starts talking at 7:30 AM and has creative conversations going on with whomever will listen all day long. Sometimes he gets on the phone with my mom for over an hour as they invent unique, involved and complex stories. She is his grandmother--she has a special bond with him that allows the two of them to jabber on like that, but I do not have the patience I need for his demanding, creative mind.

Exhaustion will bring a mother to ludicrous behavior. Grabbing little ones' shoulders and getting right in their faces--echoing expressions that you didn't create like, How many times have I said this!? or What is wrong with you!?!? Clichés. Why do they roll out of my otherwise creative mouth? Exhaustion. I do the stupidest things when I'm tired.

So, it is 11:45 & I am turning the light out seconds after I hit "Publish" on this entry tonight. No more staying up after midnight. It turns me into an irresponsible and snappy mom. I cannot let the kids be awake & wandering around the house without me in the morning while I try to grab a couple more minutes of sleep--I have to lead the way, starting with my feet hitting the ground before theirs. That is, perhaps, too lofty a goal, but at least I can set a bed time for myself--a curfew, if you will, so I can rise with them instead of begging them to let me sleep just one more minute.... Midnight for me from now on. No more "shut-ups" for crying out loud!! I always apologize to him immediately after that kind of an outburst, then turn to face him, explain what I was trying to accomplish at the time, and listen to him. I stop whatever it is and try to clean up the brokenness around me--his and my own.

So many people tell me I'm a good mother. They say it repeatedly, and I cannot stand it, because I think I am so far from providing what my children need or deserve. But, perhaps I am trying too hard to overcompensate, so I get really hard on myself when I screw it up.

But, Hey! It's midnight, so we'll return to that thought some other day. Pray for me to be more patient with my son, in particular. He demands so much of me (of anyone) because of his frightening intelligence. I can barely keep up and I'm 33 years his senior!

Inhale deeply, and...exhale 2, 3, 4...8, 9, 10.

Where it began...

2007-11-29T10:14:00.000-05:00

This past summer was an interesting one for my dad and me. We haven't spent any summer time together since I was a teen, but as soon as the van's front wheels were on Lexington's soil in the beginning of August, I smelled, saw and tangibly tasted the best parts of my childhood--the farm. My paternal grandparents owned an immense amount of property in Nicholasville, Kentucky, where my cousins, sister and I had free reign for about six weeks every summer during Dad's "visitation" time after my parents' divorce. Our play space is unfathomable in today's childhood standards: rolling hills gave way to flat fields of tobacco, then rose again into treacherous mountainous ravines, complete with a wide and active "crick" and tall, playful waterfalls. We found ponds loaded with frogs and tadpoles, learned to drive a tractor shortly after a two-wheeler, and climbed into the rafters of the big empty barn which would eventually fill with the musky drying leaves of my dad's cash crop. When in Michigan, I smoked that leaf's product in secret, stolen from my mother's purse. Here, Dad raised the damned stuff.

We dug in Mimi's garden to unearth potatoes, pluck beans from their stalks, roll large squash into wicker baskets, and run wild with the family's dogs. If you painted a child's idyllic space, the farm in Nicholasville held it all. Physically, that is. Spiritually and emotionally, it was as far from ideal as imaginable.

My father had no relationship whatsoever with my Mimi. They resented and disdained each other. Dad was not yet sober in the early years when we trekked out to Nicholasville from my grandparents' city home in Lexington, and later, when they built a new house on the farm. He lived, quite literally, in a shack on somebody else's back 40, had oil lamps for light, a creek out back for bathing, and an outhouse for our business. In contrast to the dark house and dark toilet, the farm was one thousand times more amazing! Dad would often drive us from his place up the road to the bottom of the traprock driveway of his parents' house and just let us out for a visit while he waited in the car.

Because he was still drinking, I remember quite vividly the night I had to be his Designated Driver back to the plot of property where he hung his hat, his jeans and his belt. With my little sister in the cab, and Dad passed out across us both, this thirteen-year-old (if I was even that) maneuvered along the steep, winding, narrow, dirt path to "home." I had been told of people pushing their cars over the cliff to claim accidents and collect insurance money--and had discovered several of those destroyed vehicles along the river's edge far below. I knew the hazards of this drive very well. With a white-knuckle grip on the thin, hard steering wheel, I stretched to reach the accelerator and cautiously steer us past the danger point. I was sweating, but I had no choice. We rumbled over the loose ground below us, pulled up to the locked gate, where I exited the car to unlock our entrance with the illumination of the headlights, and then I parked the pick-up under the old oak tree. His front door was padlocked, so we had to arouse him from his stupor to let us in (waking a drunk man is always a bad idea, by the way). We three stumbled into darkness until a match was struck to shine a little light on the forty-square-foot entry.

