Somewhere In-Between

And when they are old...

2012-01-27T22:42:00.000-08:00

My desire to homeschool my children is one that I've needed to defend often throughout the years. But this year, the year that my oldest became a fifth grader, I have had to defend it like no other.
Over and over again I've needed to assure those around me that I enjoy having my children with me during the day. I've had to assure them that my children are, in fact, learning something. I've had to assure them that we are all physically, mentally, and emotionally healthy. It's very interesting to me the way others seem to take on very strong opinions regarding the way I choose to bring up my children.
One thing that I have had to share with my family and friends this year is the idea that homeschooling is not just about school. It is about life. Homeschooling is not just doing the math, reading, and writing in our house instead of in the building down the road. Homeschooling is a lifestyle I've chosen in order to support the goals I have for my children. *This* is what I want to get across to those out there who cannot understand my reasons for wanting to keep my children with me through the day. There is a much bigger picture I have in mind when I plan out each and every one of our days.

My Goals for My Children:

To love learning and to have a desire to know more.

To remember what they've learned because they enjoyed learning it.

To know how to set goals and accomplish them.

To feel proud of themselves and confident around others.

To feel capable of making a difference in the world.

To see beyond themselves and to have a *world* vision.

To bloom wherever they may be planted.

To feel comfortable in various situations and with various types of people.

To find a great love, to seek it and to gain it.

Now I know that many children may be able to accomplish all of this while attending a public or private school. I know that there are many awesome schools out there, and many, many caring and excellent teachers. And one day I may want to send my children to one of those schools. But for today, I enjoy their presence at home. I appreciate knowing what they are learning and how they are spending their time. I am comfortable with being able to protect my children from bullying, and being there for them to help them come up with ways to deal with problems. I love sharing life experiences with them, and introducing them to life beyond the walls of a classroom. And yes, this is exciting to me! This wonderful journey through my children's childhoods. I want to experience it, too.

Into the Wilderness

2011-10-07T19:29:00.000-07:00

“This is dumb!” he said, slamming his stick to the ground. “I will not be quiet! You tell us to be quiet in the house and to go outside if we want to make noise. Now we’re outside and we’re not allowed to make noise? That’s stupid!”
We were heading back down the trail toward the car. Our hike cut short by his insolence and my temper.
“You think I’ll ever buy you hiking boots or hiking gear when you can’t even follow the simple rules?” The words tumbled out of my mouth, harsh with the disappointment I felt at the plan gone so awry. My anger seethed as I prodded the kids back to the trailhead. As I stomped my way down the mountain, I wracked my brain for ideas – plans for training and teaching my children how to behave in the great outdoors. The curtain was fast falling on my beautiful plans of exploring all the state and national parks in our area.
I was embarrassed. I loved nature. I respected nature. I had raised my children to do the same. But the thought of having my nature-conscientious friends coming along with my family’s adventures through the woods burned my cheeks with shame. They would not believe that I harbored any love for this beauty around us. They would see only how destructive my children were.
As I continued walking and thinking, my mind’s perspective slowly changed, from how to train my children to behave outdoors, to wondering why I needed to train my children to behave outdoors. He was right, after all. We had rules about how to behave indoors. In our house, we needed to be quiet. To clean up and keep things nice. To walk gently and not bounce off the walls or jump off the couch. I was constantly telling my kids to “go outside if you want to behave like monkeys!”
In an effort to reduce destruction of natural beauty, we live in a neighborhood of tightly packed homes. Our postage stamp of green yard surrounded by concrete sidewalks and ribbons of blacktop. This is my children’s playground. This is where they explore, build, discover, and make believe. They will never get to have the big yards that I had as a child. They don’t have trees to climb, or grassy hills to roll down, or woods in which to build forts, play house, become elves or explorers. These are the memories of my childrhood that I cherish.
When I was a child, I don’t remember walking quietly through the woods in observation, unless it was part of an espionage game I was playing with my brothers and their friends. Quiet observations was for those years of transformation. Those years when my body was growing out of my childhood skin and into my emerging adult one. As an adult, walking quietly through the woods is one of the most peaceful parts of my life. And I think this is part of what upset me about my hikes with my kids. I wanted a museum. They wanted an adventure.
My needs as an adult were now different than my needs as a child.
Whereas I cherished soaking in the beauty around me through my eyes, ears and breath, my children grabbed broken limbs and fashioned them into their perfect walking sticks or bush whacking tools. They did not care to be quiet and enjoy the peace, or to catch a glimpse of an animal. They raced and hollered, any animal nearby would have fled, having heard us from miles away. They did not want to walk a path already laid out. They wanted to be explorers, discovering the woods on their own. Not from the distance, but up close – making their own trails, picking up leaves, and flowers, and feathers and sticks and seeing how a decaying log crumbles when you kick it.
I am a history buff, and love museums. I love preservation. To be able to see things that have gone untouched and left in pristine condition. To understand how things have been throughout time. I can understand why we need to preserve the nature around us. If we were to all go into the woods and whack down trees, crash out new paths, pluck all the leaves and rocks, what would the person behind us have to see and learn and discover? But I never thought that I would have to teach my children to behave outdoors as if they were in a museum. Look but don’t touch. Quiet voices. Walk softly.
I have decided to wait on my beautiful plan of exploring all the nearby state and national park trails. For now we will stick to the undeveloped neighborhood that is behind ours, that has been left to grow wild again. Here my children can whoop and holler and run and jump and climb. Slowly I will teach them the joy of a quiet, reflective walk through the woods. Afterall, it is an important part of life as well. Just one that’s suited more toward adults, rather than children.

"Education is an Atmosphere"

2011-08-20T13:49:00.000-07:00

Summer is finally here in the Pacific Northwest. We finally have the warmth and blue skies that most of the country has had the opportunity to enjoy for months now. And true to the nature of our area of the world, it is also the end of the summer holiday season that this weather comes upon as. Just as neighbors and shops start to get ready for school, the kids are finally enjoying their freedom.
For the homeschooling family, this is a busy and exciting and stressful time. Time to plan. Time to organize. Time to figure out what worked last year and what didn't. What we want to re-use, and what we want to pass along. Reformatting ideas and schedules and placements of educational resources.
Charlotte Mason relied heavily on the idea that "education is an atmosphere" and that is what I'm trying to convey in my household. While last year, for the first time, I had a room dedicated solely to our schooling, this year we are back to the dining room table. I loved that school room. I enjoyed setting it up, giving everyone a small space to do their work, filling the walls with maps and art and timelines. But that room is now the safe space of a little boy, and all of our school supplies are boxed up and struggling to find a place of their own.
Education is an atmosphere. This gives me hope that we do not need a "room" in which to learn. Education is not just found at a desk, or in a textbook. It is found in the everyday experiences. It is found outside and inside. Within relationships and during quiet moments.
And so, our dining table will be the plateau that holds the paper and pencils, but the education will not need to be contained in our small eating space. And while I yearn over large beautiful rooms dedicated to exploratory learning, my kids will be learning on the table where we eat, the couches where we lounge, the floors where we daily walk, the counters where we bake, the front porch where we rock, the sidewalks upon which we walk.
This year, I do not need to dedicate my time to arranging a room for learning. I need to arrange our whole atmosphere.

Love, Unconditionally

2011-05-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

"God saw all that he had made, and it was very good." -Genesis 1:31

I have noticed lately that most days I am just plain frustrated. Irritated. Fed up. I hate the way I feel. And I hate where this feeling stems from.

I have a son who has a million little idiocyncrities that makes him unique. But many of his little quirks rub abrassively against my little quirks. I have noise sensitivities, and touch sensitivities. He makes noises uncontrollably, and has a strong need to always be leaning on me! I find myself pushing him out of my personal space constantly. I find myself asking, begging, and finally yelling at him to just be quiet. I can hear the words as they come out of my mouth and they irritate me. The way they sound. They are harsh, they are nagging, they are full of disapproval and irritation. They do not speak love.

I mentally berate myself as these words just keep tumbling out of my mouth. I ask myself, "How have you shown him love today?", and I am just too irritated to be able to answer.

We live in a difficult world. One where people's differences are not always accepted and appreciated. I know that when my son is released into the world, many might be annoyed at his little uncontrollable habits. This fear of him being unacceptable haunts me. And this fear comes out as my irritations with what he does. I realized the other day that my constant antagonizations are my way of trying to keep remolding him into something that the world will find acceptable. It is a very skewed form of loving him.

God said that He made everything, and saw that it was good. Do I see my son, and everything he was born with, as being good? I was struck down the other day by the hard fact that I do not see the whole of my son as something good, and I am not showing my son that he is acceptable. In trying to prepare him for the real world, and remake him into something more paleatable, I am saying to God that he made a mistake. That he made something that is not good. I am reinforcing the idea to my son that who he is is not acceptable to me. You are not acceptable. You are not worthy of love. These are what my actions are getting across to my son. Where can children feel acceptance if not at home? Where can children feel love if not from their parents?

I was horrified when I realized what I was doing. How can I know better than God what is good? Who made me judge? I was setting my son up, not to thrive and be accepted into the world, but rather I have been setting him up to feel all of his life that he will never be good enough, and that no one will love who he really is, that God made a mistake. How could I have let this happen?

Who cares what the world says to you when you have the strong foundation of love and acceptance from home? A child who has been made to feel loved and accepted their whole life is able to face the difficulties of the world with confidence because they know that they mean something. How could my attempts to help have become so hurtful?

As these realizations have dawned on me this week, I've had to humble myself greatly. I've had to lay prostrate before the Lord, and pour out my sorrow and grief and repentance to Him. And then I went to my son and asked him also for his forgiveness.

I think of our Lord, and how many time His people have annoyed, frustrated, and disappointed Him. We do this over and over again, and yet His love story for us continues to be forgiveness, love, and acceptance, no matter what we do.

"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Rom 5:8)

When God looks at us, He sees our beauty through the veil of Christ's sacrifice. That is how He is able to love us, unconditionally. Was Christ's sacrifice enough for me? Do I really think so little of what He has done?

I do not know why the Lord decided to put my son and I together, when it is so hard for both of us to deal with one another's issues. I question Him often about this. I know that He has a reason, though. I know that it is growing patience and empathy in both of us.

Only speak words that make souls stronger.

I've Joined the Natural Parenting Blog Party!

2011-04-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

1.How many children do you have, and how old are they?
I have four children. They are aged 10, 8, 6, and 4.

2.Do you have a partner, or are you a single parent?
My main squeeze and I have been married for almost 11 years!

3.What are your “hot button” parenting issues?
=) When I was younger, I used to have many! I thought there was one right way to parent and if someone wasn't following that one way, they were wrong! Now I know that everyone must follow their own journey, and discover on their own what is right. But, I do get incredibly sad when I see mothers and babies not succeed at breastfeeding due to poor support or bad advice. I get incredibly frustrated when I hear parents talk about their children needing to be punished, and using God's name in which to do it. And any issue that disconnects parents and childrn, dismisses a child's needs, or encourages a parent-centered lifestyle raises my blood pressure.

4.Have you made any parenting choices that you didn’t think you would make before you were a parent, i.e. cloth diapering a child when you had previously thought it was disgusting?
Looking back, I really feel amazed at how willing I was to parent naturally right from the start. I didn't live in a natural home, but my mom had breastfed my brothers and I, and had cloth diapered out of lack of other options. When I had my children, I never considered anything else.
I weaned my oldest at 15 months while pregnant with my second. After my second was born, I remember thinking, "hm, I think I could nurse him until he's 18 months, but NOT until he's two! (My oldest was almost two at that point) That is just gross!" I went on to nurse him and his sisters who followed past the age of two!

5.Is there one book or person in particular that’s heavily influenced your parenting choices?
More than anything, the wonderful ladies who I found on Gentle Christian Mothering (back in early 2003) were the largest influence on my parenting choices when I was a young parent. They helped me so much with many of my struggles with discipline, diet, marriage, all things natural, etc. I don't know how my life would have been without them.

6.If you had to describe each of your children using only one word, what word would you use?
J - "intricate", A - "intuitive", E - "confident", M - "entertaining"

7.Is there one parenting decision that you regret more than others and wish you could change?
Yes. I believed, when my first was less than a year old, that he was fully able to comprehend right from wrong, and able to have the self control to follow my orders. I believed that he was willfully disobeying me from the time he was 9 months old, and as a result deserved to have hands slapped or bottom spanked. It turned into a disgusting cycle of harder and more spankings leading to more aggressive behaviors until we were both so angry and out of control. It was Gentle Christian Mothering which introduced me to the concept of gentle, or grace-based, discipline. I thought it was such a load of garbage at first. But, I am so thankful that God is full of grace and mercy, for both mamas and their little ones. And that our children are so willing to forgive. He forgave me a lot more easily and quickly than I have been able to forgive myself.

8.Is there an area of your parenting you wish you were better at?
I wish I was able to have more fun. When I was younger, I had no problems with getting on the floor and just playing, not minding messes. Now, I have become too responsible. I have separated myself from the children as the one in charge, who gets things done. I would really love to just be able to let loose and have fun and not get so stressed about it.

9.Now for the fun questions – is there one particular food or type of food that you could eat every day?

Lamb curry. I never get tired of it.

10.Vanilla ice cream or chocolate?
Depends on where I am in my cycle!