Dad owned very few pieces of furniture--a weight bench, a dresser, a sagging mattress on an old frame, an antique mirror. Hanging on his wall was one precious piece of framed artwork I had made in kindergarten--spools of thread as stamps for wheels built the base of my hand-painted train. It all burned up in his house fire--arson set by his landlord who suspected Dad to be cheating with the man's wife. Anything physical he had owned from our family days in Michigan went up in smoke with that fire. Goodbye to the hornet's nest at the top of the stairs. Goodbye to the memories of Dad's verbal fight with his girlfriend, which I had to listen to through the glass, as I wept on the porch with my cousin, Jason, in a violent rainstorm.

That rainstorm was beautiful, were it not for the tension in my young heart and soul. Cows in the field were silhouetted from their hiding places in the dark at every crack of lightening. The sky flashed to dark again, as the cattle disappeared, then white, hot, angry lightening revealed their positions for just a split second. I was overwhelmed by the noises from the shack as I distinctly heard a slap, and the violence of the storm's own claps, so I ran barefoot into the middle of the sopping grassland before me, screaming out to whomever in heaven might hear me. No particular word escaped my mouth--just a loud maddening groan of sorrow and stress and sadness--maybe I screamed out help!

So many odd dichotomies--grandparents with wealth, social position, and opportunity, who let alcohol destroy their family relationships; my father, brilliantly intelligent, but going nowhere. During the days the cousins got to visit our granddad at his practice, he'd take x-rays of us, and pop them up onto a light screen to draw on our shadows with wax pencils. There, see the difference between Jason and me? It's those two little dots drawn at the top of my ribs--my nipples. I'm a girl, he's a boy. Otherwise, our bodies look about the same--we are prepubescent, so, frankly, his nipples look exactly like mine, but hey! Wouldn't want to miss an opportunity for sexual distinction...

Zig was so cool. He was more than a radiologist--he was heart and soul a scientist, capturing ticks from the dogs' backs to study them long before we understood the impact of a tick bite on lifetime sufferers of Lyme Disease. Yes, he had a subscription to Playboy, at least, and maybe Penthouse, too. They weren't hidden in the house--I knew precisely where they fell in stacks on a beautiful hand-crafted Appalachian chair by the stairs. That was definitely the major gap in his character--he was otherwise quite funny, warm and loving. He had a wonderful smile and laughed often. His shock-white hair was always cut in a trim buzz cut that we children loved to run our hands over--it was soft and prickly at the same time. I don't remember him, or my father for that matter, without moustache and beard.

Zig was the bond between his bitter wife and his four children. They all loved their father, as my cousins and I did. He would read me the Sunday comics every week, as I sat in or beside his lap. Because of his name, he read Ziggy first, and would elucidate the unspoken in each square with great flair. He was full of creativity--a more-than-talented photographer, a great storyteller, and involved in his community and politics. He was a first generation Polish-American who took me to Polish festivals annually, where his tongue awoke to his native language. I admired him, looked up to him, adored him, really. We drank root beer together on the back of the tailgate of Dad's truck in an open field as the sun fell and the crickets began singing. I know that I know that I know that Zig loved me. That made Kentucky taste wonderful!

What was bitter, however, was this stinging battle between Mimi and all of her children. I never knew Mimi without something on the rocks in her hand. She was also an involved matriarch, but in an intellectually removed style. She and Zig traveled all over the world together, and they remembered us on every trip with postcards along the way, and gifts upon their return. I have a packed and buried international doll collection somewhere in my mother's attic from those vacations. The gifts they gave were of the highest quality and were often handmade by local artisans. We received only Caldecott award-winning books--often signed by their authors and/or illustrators. Much later in life I considered that Mimi demonstrated her love to me by waiting in line with those books tucked under her arm! I learned so much about stewardship of community resources from Mimi & Zig: shop at your farmer's market if you don't grow your food yourself, make every meal a wonder, celebrate the beauty of nature all around you! I am the environmental "crunchy con" that I am as a result of touching dirt with Mimi.

Oh, and could that woman cook! I grew up understanding the delicate tastes of variant mushrooms, the squeaky bite of ratatouille, the vibrant colors of a well-designed bowl of borscht and that breakfast went far beyond Cap'n Crunch or Lucky Charms to hand-shaped salmon patties, carefully turned in a hot pan moments before they hit my plate. In today's world Mimi could have had her own syndicated show on cable, demonstrating how to grow fresh basil and peppermint around your breezeway to make the entrance to your home sweet (even if the aroma within included the heavy odor of misery mixed with her delicious wafting smells from the kitchen).

But, for all of her social charms and propriety, old money and righteousness, Mimi was a drunk. She was critical, and had embittered her children against her by not supporting their interests. She had her own goals and objectives for them that ignored their individuality. Each was well-educated at private schools across the East. Boys' schools, military schools, schools where you send your children away from you. To this day whatever Mimi did or did not do to her children is so horrendous as to never be discussed between the generations. I am quite certain, for my dad, that her not taking his musical talent seriously was not enough to keep him from her hospital bed when she lay dying of alcoholism and a severe stroke in 1998. There was a lifetime of deep wounds and injurious words that separated mother from child, child, child and child. All four went on to become expert musicians, and drinkers, themselves.