11.What’s your guilty pleasure?
Staying up late to watch British television shows on Netflix instant play.

12.If you could be part of any television show, which show would it be?
I don't watch regular television, so I don't really know. The shows that I like I really wouldn't want to be a part of, LOL!!

Shame and humility

2011-04-14T10:55:00.000-07:00

My harsh words reflect back at me in the angry face. If it were another person speaking to my child this way, I would never, ever, allow it! But, somehow, they explode out of my mouth, again and again. Words of frustration, irritation. Words that wonder how and why and what is wrong with you? Words that do nothing to help, but everything to harm. And yet they burst forth, seemingly against my very will to allow only helpful and kind words to pour out of my mouth.

Just when I think I have everything under control, when I’m riding high on the Lord’s goodness, I am cut down to size. Attacked on every side. I am tested, and I fail. Miserably. It is not God who is testing, He who is full of grace and mercy would not want me to fail when my children’s hearts are at stake. It is he who would rather see me fail than succeed. He who delights in my anger, in my hurt, in my ability to hurt. He who is jealous of a God who loves and forgives and desires us to do the same. And I give in to him. I turn from God, and follow the nature that is sin.

I could have stayed there. Once I fail, it’s hard to adorn myself in humility. It’s hard for me to admit my wrongdoings and seek forgiveness. But it’s part of my growing. It’s part of God’s lesson in my life. I turn back to God because He has not removed Himself from me. He is the one that pricked my conscious, that allowed me to see the hurt on my child’s face, that allowed me to feel the guilt of causing that pain. I turn back to God because it was I who turned my back on Him. I turn back to God and I am humbled. He who forgives before I even ask.

I stop my child who is walking away from me with a dark scowl on his face, I reach for him with both arms. I wrap my arms around him and tell him I am sorry. I tell him it was wrong of me to yell at him. That I am frustrated but I should not have yelled at him. I ask him for forgiveness, for this broken relationship will not be rejoined until that happens.

And it breaks him. It breaks the hard shell of anger to what is really underneath. My harsh words have placed layer and layer of hard protection around his tender heart, and when I tell him I’m sorry, when I tell him I am wrong, the shell cracks. And what is soft inside seeps out. It pours down his face, dripping off his nose and his chin. This is no longer the face of an angry child, this is the face of a child who is hurt and needing love, not frustration; hugs, not yells. And that softness brings me to my knees, asking the Lord to take away my sinful nature. Let me never hurt my children with my words again.

A Letter to My 21 Year Old Self...

2011-04-13T00:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Amy,
Welcome to motherhood! Though you are young, you are capable of being the best mother this child could ever have. Being young does not always mean being ignorant. Being young means you have more energy, you have less to let go of, and you have a quick and open mind to fill.

Over the years you will gain more and more wisdom. It’s too bad that we don’t begin our mothering journeys with this wisdom already at hand. I know that it’s out there, and that our mothers and grandmothers have it, but your wisdom will need to come from your own experiences. As you fail and as you succeed, you will learn and grow.

Ten years down the road, you will understand a lot more. And you will understand that you still have a lot to learn. For now, these are some special things I want to share with you.

Trust your instincts. Go with God-made over man-made. God doesn’t make mistakes.

Never feel guilty about taking time to sit and hold, feed, look at, or adore your baby. Your house will look the same tomorrow, but your baby will not. You make more time, not by hurrying, but by focusing on the present, and cherishing the moment.

Everything gets better with time. The saying “this too shall pass” is a mothering motto. I know you want to know right now, fix it right now, figure it out right now. But, give it time. It will get better.

You will need friends. Even if they don’t do things the way you do, they can still be wonderful friends. Keep them around.

He will sleep through the night – all on his own! Forcing things makes it more difficult for every one. He will learn it on his own eventually, and then you’ll miss those sweet night time connections.

Most behaviors are normal. But it’s okay if your child is abnormal. He doesn’t need to be just like everyone else. But chances are, there are a lot more kids out there doing what your child is doing than you think.

You will have enough love and enough patience, even if you feel like you’re running out. It is always there if you open yourself to it.

Playing with your children is important work. Make time for it. Don’t forget how to play.

Mothering is hard work, but you can do it!

You were given all the tools you need to care for this child. Your child will show them to you.

One day, you’ll have your bed back to yourself and it will be marvelous, and lonely.

He will grow up too fast. Try and remember that he is still a baby, even when he seems like he's so big.

Your mom will come to respect you as the mom, and you will come to respect her as your mom.

It’s really no one else’s business how your kid eats, sleeps, pees, poops, or behaves, and you don’t need to discuss it with them.

Protect his innocence.

Let him eat dirt.

You are doing a great job.

Glean wisdom from mothers with older children, but don’t underestimate your own wisdom.

Your child will teach you more wisdom than any books.

Let your child show you when he's ready, and trust him. It works better that way.

Their child is not your child. Your child is not their child. They can’t really understand what it’s like to be you, and that’s okay. You can’t really understand what it’s like to be them.

You won't ruin him, or your other children. They will turn into wonderful, bright, independent, imaginative and caring children because you took the time to love them and respect them.

I know that you will learn all of these things along the way. I just wish I could have known them sooner.

See you in 10 years!

Finding Blessings in Hard Times

2011-04-06T14:49:00.000-07:00

Almost everything in life can be related to the journey of childbirth. At least for me. Probably because I am steeped so strongly in the childbearing life, I see most things through these lenses. But really, childbirth is like the first chapter in the book of life. Or more like a map book for later journeys. It is a compass, a toolbox, the foundation for the life that you build upon it. Labor and birth can be referred to in most any circumstance.
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A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. – John 16:21
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See, even Jesus referred to childbirth for the circumstance he was in. Jesus, a man who never had children of his own, used childbirth as a metaphor in talking with his disciples; men who also probably did not have children of their own.

If he could do it, I figure so can I.

So, why do I see life as relating to childbirth so much? Well, because life can be hard. It’s a lot of hard work, but the end result is always worth the hard work, even if it doesn’t turn out just as you expect it to. Going through the hard work of childbirth prepares you for the hard work of parenting. The hard work of parenting prepares you for the hard work of everything else. It’s not ever easy-breezy. There will always be wonderful moments and difficult moments, but childbirth is where those tools are formed for dealing with the rest of your life.
When I talk with anyone about Christian Childbirth, I always bring up the transfiguration I had throughout my four labors. And it’s interesting to me to see that how I handled my labors mirrors how I’ve handled life. It was a long process for me to change over the years from fear to acceptance, but it was worth it, like it always is, in the end.

With my first labor, each time a contraction hit, I would pray for the Lord to take away the pain. I couldn’t handle it, I didn’t know what to do with it, it was too much and I wanted it gone. And that’s how I handled most problems that came up in my life at that time. I wanted it to be taken away. I didn’t know how to handle much. I didn’t want to go through anything difficult, I just wanted someone else to come and rescue me from whatever it was.

When my second labor came, I was more mature, more prepared. This time, when contractions hit, I asked the Lord to make them easier for me. I knew that I could not ask for them to be taken away. I knew I would have to deal with them somehow, but I just wanted them to not be too hard. And I was at a point in my life where I was facing more difficult situations. I was having to handle more, and could proudly deal with some stuff, but did not want things to be too hard. I could handle a lot, but not the really difficult stuff. That, I asked the Lord to ease for me, to make softer, smoother, gentler.

By the time my third labor approached, I had been through some difficult times. I knew that I had more strength, that I could handle more. I prayed through that labor for the Lord to give me the strength to deal with each contraction. I knew that I would need to get through some rough times, and while I didn’t enjoy it, I knew that I could do it if He gave me the strength to deal with it. And that’s how I got through that labor, and how I got through the post partum depression that followed, and the autism-spectrum diagnosis, and a husband who was distanced and overwhelmed by his own life. I prayed for strength while wishing that it all would just be taken from me.

My fourth and last labor was quite different from my other three. I had read a book during that pregnancy that changed my outlook on things. I had read that a heart of thanksgiving was what precluded a heart of joy. Being thankful before being joyful instead of being thankful once I was joyful was a profound idea for me. As each contraction hit, I thanked the Lord. I thanked Him for what the contraction was doing to my body, and to my baby. I thanked Him for the opportunity to prepare my baby for the outside world, to prepare me to mother this child as he or she came into the world. I praised Him for His perfect design for my body and for this baby’s body, and for my life. And it was an entirely different experience. It was not pain-free, but it was a joyous occasion. It blew me away.

You would probably assume that my life followed in accordance to what I had learned during that labor right away. But, sad to say, it has taken me four years to apply what I learned during my last labor to my life. Now that I’m here, I can say that living a life of thanksgiving is the best way of living. I stayed a long time at the phase of asking God for the strength to get by, not realizing how much easier it would be if I would just thank Him for the opportunities to grow from every situation.

Yes, I still need His strength. But I no longer need to ask for it. I already have access to it. When I find every little way that He has blessed me throughout each and every day, I find that the hard things are not too hard. He is my portion. He is enough for me. Through labor, through life. His strength flowing through me will never give out. And I relish in all of the opportunities to grow from the experiences I journey through. Each experience gives me tools for the next phase of my life. And if I gave up, handed over the growing pains to someone else, I would not have the tools to handle what was waiting for me around the next bend of life.

Living a Life of In-Betweens

2011-04-05T15:23:00.000-07:00

When I created this blog six years ago, I remember sitting with a blank mind in front of a blank screen. What do I write? What do I title my blog? How do I sum up what I have yet to write? Somehow, the phrase, “somewhere in-between” emerged from my hovering fingertips. Where it came from I still do not know. At the time, I had a sense that I was living a nomadic lifestyle, wandering without a map. I felt like I was somewhere in-between homes, and somewhere in-between a child and a parent.

Since those first attempts at putting thought onto screen, I have gradually come to understand that I did not pick the name for this blog, but rather the name picked me. I live the life of somewhere in-between. Whether it’s another upcoming move, a change of jobs, diet, or new phase of childhood, I feel like my life is always in the midst of some sort of beautiful chaos. And this blog has helped me through the last six years to find contentment in my chaos.

Tripping through a life of in-between means hard transitions, exciting new challenges, and scary unknowns. For you, it might be the time between graduating and college or a job, the time between when a child is born and when he or she leaves the house, the time between one job and another, the preparation for a move, or the time of pregnancy. Each of these in-between times pulls a person from one form of life and propels them toward another.

My life is muddled with in-betweens at any given moment. Right now, the biggest in-between journey for my family is my husband’s year-long deployment. This year is a vast space of separation between bookends of him being with us, and at moments that space can seem endless. While the choice to be in-between may not be mine, how I deal with it is.

Life is a journey between destinations. Sometimes all that I can see is the destination, and I forget to appreciate the journey. I can get so absorbed and focused with where I’m headed, or want to be headed, that my eyes and mind blur out the time in between. Sometimes, I want to just tune out during my in-betweens. I don’t want to be there, and I’m going to try and sleep my way through until the end. But life occurs during the in-between times. If I don’t pay attention during that time, I will miss out on most of my life.
The journey between destinations is where learning and growing take place. Think about learning to ride a bike, having a baby, or going to school. The falls, the labor, the endless hours of learning – these are probably not what you desire to have for the rest of your life, but it’s what gives you the growth, abilities, and tools to succeed at your destination. I know that my journeys through in-betweens prepare me greatly for my destinations.
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Romans 5:1-5
“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
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Enjoy the in-between, but don’t get stuck there. Sometimes I become afraid of the destination, afraid of change, and get comfortable with the in-between. I’ve seen this happen to women in labor, I’ve seen this happen to college students, and I’ve seen it happen when I’m not ready to move on.
Fear and unresolved issues can stop a woman’s dilation or stop labor all together.
Fear and unresolved issues can keep you stuck in a holding pattern for your life.
Letting go is an incredible concept to learn. I know this personally. I literally could not let go of the bed rail while in labor with my second child. I may have looked fully relaxed, but my hand was holding on to that rail for dear life. I felt that if I were to let go, the power of the contractions would physically sweep me off the bed. I was afraid. The contractions were stronger than my mind’s ability to control my body. But only when I was able to consciously give up my mind’s control over my body, and let go of the bed rail, then I was able to move forward in my labor and bring something new into my life. In life it can be the same. Only when we release our attempts to control what is not ours to control, do we have the ability to move on. It took me a long time to be able to release my tight grasp of control on my life and just let it flow through God’s river that is His plan for me. Letting go of our fears, of the things we can’t change, of our past, and our plans for the future. Letting go, and letting God take over can be hard, but it is what will usher us through the transition into a new phase of life. And the end result is worth it!
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Matthew 6:31-34
“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
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The in-between can really suck. Attitude makes the difference. A lot of times, I really do not like the in-between times. But how well that time goes, and how much I learn during that time, really does depend on how I deal with it. When I wallow in my grief and self-pity, when I lay in my pool of anger and despair, things don’t get better. Days drag on, and everyone is miserable. I’ve found my way to being content with my in-betweens. It’s a combination of a heart of thankfulness, focusing on what is good in my life, getting through one day at a time, keeping my eye on the prize, and knowing that there’s a purpose for this time. Pain with a purpose, such as in childbirth, is always better than pain for the sake of pain!
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Philippians 4:4-7
“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
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New Hope

2011-03-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

Today, the windows, full of sunlight are thrown wide open, allowing the sun’s rays to penetrate to even the darkest corners of this house. A breeze, not quite warm, but not at all cold, gently glides in, sweeping away the smells that winter has allowed to stagnate.

And we, inside this house, are filled with hope. Promises of light and warmth, new green things and multi-hued blossoms getting ready to burst forth. And I understand why God gave Noah the rainbow as a sign of His promise; a sign of hope. The wetness of the rain, the sun and all colors mixed together makes your heart soar and your feet light, and awakens in you an urge to dance and sing.
The children, restless and distracted in their school work, wiggle in their seats, eyes shining as they gaze out the window.

Feeling restless as well, I send them outside, for true learning happens in more places than a school room, and through more sources than a school book.
I hear giggles and laughter through the open windows of children who feel the freedom as the weight of winter melts away. Sunlight dances on their shiny heads, kissing their bare, white arms and faces. Warmth spreading on the surface, spreading within.

And I thank God for this day. This Joy and this Hope. This Promise that all of His creation can be made new. That all of us can continue to grow, even after we experience the dormant winters of our lives.

So, I throw off the heavy clothes of cold times, and put on something lighter; something brighter. Something green to represent the new growth I feel. And I wait, eagerly, anticipating the changes to come, the new fruits He will have me bear.

Joy in the Morning

2011-03-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

"Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." -Psalm 30:5

Dear friends, in my last post, you saw me at my very lowest of lows and I wanted to let you know that I did not stay there for long. Last Thursday, I was driving home with the kids and I was stuck in a dark place. The thought of even getting out of the car and going inside to the same exact day-to-day existence was too much of a burden. I sat in the car for awhile, crying out to God, knowing in my heart what I needed to do (pray, get in God's Word, and exercise), but in my mind I was resisting. I was rebelling. I don't WANT to have to do anything!! I yelled at God. I am too worn down to continue doing what I'm doing and doing even more!

I came in the house, plopped down in my big chair and opened the computer. I logged onto facebook, with the intent of escaping my world and delving into another one - one that took me away from my own. As I scrolled through the updates, a link that a friend had posted popped out at me. I usually don't open many links that friends post. But I read through all the updates, scrolled back to the link, thought the picture attached to it looked pretty and decided to open it. Here's where I was led...

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/03/when-the-grind-of-it-all-makes-it-hard-to-serve/

This woman spoke to my heart. She knew exactly how I felt, and she offered me the perfect words to soothe my despair, she offered me hope from Someone who hears my cries. This is what I needed, and the Lord knew that I would find it in His perfect timing.

"Because with every one of the thousand, endless jobs, I become the gift to God and to others, because this work is the public God serving, the daily liturgy of thanks, the completing of the Communion service with my service."

Wow. Yes. This is what I needed. I needed to hear that what I did every day, over and over was more than meaningless tedium.

"..our happiness comes, too, not in the having but in the handing over."

I thought I needed something, but instead I needed someone. He was there all along, but I was holding on to my sorrow and despair. I hung onto it as if it was all I had. I needed to surrender all of me to Him. I needed to hand over every part of my life - the beautiful chaos, the intense sorrow, the glorious tedius tasks. All of it was meant to bless, if I would allow Him to have it.

"I can bless, pour out, be broken and given in our home and the larger world and never fear that there won’t be enough to give. because eucharisteo has taught me to trust that there is always enough God. He has no end. And it is God Himself who serves me as I serve."

This is what I needed to hear. I needed to hear that I needed to be broken and poured out. That I could give and give and not be empty. I was afraid that if I continued to give without getting, that I would become empty, a shell of who I am, hollowed out. And that's what I needed to do. Empty my self. So that I could be filled with Him. God never gives up. He never stops giving. There is no end to Him and His goodness and blessings. He serves me as I serve. I just needed to allow Him to do that. I needed to see how He already was serving me.

And so, I chose to live in eucharisteo. A life of thanksgiving. I give thanks for the laundry, the dishes, the broom, the vacuum. The dirty hands and tangled hair. And instead of seeing them as burdens, weighing me down and keeping me from a life better lived, I see them as blessings. This is an opportunity to serve my family. I can serve as God serves me. And I thank Him for that opportunity. I praise Him for the opportunity.

And once I made that decision, my sorrow was lifted. The rainy days continue and I no longer reflect the grey and dreary. His light has filled me from within. I go through my day with joy because I see what an enormous amount of blessings I have been given. I pray continually. I give thanks continually. And God gives. He gives me everything I need and more!

Surviving...

2011-03-04T02:36:00.000-08:00

I wrote a few months back about the difference between surviving and thriving. I am currently trying just to survive. My husband has left for a year-long deployment, my grandfather is dying, and if anything else comes at me at the moment, I feel like I might just break into a million pieces. How am I to continue being a great parent when I can’t even keep myself together at times?
I have found that the time I have invested in my children the past ten years, allowing them to thrive, is really paying off during this time of personal crisis. While they too feel the stress and sadness of the prominent male figures in their lives leaving, being shown compassion from the time they were born allows them now to know exactly what to do for their poor mom.
My children know how to grieve with me. They know that it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be sad or mad or confused. They are not afraid to come to me with their feelings. Their feelings aren’t punished, and they don’t punish me for my feelings in return. They see the tears on my face, and they provide me comfort, sharing the sadness with me.
I know that the phrase goes, “be good to your children, they will be choosing your nursing home”, or something like that, but I’ve found that the rewards for treating your children with kindness and respect at a young age can be accessed much earlier than when I hit old age.
If I had not spent so much time comforting my children throughout their infancies and early childhood days, would they know how to comfort me now? If I had left them to cry on their own, allowing them to learn how to “self-soothe”, would they be comfortable now coming to me while I cry? If I had squashed their displays of emotion throughout their toddler days, would they be able to accurately describe to me their feelings today, and be able to relate to what I feel in return?
My children have been my rock during this time. While some days I dread getting up out of bed to make another breakfast and teach another day’s worth of school, they each have surprised me with small tokens of kindness throughout the days. Coffee already brewing when I go downstairs. Breakfast made and served to the younger ones. School work out and underway before I even ask. Quiet and cooperative play in the afternoons. A painting of a rainbow. A succession of sweet kisses. A nighttime check to make sure I’m okay.

Now my children are not angels. They are working through their own difficulties at the moment, and it’s not always easy for them to handle their own emotions, much less deal with mine as well. I do not place the burden of caretaker on their small, fragile shoulders. They know that I will continue to take care of them, set boundaries, and provide them what they need. But they have also shown me that love is not just a word. They have shown me that even when I’m not the kindest person to be around, I am loved. Even though my partner in parenting is not with me, I have helpers. Love and compassion, they come from the heart, and are shown in both words and actions.
I know that we will get through this rough time together, and make it out on the other side stronger, closer, and thriving.

On Being Mammal

2010-12-23T22:12:00.001-08:00

Last night, while I was at the dining room table, hurriedly trying to sew Cub Scout patches on uniforms and hubby was whipping together a quick meal, I asked one of the boys to help open up my hope chest so that Molly, my nearly four year old, could put a game away.
A second later I heard the heavy lid of the chest drop close, and then a cry. I jumped up, knowing, as mothers usually do, exactly what had just happened. I quickly lifted the lid, pried out the little smashed thumb and picked up my little girl. The flaps of skin and blanched color on the flattened thumb turned my stomach to look at. I rushed her to the sink to run cold water over it before the real pain, and bleeding, began.
Once the blood appeared, the tears and cries of horror soon followed. My little girl could not be consoled. I hurt for her, this little one. I wished that it could be my finger, instead of hers that was smashed. I held her and cried with her, looked closely at her finger, and asked her to move it this way and that. She was screaming. She could move her finger, and I figured it was just soft tissue damage, but she was in pain, and I couldn’t take it away.
I brought her to the couch and held her in the universal hold of comfort. The one I used on all of my babies as they nursed. This little one had stopped nursing on her own many months ago, and so I was wracking my brain trying to think of a way, other than nursing, to help ease her pain. I ordered the ibuprofen be brought, along with a baggie full of ice chips. She continued to cry. And, in an act of motherly instinct, I lifted my shirt and offered my breast. She took it. There was no milk there, but the act of comforting through skin-to-skin contact, and the suckling calmed her. It soothed her spirit, it eased the pain. She relaxed, and her eyes fluttered closed. She stopped thinking about the blood, the torn skin, and the pain. She nestled into my arms, against my bare chest, and found love and security enough to erase her troubles.
I held her like that for thirty minutes. Her body was completely limp, and she looked up at me with love in her eyes. When I asked for my breast back, she joyfully relinquished it, and smiled at me.
“Did you hurt your thumb?” I asked.
“Yeah, mama, I did. Can I pick this skin off now?”
I helped her pick off the shed skin, and we looked at her thumb together. She hopped down off my lap and took off to find someone to show off her ouchie.

Old Habits Die Hard

2010-12-20T14:26:00.000-08:00

I find that when times get stressful it becomes very easy for me to resort to old parenting habits. Unfortunately, the foundation of my parenting was rooted in some very bad habits, and it has taken a lot of years for my first reactions to be positive, gentle discipling rather than a punitive "quick fix".
Gentle parenting is a lot of hard work. It takes a lot of time, a lot of patience, and a lot of dedication, but the end results are definitely worth it!
Over the years I have learned that punitive parenting methods may quickly solve the outward present problems, but they fail to address the deeper, longer lasting issues.
Let's say a friend calls to say she is five minutes away from my house and wants to stop by. I am going to do a quick fix of my household situation, quickly stacking dishes in a sink and covering them with a dish towel, shoving toys into closets, and hiding baskets of unfolded clothes in a closed-off bedroom. This gives the appearance to my friend that my house is clean. And it is presentable. It will do for the time being. But it isn't really clean. The mess has just been moved out of sight, hidden away to be dealt with at a later time.
This may be okay to do occasionally, but if this becomes my only method of cleaning, I will soon have too much stuff pushed into a closet, and it's going to start to trickle out. I will soon run out of room to hide stuff, and my messes will start to be noticeable.
This is what happened with my parenting practices. I thought that a spank, a yell, a "go to your room" was a quick and lasting fix. It seemed to make the problems stop for the moment. But forcing outward changes did not help my children grow and develop inwardly into responsible, self-controlled children. What happened was that so many issues went undealt with and got packed into their little bodies that soon I was dealing with every issue all at once and my quick fixes were not working at all!
When I learned about gentle discipline, I thought it was a bunch of bologna. Really, I thought the people that talked about it were loony and had no touch with reality. How could you make a child change their behavior through gentleness? It didn't make sense to me.
And then, when I started to try it out, my life fell apart! Everything was difficult and my children and I were all out of control! How could this be better than what I was doing before? But it was like cleaning my house after a month of doing quick fix cleaning. That over-stuffed closet needed to be emptied before I could get it really clean. Everything needed to be taken out, an even larger mess needed to be created, before it could become clean and organized.
I found out that I needed to get to the root of the problems my children were dealing with. Hitting a sibling was not going to solved with a hit to the bottom. That is not getting to the root of the problem and setting it right. All of this "stuff" started spilling out all over the place, and instead of shoving it back in, I now needed to find out where each of these things really belonged. Hitting a sibling now needed to be investigated. I started asking more questions, and what I heard astounded me. I began to listen to the heart of my children, and found that their true needs were not being met by me. Instead of a swat, they really needed a hug. They needed reassurance. They needed a mother who cared about them, rather than just dealt with them.
Things had to get worse - a LOT worse - before it started to get better. But it did get better. And it eventually got easier to know what to do. It is still difficult. Parenting is difficult! But it is worth it!
But, like I said in the beginning, old habits die hard. When I'm stressed, I become impatient. I don't want to deal with the heart of the issue, I just want the issue to be gone. I start yelling and threatening, and even spanking. And it usually ends up making things so much worse! The quick and easy solution usually just leads to more disaster for my children and me.
So, even when things are stressful, even when life is chaotic, it's important to stop and take moments to listen, to dig deeper, to work toward the heart of the issue. Because you'll have to deal with it at some point, and really, it's much easier to handle it while it's still small. The longer you wait, the larger it will become. And then you'll have an angry teenager, young adult, grown adult! who is still trying to work on the issues that were present when he was three!
Stop. Pause. Breathe. Embrace. Look. Listen. Think. Then lead.

Survive? Or THRIVE!