So, the story goes on & on. This is one small peek into my chaotic childhood full of confusion about parental roles, authority, rules and the breaking of rules. I didn't know which way was up from Day One long into my life. I am not sure I have figured that out, still, but, as I stated in Post One, I am equalizing.

This summer, though, I drove my children through the Blue Ridge mountains, over the states that were so familiar to me from a bygone season of my existence. I saw the colors of those clouds, valleys and shadows with a rescued perspective and hollered with all of my voice, again. This time, in Logan's and Teagan's presence, instead of Cousin Jason's, it wasn't a cry for help, it was a loud and joyful Hallelujah! Oh, look! There! There are the good things, Children. Mountains, clouds, sky, trees, wilderness as vast and rich as any on earth. This is Virginia; this is West Virginia; this is Kentucky! Celebrate what our Creator God designed for our eyes to feast on! And my children delighted as I did. We literally shook pom-poms as we cheered for Yahweh!!

It was with this energy and excitement that I entered the land of my youth, where scars have finally become less visible to me. There was my dad, an older man with failing eyesight, sober for twenty years and overpouring with his father's charm and his mother's perfectionism. He is, like my childhood, confusing. I love him, I do, and I accept that he is as flawed as any human being on earth--only more obviously so, sometimes, since he is larger than life. When Dad is critical you feel raw and broken until you gain control of yourself and don't let his remarks harm you. Now, I am a recovering adult of divorce, abuse and alcoholism. I do not have to smolder in artificial suppression of my pain--I am mature enough to say, "Hey! Knock it off! That was uncalled for. Say you're sorry. Stop behaving that way!"

We have always had this weird role problem. Who is the adult? Once he stopped drinking he tried to recover that role, but he failed miserably for years. After I got married he started to step up to the plate, but it's hard to talk to either of your divorced parents about your marriage when it hits rough patches--What do you know? You didn't work it through! So, there was so much I kept from him as a matter of practicality. When I became a parent I offended him deeply (it wasn't the first time, nor the worst; he is fragile), and he gave me a ten-month silent treatment, broken only when it looked like my first child might have cancer. Dad called. He reentered my life and I let him. Six months of intense counseling, unsent letters, uncontrollable sobbing and I was able to let him back in.

I'd say our relationship since 2004 has been uphill for the most part. I know, that's barely four years! It's like we found each other as Father and Daughter, finally. I talk to him at least once a week, worry about him when silence between us goes a day or two too long, and delight in his newfound lady love. This is the good of Life, Children: Forgiveness, Healing, Resurrection from the ashes.

But, there is and always will be Work to do on my part. I still have injuries that even I don't know are there. I snap at others' behaviors in such irrational ways--irrational to the situation, but clearly roped to some root deep within me. Digging up the roots--that's the dirt I must touch now.

You have dirt to dig into, too. We all do. Mine is rich, peaty, stinky compost, really, but from compost come the most outstanding flora! Here's to that springtime day when I can see the blossoms of myself in all of their purposeful regalia! The joy will be in the journey, as they say...if my mind is stayed on Christ!

Naked Truth

2007-11-29T00:05:00.000-05:00

It's too easy to sit down to the privacy of keyboard and glowing screen in the wee hours and reflect on the good parts of my day. Recording my children's accomplishments helps me keep an attitude of gratitude. Much more difficult, however, is facing the big bathroom mirror before my head hits the pillow for the night--makeup is removed, bags under my eyes reveal my exhaustion, furrows in my brow remind me of the day's struggles and worries about tomorrow--or guilt about today.

I have recently read a number of candid blog entries that convicted me--one woman's vulnerability is another woman's encouragement. Why shouldn't I tell my life like it is? There have been so many bumps and bruises in my life--and much of that is rubbing off from my upbringing to the way I raise my own brood.

I was anxious before my children were born--how would I raise these ones entrusted to my care to know and serve Jesus, when I had stumbled upon His love in a seemingly accidental way? What would it look like to train them up in the way they should go? I had never been a patient person--"demanding" is a more appropriate term for me. I can certainly require perfection of those around me--an unreasonable expectation, especially, of children! The same had been expected of me...so I know how damaging this unattainable goal can be for an incapable innocent.

And yet...

Why do we repeat our parents' mistakes? If we were injured by certain abuses of authority, why do we become hovering authoritarians? What is it in Human nature that fights so hard against positive change?

Rage has been my thorn. It is a long, sharp sword, piercing my side, twisting internally and ripping me up, even as I lash out at others. Do I want to pass this burden--this weapon--on to my children? NO! I do not! They should not be so tortured.

So, on this blog it will be my intention to work out the issues of an ex raging lunatic who is trying to equalize herself. I will journal my successes and failures in hopes of helping other moms who fight against the same demons to feel empathy from me--and to be able to share their own wrestling matches.

Blog posts that hit me this week:

"My Children Make Me Sin. No, Not Really" from Musings of the Dings

"Sinner In The Hands of an Angry Mom" from Musings of the Dings

"The Best Mommy Secret" from mommysecrets blog

All These Things from Diary of a Playgroup Dropout

"Dumbfounded" from Bringing Our Boys Home

posts with "anger" label from emerging sideways