2010-09-02T19:54:00.000-07:00

When I was young, I remember when my parents bought us kids a Nintendo NES for Christmas one year. It was the coolest thing we'd ever had. My brothers were instantly hooked to the thing. Me, on the other hand, enjoyed playing but was never really good.
My goal while playing Super Mario Brothers was always to get through as quickly as I could, avoiding all large disasters. I never knew that there was a point system, I just thought you played to get to the end. My brother, on the other hand, saw it differently. Before he had even picked up a controller, my oldest brother was a master of video games. He was a natural. Not only did he make it to the end of the game, but he also collected the most points, found the most treasures, explored the various alternate routes and really got to experience the game in whole. He was a video game thriver, while I was a video game survivor.
I've found that in our parenting journey, the same can be said. Some mothers are born to mother. They are naturals and are able to get all the bonus points while enjoying the details of their lives. Others, they are survivors. Trying to make it through to the end of the day avoiding as many disasters as possible. Some of us thrive, while other of us are just surviving.
I don't want to spend my children's childhood just surviving. I do not want them to look back and think, well, we didn't die. We turned out fine. I want a childhood for them that is steeped in richness, love, and exploration. I want them to turn out better than fine. I want them to THRIVE!
There are times when survival is all that we can achieve. When daddies are away, when times are hard, when we're suffering morning sickness, or dealing with a three and a half year old. Because happy does not need to be the only acceptable emotion in families, it's okay to have periods of plain survival. But I hope that survival is not how I will define my life. I hope that when I'm finished travelling through a valley, I can pull myself up, see around me with a new outlook on life and be ready to be a thriver.
So, what can I do? How do those natural thrivers make it happen? Personality? Life experience? Maybe. Probably. But, also, attitude and determination. Every morning when I wake up, what is my attitude? Am I dreading dealing with my children? Am I bitter at the housework that is necessary? Stop! I don't need to just "deal" with my children! I need to lead them by example! SHOW them how much I love them, SHOW them how life can be an adventure and can be both challenging and rewarding. I want to make sure I take time away from being serious and responsible, and allow for silliness and fun! When I make an effort to smile more and laugh throughout the day, I notice how it can change my attitude and the attitudes of those around me. When I say Yes more often than No, I discover that life can be fun. When I join in the kids' games, instead of retreating to my own thing, I begin a connection that grows my kids into thrivers. And then I discover that I, myself, am thriving too.

Here We Are, Again. A Little More Prepared.

2010-04-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

Here we are, again. Living through the year when you can't decide if they are your best friend, or worst enemy. If they are your lover, or your hater. If you want to eat them up, or feed them to wolves. I am talking, of course, about AGE THREE.
Three. Sigh. I have to tell you that I am very thankful that this is the last time I will have to go through this difficult year. Four times will be the perfect amount of times for me to learn all the lessons I need to learn, thankyouverymuch. Unless, of course, the Lord blesses us with a surprise somewhere down the road...[biting fingernails]
I remember when my first-born hit this age, and I panicked. What in the world was going on? I had obviously failed in some, or more, parts of my parenting, because this child was absolutely crazy! He didn't know what he wanted, he didn't like what he used to like, he couldn't do very simple tasks he used to excel at. And then he'd turn around and say the sweetest thing. What was going on here? One minute I was hugging him, the next I wanted to lock him up in a sound-proof, padded room. Our relationship was a giant pendulum swinging from beautiful to ugly in the matter of minutes.
Desperate to find a quick fix, a step-by-step solution, a magic formula to even out this erratic behavior and make life smooth, I turned to my group of knowledgeable mamas. And do you know what they said? They said IT WAS NORMAL. What? How could they betray me like that?! They needed to come and live with me and SEE what this child did! Melt downs in the store, bathroom accidents, inability to choose a t-shirt to wear. This was definately NOT normal. Then, they pointed me to a series of child development books. Your Three Year Old; Friend or Enemy, they recommended. "Look in here," they said, "you'll see." Hmmm...did the title really say, "Friend or Enemy"? Maybe they did understand my child - a little.
So, I read through the book. Wow. It explained things so well. It gave me compassion for my child. It gave me the ability to have more patience. But, it didn't take away the three year old behavior.
Help! I again said to my wise women mentors. I don't know how to deal with this! And they told me to just get through it. I hated that advice. Didn't they have some helpful tools, or a miracle to override this "normal" behavior, and to help our relationship be more enjoyable? I did not like the idea of an entire year wasted on a strained relationship between my child and I. I wanted him to remain the sweet little boy he was at two.
Now, I've heard that not everyone has a difficult time going through the threes. Perhaps my children struggle because they are the product of two people who were described as "stubborn", "hard-headed", and "strong-willed" as children. Today, we delight in the fact that we are now called "dedicated", "passionate" and "committed". A good reminder that traits that may seem negative in childhood can blossom into very positive traits in adulthood! So, you may have more mellow, easy-going children who transition quite easily through this stage. But, for the rest of you, I hear you.
Three is a hard age for us all. It is the transition out of babyhood, into kidhood. The child will never go back to being who they were at age two. But, I found that if you come out on the other side, your relationship can be restored! Especially if you take the effort to protect it through this difficult year.
So, I'd like to share with you what I have learned from my three trials and errors and successes, and what I will now be implementing with my fourth round of age three.

1. Don't take it personally (because it's not really about you).
This is a hard thing to learn. As parents, we tend to take every "misbehavior" personally. They don't like the sandwich we made, and we're offended. They melt down in the store, and you wonder if it's because you weren't firm enough with them when they were nine months old. It's not about you. If you were firm his whole life until this point, he'd still have to go through being three. If you were gentle and carefree up until now, he will still have to go through being three. There's no way to avoid it, and it's not about you. It's about your child, going through a difficult transition. It's about the baby body breaking down to grow into a little person. It's about the brain going crazy as it makes new connections in order to learn more. So, don't make this harder by taking it personally. Because it's not about you. It's about helping the child transition into his new role.

2. Set boundaries.
Children who feel out of control will act out of control. Some of this can't be helped. Their little bodies are quite out of control as they go through age three. So, we must expect some erratic behaviors. But, if they don't have bumpers to keep them safe, their out of control bodies will have more destructive crashes. So, let them know that you have expectations. Let them know that you will not allow them to harm others. That you will not allow them to be unsafe. They need to know that you are there for them. That you are stronger and bigger than their out of control bodies, and you can keep them safe, even when they don't feel they can keep themselves safe.

3. Loosen up.
I know this sounds like it contradicts the previous point, but really, don't sweat the small stuff. While it's important to set boundaries so that kids feel safe, being controlling and restrictive will create more conflict and power struggles. If they want to wear a tank top in winter, let them experience the effects of cold weather on bare arms (and bring a sweater along in case they change their minds). If they don't want their sandwiches cut diagonally today, is it worth the power struggle to insist? They don't need you to demand that they submit to every single one of your ways. They know that you are bigger than them. They know that you are smarter and stronger. They don't need you to constantly be proving that. Do you feel the need to prove it? They need to be allowed to make decisions for themselves at this age, within reason. It's part of that transition into kidhood. Allow life to be fun. Turn conflict into creative solutions. Make a choo-choo train to the car. Go out in dress-up with your child. Make grocery shopping a treasure hunt.

4. Take care of the baby still within.
Growing up is hard to do. A three year old still is a baby. They are a big kid, too, and want so hard to prove that. But, inside, they're still babies. Meet their baby needs. Snuggle them in your lap. Hold them and rock them. Help them when they say they can't do it. They won't be little forever. It's okay to let it continue a little longer.

5. Take care of the mama.
Life with a three year old can really wear a mama down. Make sure you take time to rejuvinate yourself. If mama is all worn out, she's not going to have the patience or ability to think up ways of gently dealing with her kids. Go for a walk, around the house, if that's all you can muster. Lock yourself in the bathrooom for a few minutes of alone time. It's okay if you need time to be away from your child. This is not a sign of a bad parent, but of one who knows their limits, and is wise enough to get help when they can. Allow dad to parent for an hour or two - grandparents work as well!

6. Enjoy what you can.
Three is so delightful! Some of the times. Enjoy those moments, and treasure them in your heart! Laugh along with their silliness. Explore the world with them. Listen to what they're saying, and respond. Read books, swing on swings, sing songs, and play tickle monster. It makes the harder parts much easier when you take the time to enjoy the good parts.

7. Explore sensory play and make believe
These are two things that I've found to be a MUST with my three year olds.
Sensory play soothes my kids - it helps to get out frustrations, gets out pent up energy, and makes a little body feel good. Playdough is an excellent sensory tool. So is sand, water, shaving cream, rice, pebbles, peanut butter! Let your child try out various textures, and don't be alarmed if they want to immerse their whole bodies into the substance! They're three. It's okay.
Make believe is an excellent way for three year olds (and even adults) to work out their feelings, work through situations and help understand different things. It let's kids reenact something they've been through in order to understand it better, or learn to be okay with it. It helps kids feel prepared for upcoming events. It helps kids to release what they feel inside, but don't know how to put into words. When they can pretend to be anyone they want to be, it also allows them to have a power they usually don't have. Many three year olds like to play mommy and daddy. I enjoy watching how they take on the parental roles. I see them mimic the way I parent, and it makes me feel good to know they want to be like me. And sometimes it opens my eyes to something I do that needs to be changed. I can learn a lot through watching my kids play make believe.

I have found that, three months into my final bout with age three, things are going a little smoother this time around. I'm feeling a little more prepared, a tad more confident. I am grateful to know that they come out the other side and continue to grow and mature. That they won't act this way forever, and that I haven't done something to ruin them. I am no longer fearful of this behavior. Annoyed, of course! But, that's all. I've learned to go with the flow, and hold on to the good parts while letting the bad parts roll right off my back (...for the most part).

The Fruits of our Labors

2010-01-03T10:03:00.000-08:00

Last spring while planting our garden, we were eager and excited about the new things we were going to be able to enjoy since moving to a different climate. The home that we had just moved from did not have ideal soil or drainage for making good tomatoes, but we knew that our new place would be perfect for tomato growing.

We planted, tended, staked, pinched, watered, fed, and patiently awaited being able to taste our first home-grown tomatoes. Every day we would go out to check on the progress of our growing plants, as they budded and bloomed and then began to bear fruit. We eagerly watched as the green globes slowly changed to yellow and then began to take on a rosy hue. We knew that the best flavor would come from patience, and so we allowed days to pass as our tomatoes grew riper.

And then, the day that I had anticipated finally arrived! I was going to pick a few of the truly ripe tomatoes and savor the fullness of their flavor. I went out to the garden with my picking basket and was shocked to discover that someone had preceded me in the tasting of my fruits!

Every single one of my ripest tomatoes was missing their lower halves, and some were completely gone. The sadness, the anger, the utter dismay I felt in seeing that all of my hard work had culminated for the pleasure and delight of a thieving raccoon!

That season we did not get to enjoy a single tomato. We tried various techniques to protect our fruits from hungry animals, but nothing seemed to work. And so, we decided that we would offer our tomato plants as a gift to the local animals, and take what we could from the other areas of our garden. We found that when we changed our ideas from the tomatoes being ours to eat to being a gift to give, we were able to drop our anger and resentment, and turn it into an act of love and offering.

It's funny that when we make something or do a service for someone else, we tend to do a better job and put more effort into it than if it were only for ourselves. Sure, we would have loved to have these things for ourselves, but when we change what we're doing from a selfish act to an act of giving, it makes the whole process more worthwhile.

I can see many lessons from our tomato experience trickling into different areas of our lives, but a definate parallel has sprung up between growing tomatoes and growing children. Often times, the efforts that we put into teaching and training our children have selfish motives. If they clean up their rooms, then I, as their mother, won't have to. But most of what we are instilling in them will have longer effects then in just making my day easier. We teach them not to lie in order that we have a relationship based on truth and trust. We teach them responsibility in order that they fulfill their share in the workload. We teach them empathy in order that they will get along with their siblings. But the true fruit of these efforts will not be seen while our children are still living in our house. The time that they spend with us will only be the staking, tending, watering, feeding, pinching, loving, waiting patiently time. It's all the hard work that goes into growing something worth picking.

As our children ripen, we will not even be able to choose who gets to take part in the fruits of our labor. We do not get to pick whether it's a wild animal, or a friend, who will take a part of our beautiful offspring. We must trust that our efforts at growing the best children possible will be enough to have them thrive in the world that is beyond home.

And so, we raise our children, not in order to keep them with us always, not to suck from them all of the years of love and work we have put in, but in order to present them as our gift to the rest of the world. We may never be able to savor their ripened character, but we must be okay with letting them go as our offering of love.

An Opportunity to Remember

2009-12-16T11:56:00.000-08:00

I write in my blog often about how parenting reminds me of our Heavenly – His love and patience and grace that he continually extends to me. I don’t write these because that’s what is always foremost in my mind, in fact I write these insights down because I don’t reflect on them often enough and want to make sure I remember!
The other day I had a parenting moment that shocked me into remembrance.

My two year old is usually a very easy person to take shopping. She loves to look at everything we see, makes the funniest comments, and is generally great company to bring along. This particular shopping trip was another story. She was just getting over being sick, and we hadn’t been out of the house for days. We needed some essential items such as toilet paper and dishwasher detergent and the trip couldn’t be put off any longer.

At the store, she lasted about 15 minutes. After that point, her not feeling well, and exhaustion hit and hit hard. We were in the check out line and she was not happy, and making sure everyone around us knew it. As we were heading to the exit doors, she was at the point where she didn’t know what she wanted, but nothing was making her happy, and she threw herself down on the floor screaming.

Of course I was embarrassed. Who really enjoys moments like these? I was losing patience after standing so long with her unhappiness in the check out line. I was frustrated at the looks she was drawing by her antics. I was gathering up the bags out of our cart before I was planning on scooping her up and making a run for it! As I was grabbing bags with her lying at my feet, a grandmotherly lady walked up to her and said, “Hey you! You, child!” Molly, not knowing who this lady was, nor in the mood to talk with strangers, rolled away from her. “Don’t you know that Santa Clause is watching you!!” the lady yells at her. Molly really does not have a good understanding of who Santa Clause is, nor did she really care at this point who was watching her. This lady’s presence was making her more upset and she screamed even louder. The lady, mocking my daughter in a nasty tone goes, “WAAAAAH!! WAAAAAH! Oh, GAWD!” and walked away.

I was livid! I had been out of patience prior to this incident. I was frustrated with my daughter up to that point. But this lady’s nastiness ignited that last shred of compassion I had left inside and brought it roaring to life. I stepped in between the lady and my daughter, kneeled down and wrapped my arms around her. “I know you’re tired and you don’t feel well, sweetie. Let’s go home now.”

In the car, she was still not happy. She did not want to get in her carseat, she did not want to be buckled in. She played the “stiff as a board” game that drives me crazy. I was getting anxious at this point, adrenaline still pumping from that recent incident, and knowing we were running short on time to get home before my older children would be home from school. I was yelling at Molly to just sit down and buckle up. We started our drive home with her screeching at the top of her lungs, writhing in her carseat. And then she unbuckled herself. I was loosing it. I was so frustrated! Suddenly I was reminded of the lady in the store and how my anger-laced words directed toward my daughter didn’t sound to different from what had just spewed from her mouth. Wow. That humbled me. How could I get so upset at that stranger, show her how much I was above her impatience with my own compassion, and then turn right around and act just like her?

I pulled the car over and parked in a parking lot. I got out of my seat and came into the back beside my daughter. I took her out of her carseat and set her on my lap. And we just sat for a minute or two embracing and rocking, letting the tears flow. Life is hard. Why do we like to make it so much harder by rushing and pushing and not listening or caring?

As I sat there with my daughter slowly calming down in my arms, it came to my mind how much my Heavenly Father must put up with when dealing with me, his child. How often have I felt sick and tired of what the world was throwing at me? How often have I layed down on the ground and had big feelings about what I had to deal with? How often have I adamantly refused to do what God has directed me to do because I just don’t want to, or feel that I can’t? His overview of my life, His ability to see the bigger picture, just emphasizes how ridiculous it is for me to do these childish things. But I am His child. And I am so thankful that he does not react to me the way I often do to my own children. That His patience is unending. That his love is unbreakable. That his grace for us never ceases. And that He is always holding us in his arms, rocking us, telling us that it will be okay. All we need to do is trust Him. He always has our best interest at heart.

And so I take these small insights into God’s great character and try to apply them to my life on a daily basis. I try to remember that God’s control over my life is a good thing, not something to resist. I try to remember that He loves me too much to lead me somewhere that will hurt me. And I try to remember to treat my children by the example that our Heavenly Father has set before us.

Dealing with Illness

2009-12-04T08:42:00.001-08:00

When my first baby was born, every little sniffle and heightened temp sent us running to the phone to call the on-call doc. Illness scared us. It meant that something was wrong that needed to be fixed. All of the frightening possibilities grew larger in our minds with each minute it took for a medical professional to get back to us.
When my second baby came, I had begun reading from different resources, and discovering a very different side to illness. Perhaps it was not as bad and scary as we had imagined. Perhaps it was okay to test and strengthen an immune system through germ exposure.
This grew into a sort of arrogance about sickness and wellness. I laughed at people who were concerned about common childhood illnesses, or kept their children away from germy places. I eagerly anticipated sickness, as a way to help boost my children's immune systems. Breastfeeding and a good diet with lots of outdoor play would enable my children to have constitutions of steel!
We were blessed to only deal with two ear infections throughout the years, a few colds and flus that were cared for by love and homemade remedies.
And then, last summer, pertussis paid us a visit. I was not afraid. I knew my stuff about pertussis. I had all the natural health books to assure me that my children would be okay. Doctors had no remedy, other than antibiotics, which really wouldn't do anything for my children but open up the possibility of new illness, so we stayed home. For a month. We walked through that dark valley of fear that our child may not come out okay. Exhaustion is a pretty powerful fear and anxiety producer. We got through, but not unscathed. We now bear the war wounds of a battle still too recent to have been forgotten. Getting through that illness has left us with a confidence now cracked by the memories of raw fear for my child's life. I no longer find humor in my mother-in-law's fear of illness due to her exposure to children who stay long-term at the Children's Hosptial where she works. When you are exposed to the fear, it can become overwhelming.
I'm working on healing from the experience. And know that in time, I will not panic with anxiety every time one of my children present a fever or malaise. I know one of these days I will be able to look back on the experience with gratitude and wisdom gained. But today, only 3 months after that experience, while my child is lying on the sofa lethargic and with fever, I can not will myself to return to that feeling of confidence that fever means her body is working just fine, that it's fighting sickness, that she will come out stronger and better for it. Right now, I can only hold her close and pray. Swallow back the anxiety that is constantly trying to overtake me, and wish for wellness to be restored.

This is my journey, and mine alone.

Some Days it Feels Like Prison

2009-05-06T06:46:00.000-07:00

Some days, my husband comes home, plops himself on the couch and says “I’m so glad to be home. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. The land of monotony and death by powerpoint, and I work with a bunch of whiners.” And you say inside your head, “and you came *here* to get away from that?”
Some days mothering *does* feel like prison. Especially on days where the rain is preventing you from getting outside, and the walls are closing in. The two year old is yelling “Mama! Pee-pee!” every 15 minutes and you must run as fast as you can to put her on the potty before there’s a mess to clean up. You’re washing load after load of laundry and start to see the pile of clothes you folded yesterday coming back through the dirty clothes hamper, realizing that your children thought it was too much effort to put their clothes away, or were confused by the utter chaos of their bedroom as to which clothes were actually clean and which were dirty. You go from room to room picking up, putting away as you walk in circles, finding new messes with each round. You just got the kitchen cleaned up from breakfast and the kids are complaining that they’re hungry and could you please make something to eat. You unload the dishwasher thinking to yourself, “didn’t I just do this?” and realize that yes, just two hours ago. You tell your kids to go clean their room and realize the hopelessness of this directive. They will probably put a toy away and then find something more interesting to do, such as look at a book, try on another outfit, roll on the bed. You understand that if anything will get clean, it is ALL UP TO YOU. And you wonder, when do I get to go home, sit on the couch and get away from it all?
Some days it feels like prison. Sometimes it feels like the work you do is on par with hammering out license plates and sewing up duffle bags. You’re breaking up fights, sometimes in the middle of them, and secretly plotting your escape.
And yet, you don’t feel like you can talk to anyone about it. Because you’ve heard so much against what you do, friends, associates, media claiming that parenting, especially stay-at-home parenting, is being shackled to a life of worthlessness and throwing away your potential. And you feel the need to show, persuade, be the role model for motherhood, and all it’s joys. No, it’s not like that at all, you say. It’s beautiful, it’s wonderful, it’s so rewarding! And some days it is. And some days it feels like prison.
There are no promotions, no vacation days, no sick days, no recognition for a job well done. There is no clocking in and clocking out. There is just constant hard work. And while I KNOW that the labor of motherhood is so worth it in the end, this is a lifelong labor, not a short term one, with the results up in the air until the end.
Mothering is a joy. There are so many little things that bring you blessings throughout the day, but the reality is that not every day is a joy. Some days your eyes are clouded with the cons and there seem to be no pros. And some days it feels like prison.

Pain

2009-03-10T22:53:00.000-07:00

"And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." - 1Peter 5:10

I haven't been sleeping much lately. My youngest is getting four new teeth. And my other children have all had nasty colds that have been keeping them from sound sleep.
In the night, when things seem to be at their worst, I can sense from my suffering children a sense of questioning; a plea of "why?"; and I don't know how to answer them.
I hold them, and rock them, sing to them, and give them comforting foods and drinks. I put my hands on them and wish that their pain could be taken away, yet I know that a life free from pain would be a life lacking experience.
When we grow, either physically or emotionally, there is pain. An immune system grows by fighting off germs. A mouth matures by pushing through new teeth. Inner-strength comes by struggling through conflict.
But until we see the positive outcome, going through that time of pain and suffering can seem hopeless. My baby doesn't understand that by holding her and walking her through the night, I am doing what I can to help her get through the pain. She just wishes the pain was gone, and doesn't understand why I won't take it away. My coughing child may not understand that my rubbing his chest is helping him cough better, when all he wants is to not cough at all.
I can see these situations in my spiritual life as well. When I am faced with pain and suffering, I often lash out at God, asking, "Why? Why can't you just take it away? Why did you allow this to happen?" Sometimes I don't hear an answer. Sometimes I mistake the fact that He didn't heal me, and didn't take my suffering away, for Him not caring for me. But He does! He is still holding me, comforting me, helping me *through* my suffering so that I can come out on the other side stronger, more mature, more capable. He did not leave me alone to fight my struggles by myself. He is always with me.

Welcoming December

2008-12-03T12:30:00.001-08:00

This December we welcomed a grandmother's visit to our humble abode. I think she enjoyed her stay here, but was happy to go back to her quiet, relaxed home!

While visiting, she endevored to inspire the kids to great architectual genius through gingerbread house building. The kids spent much time thinking, designing, deciding which gummy bear should go where, and how many almonds would make a roof too heavy for four gingerbread walls to hold up. But mainly, they tasted their architectual dreams. Probably only half of the building supplies were present at the final stage of inspection.

Here's something new at the house. For over a year now, we've been working on mastering the technique of being able to look at your own nose. And then one day, while looking in the rearview mirror, I see all the way in the back seat these crazy, wandering eyes. How she figured out how to do this, I do not know. But it freaked me out a little bit, I'll admit!

A favorite pastime of my four year old is to go through old dress up clothes consisting of halloween costumes of old, ballet costumes from the early '80s, and anything else we've picked up along the way. She can make up the most elegant, and hilarious outfits. Lately, she has been apprenticing her little sister. I caught the two of them in the loft, twirling like whirling dervishes, while dressed as a buttercup and teddy bear with a hat full of fruit. What would this production be called, I wonder? The Buttercup Prancing Bear? A Beary Fruity Dance? The Meadow?

And now, halfway through the month of December, I'm finally allowing Christmas to creep into our house. A wreath on the door was the only thing I had for the first few weeks after Thanksgiving. Just enough to say, yes, I acknowledge that it is post-Thanksgiving. But not enough to say, Welcome, Christmas! The other day, after heaving the tree into the tree stand, attempting to steady it while the boys screwed the trunk into the base, I stood back and let the kids do all the decorating. I started by trying to string the lights, but ran out of patience. So, I moved over and gave the kids free reign over the placement of lights, garland, and little snowmen, berries and stars. I think it looks absolutely beautiful.

Tonight, as we huddled in the glow of our magnificent tree, we gazed giddily out the windows as tiny snowflakes wafted down from the sky, landing in a daze on the cars, the sidewalk, the roofs. As they lay there, piling up on top of one another, my children decided to go rescue them and grasp as much as they could to form into tiny little baby snowpeople. Isn't this one cute? And, of course, my ice eating children could not resist a little taste of their snowmen. Some to the point of shoving the whole thing into their mouths...

And, I just needed to share my excitement over my lovely Christmas present that my wonderful dh bought for me (unknowingly). It's just what I've always wanted. It is the perfect color, style, and size. What a great husband I have!

For my dearly deployed husband

2008-12-03T12:30:00.000-08:00

A personal Struggle

2008-11-25T17:55:00.001-08:00

Each of us has an issue we personally struggle with. Whether it be internal, external, at work, with family, with food, we each have something we are working at (or choosing to ignore).

My struggle is with a little boy who is six years old. My own dear son. This boy has been acting so aggressive and hurtful to all of those around him, I'm finding it hard to find in him the sweetness that used to be his shining characteristic.

I feel like I've looked at his behavior from every angle, and am now grasping at straws to try and "fix" him. Keep him fed, because low blood sugar causes him to snap. Take away all sugars because blood sugar rollercoasters are too much for him to handle. No t.v. to fuzz his brain. Let him play outdoors to release pent-up energy. Have him do activities that encourage pressure to his joints to help expell that stored energy. Give him choices. Limit choices. Spend time with him. Send him to his room to be alone. Pour on kindness. Be stern. I'm losing my ability to keep feeling positive toward him when nothing is reaping the results I desire.

My efforts at giving love are not returned by loving behavior. My efforts at giving praise are returned by criticism. My efforts at encouragement are returned with pounding fists. My efforts at affection are met with stiff body, swift feet. Everything, I feel, is met with defiance. He's put up a wall. What is he guarding?

Is it his being six? I read about the development of six year olds, and it sounds like it would be very frustrating to be a six year old.

Is it that daddy's away? He often refuses to talk with daddy on the phone - like he's punishing him for being gone.

Is it that he's a middle child? Being in the middle can sometimes make you feel like you're lost in the crowd.

Is it that he needs more....what? More love, more attention, more one-on-one time? I feel like when I try, I only end up getting hurt.

And I think this is my biggest struggle of all. I end up getting hurt, so I turn off my kindness and affection. I end up sending out signals that my love is conditional. When I only show him love when he is good, it makes him feel like he isn't worthy of love when he's not feeling like being "good".

Parenting can be so hard! I've written about parenting in opposite before, so I know this has been a struggle for a while. It will be my struggle throughout my children's childhood, and probably beyond, I'm sure. It's the hard concept of giving MORE love when they're acting unloving. It's showing them kindness when they're acting in rudeness. It's giving when you feel like taking. It's stopping when you feel like you need to go. It's slowing when you are hurried. It's listening when you want to talk. It's being gentle when you feel aggressive. It's putting their needs before your own.

Jesus said, whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me. That's all we need to remember. That how we behave toward our children, how we treat them and speak to them, we do to Jesus. They are his ambassadors. The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these little ones.

So, I will tarry on. Remembering that the least is the greatest, the last is the first, and kindness and love will drown out anger and hurt.

* Love without conditions. Love without expecting anythign in return.

* Irony of kids acting the worst needing the most love, when you're feelign the most like not loving them.

Lonely Girl

2008-11-19T21:10:00.000-08:00

I love this picture of my daughter. Though taken a year and a half ago, it perfectly captures her personality.

I've been going through a few weeks of rough parenting. Especially with this one you see here. This grumpy face is something that's seen way too much around the house lately. A look that is grouchy and malcontent. She tries so hard to do her own thing, and is not very pleased when it doesn't go right. She loves attention, and does not want to wait for everyone else to quiet down to listen.

I know she needs more special time with me. Time spent one-on-one, with me listening intently, paying attention, remarking on the things she does and loves, participating in her songs, dances, and make-believe. I need to meet that need of hers, I can see how drained her love bank seems to be. Please, Lord, let me not forget to set time aside for this little one. Help me, Lord, to meet her needs, to show her love, and support her in the way that she needs. Lord, help me make more room in my life for my little girl.

Mama Guilt

2008-10-07T14:32:00.000-07:00

A burden, a pack,

heavy on the shoulders, a weight that presses us down

We've been taught since childhood to care what others think,

And so we forget our own needs, our wants, we run around

crazy

So busy doing what we think needs to be done,

We forget about resting, loving, living

which adds to the guilt of not doing what you want

because you need to do for others

The children get brushed aside

in the attempts at cleaning, doing

which adds to the guilt of not doing what you need

Either way you're screwed

There is no balance when you're being pulled, and pushed and told

a realm of chaos

echos

and your heart breaks with guilt.

Parenting Through Mistakes

2008-08-11T22:11:00.000-07:00

Throughout the journey of parenthood, you come across times where you feel a need to pause life. "I don't know how to handle this situation"; "I'm too tired to deal with this"; "I need to deal with my own issues first before I can handle theirs!" But parenting does not stop, does not rewind, does not fast-forward and does not pause. Parenting plays, conitnuously, whether you want it to or not.

So, instead of taking on another load of guilt when I parent through difficult times, I've come to discover the value of these opportunities. Instead of wishing that that rough day never existed, I reflect on how it could have gone better, what I have learned from the situation, what my children have learned from the situation, and what I should do now to encourage a growing relationship with my children.

When I'm yelling at my children while driving through traffic, a warning goes off inside that reminds me that my children are learning by my example. So, along with the yelling, I add to it, "I'm sorry, kids, this traffic is stressing me out. I need it to be quiet while I concentrate. I shouldn't have yelled at you." And they get it.

It doesn't mean that they didn't watch and learn from my yelling - believe me, I hear plenty in return - but they also have learned that yelling doesn't make others feel good, and expressing your emotions in a different way is a lot better for everyone. So, I can have them recall back to *my* mistakes and how it made them feel. I can have them remember what made them feel more inclined to listen to me, and they remember how to express their feelings in ways that are respectful. They also learn that when you make a mistake, you humble yourself in apology and admit that you were wrong.

I think this is what is most important, and why I think that parenting *through* mistakes makes for great life lessons. Moms are sometimes wrong, and if we can admit it and ask forgiveness, our children will learn the best life lessons through our examples.

Grow and Adjust

2008-04-19T13:19:00.001-07:00

As I sit back and look at my life with my four little ones, I like to think back to life before. As I adjusted to one, and then two, then three and finally four. It's amazing to me how well we become adjusted to a new way of life.

When I had one, I just couldn't seem to keep up with the house. The laundry piled up, the dishes as well. By the time I got it all figured out, I had another baby. How having just one child seemed so easy once I had two! Struggling at the grocery store, figuring out how to get two down for naps, trying to balance care and attention between two little boys and then keep up with the house work! When dh would take the older child with him, and I was left with just the one child, I would chuckle at the ease of caring for just one and puzzle over how I was never able to keep up with just one when now that seemed like such a simple thing!
Then the third came along, and the adjustments had to be made again. Now the struggle was over getting the baby down while leaving two mischevious little boys alone to do who knows what! There were things that were easier, and there were things that were more difficult. If dh took one of the boys with him, and I was left with only two, again I'd marvel at how easy it was with one child less, and how I could have ever had difficulties with just two!
Once the fourth came along, I better understood how to keep things going in the house. The older children were more able to help out. There was still the adjustment, but it was easier, because I was better prepared. But, again, when one is away, three seems like a breeze!I am constantly amazed at how we can grow and adjust just as we need to.
Some say they could never handle two children, three children, four children or more. But, you grow with your children. You eventually adjust and learn how to live. You are given just enough patience to handle one moment at a time, and beg God to continue granting His peace, patience and some sanity to make it through another.
While in the midst of the chaos, you wonder how you will ever make it out the other side. Will I ever be able to go to the grocery store without wanting to give my kids tranquilizers? Will I ever be able to just get into the car and go without worrying about everyone's shoes and jackets and buckles and snacks? Will I ever be able to have a home that looks nice, without the littering of toys, the drawings on the walls, the food ground into the carpet? Will I ever sleep through the night again? Will I ever get to go to the bathroom without an audience?
And then, one day you wake up and realize that the chaos has dimmed. Life does not seem as hectic. The kids are in the car, buckled with shoes on and jackets all on their own while you are the one running around the house looking for the keys. They make their own breakfast. You can close the bathroom door. You wake up frantic in the middle of the night and go check on the kids because you think the lack of waking must mean they have died. They no longer ask you to help them dress, to help them wipe, they don't want you to hug and kiss them because they're big kids now. And you wish they were little. You wish they were needy and helpless so that you could help them and feel needed.
Your role as mother has taken on a new look. Slings and nursies are put away. Lego creations and two-wheeled bikes take precedence. They take the grocery list and say, "I can do it, mom." And you're happy and sad and wonder how you are supposed to act as this new stage sweeps over your life.Someday, you'll wake up and they won't be little. And as much as you felt life was so crazy and hectic and out of control while they were little, you wish you could do it again.

The Labor of Childhood

2008-04-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

She stood in the shower, dripping wet, grumpy and cold. I asked her, “Would you like the white towel or the yellow?” Nothing but an angry stare is my answer. Reaching for the yellow, I see her viciously shake her head and utter a growl. The white towel it is, then.

In the process of enveloping this little three and a half year old body with a fluffy white towel, my mind is brought to memories of the births I have attended in the past. All of those women, unable to utter what they want, only communicating through vicious shakes of their heads and guttural noises.

Transition.

The hardest phase of labor. The hardest phase of childhood. That short period of time of intense change. The ugly, hard, ferocious inner-workings that precede the ultimate metamorphosis. It always feels like it will never end. It creates doubt and anxiety and some fear. But, in looking back, we can always see that it was then, during that ugliest time, that a persons’ inner strength emerged and brought them fully into who they were meant to be.

Whether mother or child, transition is necessary for growth.The half ages for children are like the transition phase of labor. So much happening inside the body that we do not see. The mind, the nervous system, the limbs, the joints – everything breaking down and re-growing into a new, more mature, better capable little person. While we are in the middle of it, the child and the parent begin to fear that it will never end! The cold fingers of fear and anxiety run down the backs of mothers while they try and brush away the thoughts of, “What has become of my child? Will she ever be that sweet little girl again?” You feel overwhelmed by the shortness, the snapping remarks, her inability to know what she wants. But, remember the laboring mother. It doesn’t last. She doesn’t need fear and doubt from you. She needs the reassurance that she can do this, she *is* doing it. That this won’t last forever. That she will soon see some wonderful things. Help her get through and you will be rewarded.

One day, you see signs of the new little being. Coming a little at a time. Two steps forward, one step back, until she emerges – this new creation of beauty and strength and capability. Mothers breathe a sigh of relief. She’s here! Celebrations ensue, grocery store excursions are now a possibility, she amazes you with new words, new skills, such mature reasoning.

You sit back and relax. And forget that it will come again.

Stuck in a Rut Parenting

2008-04-17T11:06:00.000-07:00

Lately I've noticed that my parenting has become rather mediocre. The same obnoxious behaviors provoke the same obnoxious lectures, neither of which lead to anything positive.

I woke up this morning to the realization that I'm stuck in a rut. No longer am I leading my children, discipling them, but, rather, I'm dealing with them. Responding to behavior rather than preventing behaviors.

I notice that when life gets chaotic, my parenting skills tend to stall. Survival rather than thriving takes place, and I watch in desperation as my children unravel into bickering, selfish, controlling little people. When mama cannot provide the strong support they need, they take charge in the only way they know how - the childish way. Taking back the reins is difficult, especially when chaos still ensues in other areas of my life. But, chaos cannot be an excuse to cut back in good parenting. Chaotic times are the times when it's crucial to provide good parenting skills to children who probably feel unsafe in chaos. This is all part of the sacrificing side of parenting. We must sacrifice our own need to pout and mope and stay in bed all day in order to help our children who do not have the coping skills they need to deal with change and disorder.

I *know* that when I am feeling secure in my parenting, and am proactive rather than reactive that it makes my kids feel secure and good inside even though they may feel that I’m being more mean or controlling. I also know that when I’m on top of my parenting then my life doesn’t feel so chaotic and I feel better as well.

Staying in the role of authority is very important with my oldest who tends to often believe that he really is in charge of everyone and only lets us believe that we are the leaders every now and then. It is imperative that I maintain a strong show of control around him, or else he will take over. And while I don't believe in "controlling" children, I do believe in being in charge, making most of the decisions, and helping my children feel that I am keeping them safe by choosing what's best for them. When I get stuck in these ruts, I realize that my children no longer feel safe. They feel out of control, and end up showing their feelings by acting out of control.

So, while it's not always easy, it's not always convenient, it's not always fun and it's not always pleasant, getting up out of that rut and back in charge is essential to raising healthy, helpful children.

THIS is life!

2008-02-05T11:58:00.000-08:00

So often I think about what I'll do when my real life begins. As if this life as mother of small children is only pseudo-living, and when they grow up I'll start really living.

A tap on the shoulder awakens me from this haze as I look around and realize, "Amy, this is life!" Consider your role in the here and now. It is not pointless, it is not small and insignificant! Answering the call of a little child's need for help is huge in the eyes of that child. It is teaching them trust, it is teaching them humility, it is teaching them how to be able to do for themselves some day.
Nurturing a child sets them up for the rest of their life. From the very beginning, you are laying the foundation for who this child will be and what they'll do. Will they be trusting? Trust-worthy? Will they be honest? Will they be helpful? Will they have self-confidence? Will they be self-sufficient? Will they know wisdom? Will they be able to problem-solve? What you do each moment of each day points them somewhere. Will it be toward goodness?
If I feel that mothering is insignificant, isn't that teaching my children that they are insignificant? Parent like it's the most important job in the world, and your kids will reap the benefit of incredible parenting. Afterall, shaping tomorrow's leaders is pretty important.

Lessons From the Breast

2007-11-13T12:35:00.000-08:00

Too Much, Too Often

The other day while I was nursing Molly to sleep and reading and trying to knit all at the same time, it hit me that maybe my multitasking abilities aren't truly benefitting anyone here. Sure, I can stir dinner on the stove while nursing the baby, teaching a geography lesson and washing dishes, but more often than not it leads to a bubbled-over pot, a half-washed sink of dishes and a child frustrated with a mama that can't give him more of her attention. I put my knitting and my book down and looked at my baby. This baby who is now 10 months old. Where did the time go? Wasn't she just born yesterday? I have been so busy cleaning and reading and making and doing while she has been growing up right beneath my busy hands.
I've noticed that my mind, my body, all of me has a hard time with focusing and staying with just one thing at a time. I'm sure this has been formulated through the years as more and more children have been added, and more and more "things" have needed to be done. There are times when a mom has to do more than one thing at a time. This is life. But, there are also times, like when I'm nursing Molly to sleep, that I can just focus on that one thing, if not for just a little portion of time.
I'm like the busy bee buzzing around from here to there quick as can be and doesn't get a chance to stop and notice the beauty of the flowers she flies in and out of, nor taste the sweet honey that she spends her whole life making.
I've felt convicted lately about all the business I've brought into my life. The story of Mary and Martha in the Bible is a telling example of how God doesn't always want us to just go, go, go and be so busy that we forget to stop and just listen to Him. We often feel like we need to *do* something, anything! We can't just be still. While Martha was busy in the kitchen and resenting Mary, Jesus praised Mary for stilling her hands and coming to just sit and listen to Him. When you're talking to someone, don't you feel better listened to, better respected when they take the time to stop what they're doing and just listen to *you*? This is something that I've tried to teach my children, but am ashamed to say that I don't do the same in return to them. How sad. I'm so busy doing life, that I'm neglecting what is most essential to life - the relational part. The looking and listening, and hearing not just the noise, but the heart of the matter.

Learning

2007-10-24T00:05:00.001-07:00

One of the great benefits of teaching your own children, is the opportunity to learn all over again. Perhaps these bits of information have been hiding dormant in ones' brain for decades, or they were facts that quickly blew in and out during childhood. And perhaps, they were never brought up at all.
Our favorite thing to do at our house is to simply study. Without even opening a book, or seeking outside wisdom, we can discover an abundance of knowledge by quieting our lips and looking and listening to the world around us. The way a spider spins her web, the burrowing of bees in our rock wall, how gravity holds us to the earth, words that sound the same, the changing of the seasons. We don't need someone else to tell us how these occur. We have ample opportunities to discover all of this ourselves. And boy is it so much more interesting when you are that explorer, discovering the world for the first time on your own. A two dimensional picture and flat textbook cannot do justice to the actual thing.
I find this is not only true to school learning, but also with parenting. Often times we rely so heavily on what this book says, or what that wise leader suggests, we often forget to discover, on our own, how to parent our children. As many books as I've read on parenting, all that knowledge is worthless if I cannot put it into practice; if I cannot apply it to my own child in a real situation. Discovering how to make your words mean something to a toddler in a real situation will stick with you far better than a statement written in a book. Instead of studying books on parenting, I find it works better when I study what I'm actually parenting. When I quiet my lips, and look and listen to the world around me, I find that all the knowledge I need for parenting is right there - inside me, right in front of me. It was there all the time, I just couldn't find it for all the books that had been stacked on top.

Never Leave Nor Forsake

2007-10-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have,
for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” -Hebrews 13:5
In my role as parent, I am daily reminded of God's tireless efforts as our own Heavenly Father. Through each of my children, I see reminders of my faults and my own reactions to God's presence in my life.
Sometimes, it's the never-ending questions posed by my six year old. This reminds me that I often question God's intention, His purpose, and His whereabouts in my life, as if I deserve to know all, that He must be accountable to me.
Sometimes, it's in the the hard, but childish efforts of my five year old. His laborious efforts at cleaning his room never meet my expectations as an adult, though I love his dedication. As I'm sure God looks at my own efforts at doing good with a kind smile and loving pat to the head, though they will never meet His own expectations.
Sometimes, it's the way my three year old answers "Nothing!" to the simple question of "what are you doing?", while she hides her misdeeds behind her back. It reminds me of how I often think that if I call my sin something else, maybe I won't be held accountable to it, though, like a parent with that third eye, that sixth sense, God is always aware.

And sometimes, like tonight, it's in the way my baby needs to be constantly held as she gets through a fussy time of her short little life. As soon as I set her down, she's instantly aware that my arms are no longer wrapped around her, she cries out in sadness that I have abandoned her, though I am right by her side. It reminds me of how often I call out to God, feeling neglected because I'm going through a hard time, wondering where He is. And He's always there. He's always beside me. And, like I do for my baby, He picks me back up, holds me close, whispers comfort and peace in my ear, and waits for me to grow in maturity, to know that though I don't always feel Him holding me, He is still there.

Milestones

2007-09-25T10:10:00.000-07:00

Being the mama of four little ones, I daily run into the problem of trying to find balance. Often times I feel like each day is an either/or situation. Do I clean the house, or spend time playing with the kids? Do I do school with the olders, or spend time with the youngers? Do I have them clean their room, or have them play in their room while I get some peace to myself? It's hard, when you're right in the eye of the storm to see that you can find a balance there, and not drop one thing in order to accomplish another.

The busyness that comes with having four little ones often overshadows the milestones made by each child. Especially when it's a younger child learning to do something an older child has already done, I need to work extra hard to make sure *this* child is made to feel just as special, as if I've never seen this done before, and they are showing me for the first time.

Knowing that Molly is my last baby, I often will stop in the middle of doing something "important" (i.e. washing dishes, folding laundry, checking email, knitting) and make myself remember to see each one of her new discoveries as something amazing. This is my last opportunity to relish in the babyness of my children. Her infanthood is quickly coming to a close and toddlerhood will sneak up on me in the blink of an eye. So, I sit and watch as she discovers the wonders of finding tiny bits of food under the dining room table. As she delights in herself at learning to pull up on the coffee table. As she finds that she can move from one side of the room to another, and finally get to those things she wants. And, when I'm finished watching her show me all of her new tricks, I pick her up and snuggle her tight and close. Knowing that soon she will be too wiggly, too active, too independant to want to be held close and long to mama.

My olders are no longer babies. They no longer want to be held and carried around all day. But I know that they are still little. I know that they still *need* to be held and babied now and then. I need to pull them into my lap, put my arms around them and read them a story, sing them a song, tell them how much I love them, and just sit in peaceful contentment. I need to remember to do this more often. Connecting, relating, loving, exploring - these are the things that are important in childhood; in life. More so than having a clean kitchen, or responding to each email. I will remember this. I will.

Welcome, September

2007-09-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

Arms and legs are fully covered this morning as we prepare our bodies for the transition from summer to autumn. This morning gives us a cool sip of the crisp air, crinkly leaves, and dimmed sunlight that September carries as gifts to adorn our home. The open doors of summer are being shut, the window gaps narrowed to a slight breath of fresh air.
In the living room little boys argue over lego pieces as they build ferries, airplanes, trucks, riding to the moon and back in the course of an hour. The three year old plays in the school room, building one D after another with our wooden letter pieces, calling out, "Mom, come see the E's I built!" And the baby, newly mobile, scrambles about the house in search of pennies and legos irresponsibly dropped by siblings who no longer remember their own choking scares from infancy.
And mama, mama warms her hands around the large mug of creamy coffee, begging the drink to provide enough energy to last throughout the day, until the last child has laid still enough at night in their bed and mama passes on her responsibilities to the engulfing darkness and dreamland.
In the pauses and deep breaths of the day, mama grabs her needles and yarn, attempting to make a stitch or two before the lull has ceased and life calls her back. The cooler weather prompting the creation of things warm and snuggly.
Laundry and mess call out, as always, computer time is over, feet cold from the chilled air now go in search of warmth.

The Unknown

2007-08-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

Will the sell of this house go through?
Will we go through with building?
Where are we going to live between now and then?
Where will the kids go to school?
Are we going to be moving to Alabama?
So much is up in the air at the moment, and where they all will land, I am just not sure. I have my opinions, and dh has his, maybe. He does not share them freely, always offering an excuse for it not being the right time to discuss this. "This" being what we need to do within a weeks' time. He comes home in two days after being away for a month and a half. He has been away from all this, and therefore does not feel the pressing need to quickly decide.
Lord, lead us in the right decisions. Turn our paths toward you and work it all for your good.

Dear Lord,

2007-07-30T17:42:00.000-07:00

Lord,
Today make me more open.
Open my heart to feel your love.
Open my spirit to heed your guidance.
Open my mind to others' points of view.
Open my ears to cries of help.
Open my eyes to needs all around.
Open my arms to show my children love.
Open my hands to give generously in Your name.

Thank you, Lord.

Amen.

Traces of Two

2007-07-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

Summer is hurtling forward and birthdays have come and gone, with one more birthday remaining. Three more days until my little girl morphs from toddler to preschooler. This little one who used to be a blonde baldy with chubby thighs is becoming a petite little girl, so independent, so mature. Her grown-up vocabulary bubbling forth from her rosebud mouth; little pixie voice spouting out mature-sounding sentences.

Besides her little voice, I search her over for traces of her babyhood that once made up her whole being. Long lanky legs have taken the place of chubby creased ones. Mass of blonde hair hides the soft scalp that was visible for so long. Chubby little hands we once cheered on to grasp and hold now so capable, so strong. Where's the baby I once snuggled and smelled, nursed and slung?

Is she there in the trace of dimples at the elbow?

Or here, in the roundness of her cheek?

There's those sweet dimpled hands, a little less chubby, a lot more capable.

And here, in the babyness of wrong footed shoes.

Oh, little one, so sweet and tender, so stubborn and independent. I love you so much. I can't wait to see the beautiful woman you will one day become, but I'm content to relish in the baby that I can still see.

One of these Days

2007-07-14T13:09:00.001-07:00

I'm going to wake up to a house that is not in need of fixing, painting, trimming, tiling, what have you.
I'm going to help my kids get dressed and sit down to eat breakfast with them.
I'm going to spend the morning playing and exploring, learning and creating.
I'm going to help my kids mix and blend and bake and cook.
I'm going to stop and feel the sunshine on my face, the rain on my head.
I'm going to snuggle with kids piled all around me, reading book after book.
I'm going to slow down, stop and enjoy life.
One of these days I'm going to live.
Just not today.

Feeling Low

2007-07-13T16:41:00.000-07:00

The stress of remodling is taking it's toll. Last night dh and I were snippity and snide with eachother, both exhausted and drained with nothing left to give. We were late to swim lessons this morning, me yelling at the kids because they're all dragging their feet. After swim lessons we headed to a playgroup at the park. On the way to the park, the song, "Big, big House" came on the radio and I turned it up and sang loudly along. Once it was over I burst into tears. This was the song played at my friends' daughter's funeral. She was 17 months old when she died from choking on a dried bean. I've been feeling slightly anxious and weepy the rest of the day. It's also overcast today, which may be contributing to the doldrums. I hate days like this.

Slow Day

2007-07-12T15:38:00.000-07:00

In the peak of the "dog days of summer" I spend hours laboriously remodling the house. While I work, work, work, my poor children spend hours mesmerized, the "babysitter" diverting their attention away from mess-making toys and dirt.

Thursdays are my dragging days. It's the day that the week catches up with me and I'm exhausted. While a nap sounds glorious right now, it just isn't possible. So, instead of labor-intensive activities, I choose to catch up on housework. Stacks of laundry grow on the coffee table, piles of dirt get swept into the trash, the house gets tidied up as much as can be.

After nearly two years of living in this house, I finally put up window coverings in the dining room. I guess we're not too concerned about the neighbors seeing us walk around in our underwear and spying us chomping down our meals. It sure does soften the look of the room, and make it more "homey".

Happy Fourth of July!

2007-07-08T11:27:00.000-07:00

We went down on post to enjoy the nation's birthday festivities. We met up with cousins there and us girls leaned up against the enormous blow up toys and gabbed and nursed while the boys enjoyed playing around in "Kid's World".

Funnel Cake and SnoCones were consumed leaving sticky hands and powdery lips. This once a year treat enjoyed by all. As the sun sank and the air cooled, we situated ourselves on blankets on the field in anticipation of the fireworks show. Truly, I have the cutest baby in the world.

All the kids really enjoyed the fireworks. The baby was mesmerized.

Some Days

2007-06-12T08:38:00.000-07:00

Some days I need to stop and remember what my purpose in life is at the moment.
Is it to read all the books I can? Is it to make those around me happy? Is it to do the most amount of things in the smallest amount of time possible? Is it to live in a mess-free house?
Following my primary purpose of living my life for my Lord, my purpose in life at the moment is to Nurture and to Nourish. Funny how these two simple things can get lost in the busyness of life. How I can brush these two things aside in order to get other things done, or tend to business that, really, is not as important.
When my four year old cries out for me to wipe him when I know he can wipe himself, I need to stop, take a deep breath and say to myself, "nurture him, nurture him."
When I'm in the middle of sewing and my two year old begins to plead for a snack, I need to stop the sewing machine and think, "nourish her, nourish her."
Putting off a snuggle in the lap in order to do dishes, grabbing for the easy box of nutritionally void mac 'n cheese instead of a good home-cooked meal are things I struggle with daily. But right now, I just need to remind myself that these little ones' physical, emotional and spiritual well-being depends on me. A spotless house and a sugary snack will not fill those needs. An available mama with open arms, a kind word, and a good healthy meal is what they need.
Nurture and nourish. Nurture and nourish.

Old School

2007-04-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

Part of the new reward system we've instilled is the opportunity to play on the 1989 Original Nintendo my parents bought us kids for Christmas so long ago.

For just 10 reward coins, you have the opportunity to throw walking mushrooms, find secret doors, fight egg spitting dinosaurs, and enter the mouth of a golden eagle. I had forgotten how addicting the game can be. I am so not a video game person, and do not wish anyone in my household to become one as well. That's why this reward is one that is available only once in a blue moon!

Three in the bed

2007-04-03T23:22:00.000-07:00

And the little one said...

I made these wool longies out of an old wool sweater of mine. They are so soft and comfy and hold up super well to all that nighttime pee! I think they look pretty cute, too.

Roll over, roll over...

Little Molly's getting to be so big! 2 1/2 months already. The kids all adore her, and always want to snuggle up next to her, which is why she's in the middle.

Ella loves pretty things. She insists on wearing a "spin dress" every day. Not that she lacks any to wear, but she's very particular on the amount of spin needed to be a wearable "spin dress". And with these spin dresses must also come tights, especially a pair of "sparkle tights", and then the church shoes. If she can find a pretty princess dress up outfit, or princess shoes, it's even better.
In this picture she's wearing last years' Easter dress, as it is one of her prettiest of the spin dresses. Her hair was more curly than usual, and she thought she was so beautiful. She is, isn't she? She's looking at her self in the mirror.

Common Sense isn't common

2006-11-06T14:46:00.000-08:00

Recently I've been hearing the words "common sense" as a means of excusing poor parenting advice. "The Strong-Willed Child is a great book, as long as you use common sense. Baby-wise is not harmful, if you use common sense." And I've been accused of not using common sense because I followed the "strong-willed child" advice when obviously my child was not strong-willed, but autistic.
I feel a need to defend not only myself, but those I know who have recovered from practicing bad parenting advice on their children. Not because I don't think that what was done to these children was wrong. Not because I don't think common sense is useful. Not because I want to make excuses for parenting mistakes. But because I think that there is more to the story than just not using common sense.
I was raised in an authoritarian household in which I was taught not to question authority. Those with authority always knew what was right, and I needed to just keep my mouth shut and follow them. I was not given the tools needed to make right decisions on my own. The decisions I made were based on outward stimuli - will I get into trouble if I do this? Will I make someone upset? - not on whether I felt in my heart it was right or wrong.
There are currently many persuasive writers in parenting circles. Ezzo, Pearl, Tripp, Dobson. They base their parenting advice on fear, and outward stimuli. They don't tell you to use common sense, they don't urge you to research your decisions yourself and check it against what you feel the holy spirit is telling you. They tell you that they are the authority, and we are not to question authority.
These authors don't usually take into account all the variety of family situations that will be reading their material. One way tends to be the right way for all.

Solomon Asch did a study in the 1950's that is very revealing. When placed in a group of peers, he discovered that "the tendency to conformity in our society is so strong that reasonably intelligent and well-meaning young people are willing to call white black." Even though you may firmly believe your answer is right, when those who you are around are saying that another answer is right, you begin to say that their answer is right, as well. First, because you want to be liked by the group, and second because you begin to believe the group is better informed than you. Some people in the experiment even began to see the wrong answers as truly correct.

Another study worthy of note is the Milgram Experiment. This experiment showed that people tend to obey authority at all cost, even when they feel that what the authority tells them to do is wrong. Even when they were warned that what they were doing could cause great harm to another person, 65% of the subjects punished the other person to the maximum, harmful amount when the authority told them to.

So, how does one apply common sense if they are not taught to use it?

Unfortunately, my dear children had to be my guinea pigs as I learned to think on my own, research my decisions, come to my own conclusions, and explore common sense as it conflicted with authority figures.

As the mother of a child on the autism spectrum, I struggle with trying to teach my own children to use common sense. Seeing the world in black and white can become very harmful to a child if they believe that all adults do the right thing. I strive to teach them to listen to their instincts, to be okay with questioning authority, and to have the tools to make wise decisions on their own.

I see so many parents falling prey to parenting "experts" who abuse their authority. Perhaps these parents were raised the same way, and would not even consider questioning the validity of the advice they are following. It's gotten to the point where the wrong answer has become right because all those around them say it's right.

Lord, help me to see the truth in the world, and to pass this truth onto my children.

Projects

2006-10-30T23:56:00.000-08:00

While the cat's away, the mice will play...

Dh is gone for the week at a training series for work. Usually during his longer absences I will complete a project around the house to surprise him with for his arrival back home. Unfortunately, he accidently took the house improvement funds with him, in his wallet, on the airplane instead of giving it to me in the car at the airport as was planned. So, instead of a house improvement project, I've decided to work on things that have already been started, or that have the tools needed already lying around.

Way back in middle school, my good friend Lisa taught me to crochet while watching movies in her basement. It was very basic, and I never got more than a few rows for a "blanket" completed. Picking up a cute crocheted hat on clearance for my daughter brought those memories back and have inspired me to take up crocheting. Which then, of course, led to me teaching myself how to also knit. So in the past month, my hands have been speeding through tiny movements made with sticks and yarn to produce the endless amounts of Christmas presents required of this giving season.

In the midst of these simple hats, I've taken up the task of knitting a cableknit sweater for a dear neice who's about to turn one. Teaching yourself to knit and purl is one thing, trying to figure out cableknit and sweater patterns is another!! I'm one of those fools who hates to follow directions. I hate reading notes while playing the piano, hate drawing out a plan for painting, and never follow a pattern while sewing. Hence the many, many mistakes I always make!! So, this sweater is a work of learning art.

I know the estimated lengths and widths, so I'm hoping that the more I work on it, the more it will begin looking like a sweater. And I am hoping hard that I will actually finish this before her mid-November birthday!

Last night on a whim, I decided to do something I haven't done in a long time, and make something for myself. Inspired by these skirts, and the one Ashley just made, I decided to grab some handfuls of material I have piled up in the back room and make myself a skirt. It's huge, but the drawstring waist saves that fact. I still need to add a pocket and some applique work. Hopefully I'll finish it and add a pic later on.

Expectations

2006-08-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

It's interesting to me how much we expect from our children. From young two and three year olds we expect patience and self-control. From five year olds we expect them to accept great responsibility. And yet, how can I look at my own life, and how well I'm living up to these expectations and believe that my children should do just as well as I, and sometimes better?
Galations speaks of the fruit of the Spirit. They are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Isn't this what we want our children to display for us? We want them to show love and peace toward one another. We want them to have patience while I make dinner. We want them to be kind and good, gentle and have self-control. And yet, in the Bible it says that these are fruits of the Holy Spirit living and working in you. If you are actively seeking the Lord's will for your life, and being led by His Holy Spirit within you, the fruit of your spiritual maturity will be these nine traits.
Why do we assume that our young children, not yet having made a personal committment to follow the Lord, can have these traits instilled on them by parental discipline? They do not yet have the Holy Spirit within them, yet we expect them to show us fruits of the Holy Spirit. Are we truly that arrogant that we believe we are just as good as the Holy Spirit for directing these traits in our kids' lives? We expect our kids to outwardly display these good traits by either their own good will, or by our physical coercion of it. And yet, we can not change our child's will, and our children cannot change their will. That is only a job that the Lord can do. We can nurture that will, and prepare it to accept the changes the Lord will do, but we are not God. The outward changes can only be outward. They can only be by our own human efforts, and not truly a heart change, a development of Christ's traits. That is only for the Holy Spirit, within our lives, to do.
And when our children do accept the Holy Spirit within their lives, remember the verses about milk vs. solid food. "But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil." After over 20 years of having the Holy Spirit working within me, I still need milk at times. I would not expect my child to show mature Christian traits overnight. I still need help with self-control every time I go to Wal-Mart.

Rose Party

2006-07-30T22:29:00.000-07:00

After five years of planning birthdays that revolve around themes of trucks, airplanes, trains, dirt, worms, etc., I've finally been given the chance to give a "pretty" party! Inspired by the thousands of roses blooming in our yard, I used what was on-hand to decorate tables, cupcakes, and birthday girl.

First we had to decorate the birthday girl:

Then, we decorated the table:

And of course the cupcakes had to be pretty, too:

And still, bits of past parties crept into the rose haven (these were the gifts her brothers gave her - she was delighted):

Pretty dresses are always appreciated:

Sink or Swim

2006-07-19T23:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life feels like a deep, swift river. It pulls you along faster than you wish to go, relentless in it's tugging and pushing. Waterlogged pieces of wood and random things carried away by the river ram into you every now and then, doling out blows to the head, the legs, the torso. Leaving bruises inside and out. All you can do is bob along, trying to keep your head above water as you're pulled along, trying to evade the heavy things coming your way.
People on the shore shout out to you as you're carried along. Sometimes you hear them, sometimes all you see is their mouths moving, their arms waving. They're all advising you in ways to help yourself get out of the River, yet no one comes alongside to give you the help you really need.
You begin to wonder what would happen if you gave up struggling. Would the River stop its quick pace? Would it slow down to let you catch your breath? Would you just continue to be carried along? Would you sink, or would you float?
Then, just when you think you're body is exhausted beyond it's limit, you find the river turn a corner. It widens and slows down. You soon find that it's become shallower and that you can even stand. How long will this section of the river last before it becomes swift and deep again? Will I be able to regain enough breath and strength to continue fighting along? Will I sink, or will I float?

Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

2006-04-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

My first pregnancy took me by fearful surprise. It was a life-changing event that brought about a marriage, a move, a complete altering of my life. I trembled at the thought of everything that had just slipped through my fingers - all of my dreams lost and to be forgotten, the pretty picture shattered by reality.
But when I held my sweet boy in my arms, I knew this is what I was meant to be. Right there, right then, I knew MAMA was my perfect profession.
Those sweet first moments faded away, though, they've gotten scattered about through the phases of screaming through the night, food being thrown in my hair, climbing up onto every surface available.
New members of the family have made their entrances, adding new challenges, new situations, new reasons to question the profession I have been handed.
I thought it was so right, so perfect in that moment of newness, of beauty, of joy. Why didn't anyone tell me how immensely difficult being a mama would be? Why wasn't I prepared for the complete draining of energy, sound mind, patience and sometimes soul, from these little ones? Why have I been given these sweet babies who have constant energy, special needs, wills the size of the moon? Why, Lord, did you think I could handle this?
Was it to punish me for my sins? To remind me of the consequences of premarital sex? Has it been to break me, time and time again so that I am so worn, my body no longer wants to rise out of bed in the mornings? What has been the meaning for this, Lord? You know I am weak. You know how I suffer. You know I am not equipped to do this alone!
"Be still, child. I am with you always. Lean not on your own understandings. Take upon my yoke. It is not heavy, it is not burdensome. You can do all things through me, who gives you strength."
Lord, I admit. I do not lean on you enough. I take on my own, heavy yoke that is so burdensome. I forget you are here. I ignore you, refuse your stength, rely on my own and get angry when I am so weary.
You call children blessings, when at times I do feel that they are burdens. When I rely on my own strength, parenting is burdensome, Lord. When I ignore you, I get so weak and want to give up. Is this what you mean for my life? Am I just so hardheaded, and hard hearted that I continually fight you in the lesson you want me to learn? You keep giving me more chances, sending me more blessings, giving me opportunities to know your peace, your joy, your rest. But I keep turning my head and walking my own path, seeing blessings as burdens, seeing chances as punishment, asking you Why? when you keep giving me the answer - "follow me".
Don't give up on me, Lord, please! Someday, hopefully, I'll get it.

I Say Three Is Still Considered Small

2005-10-13T23:10:00.000-07:00

As I was walking out of the library today, two small boys shuffling behind me, baby slung tight to my side, I passed a woman entering the library with her seven children, each about a year apart. I smiled at her as I inwardly laughed at all those who have hounded me this past year with such silly remarks as, "You sure have your hands full," "Are all of those yours?!" "Now that you've got your girl, I hope that you're done". Three. I have three children. Not three dozen, not even three half dozen. Just three. Such a small number when you start to put it into perspective.
I've discovered a jem of a book that just sparkles with joy and inspiration of motherhood. Things I Wish I'd Known Sooner, written by Jeraldeen Edwards, a mom of twelve, is helping me to bring things back into perspective. Listen to what she wrote back in the 70s when she was raising her brood in the midst of the women's lib movement and when many were touting the brilliance of zero population growth.

"When we care for an infant, we are dealing with matters of actual life and death; there is nothing casual, demeaning, or unimportant in anything we do."

During the 70s (and on, into today), motherhood was looked down on as just being about "dirty diapers and dirty dishes". Mrs. Edwards responded in this beautiful way to ensure readers that changing dirty diapers was not necessarily a demeaning or unimportant matter. Changing our infants' diapers is a way of showing love and care; a time to look in our babies' eyes, to interact, to play, to keep them healthy and clean. Thank you, Mrs. Edwards, for reminding me of my importance when I was feeling just about ready to quite my job as "head wiper" at this house!

Summer's holding on

2005-10-07T15:49:00.000-07:00

The trees are all changing their clothes, preparing for their stark winter gear. The yard is littered with it's debris. It looks like it should be cold, but the sun's rays are still holding strong, and I haven't yet packed away our summer clothes. Isn't it peculiar how nature strips down for the cold as we go on bundling up?
At home we're learning about "the science of autumn", and though most of it is over the heads of my little ones, they enjoy learning the reasons why.
There's so much we want to do to this old home we recently purchased. We love it for it's character, but the velvet walpaper really needs to go. We each have our lists, a mile long, of our ideas and dreams for this house. With our pockets empty, we sit and dream together, envisioning how our home may someday look. Save and then spend, save and then spend we keep reminding each other as we eagerly discuss which flowers and bushes to plant in the yard, or the bathroom expansion we'd love to see happen. But, for now, we love our cozy home, fuzzy walls and all.
This home is a happy home. It seems very content, and enjoys the shouts and bumps of the small people who dwell here. I drink in the scenery around me, two sides of mountains, the green trees, the water, and feel my soul become right again. This is where I'm supposed to be, this is where the Lord has intended for me to raise my children. Already I've had so many opportunities literally knock on my door that I've never before encountered. So much of what I've always wanted to do is available, right here, right now. Feels like home. Feels real good.

Lactation Insultant

2005-09-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the latest from Hathor? (check the sidebar for a link to her site)
I just don't understand why so many people are grossed out by women breastfeeding in public, and why they feel they need to blame their discomfort with the human body on those of us who believe in growing whole, healthy, emotionally stable children with the nutrition God gave us.
"There is also the option of using a breast pump to express the milk at home, and then using a bottle in public. This way, the child gains all of the benefits of mother's milk while society is spared the sight of a human Playtex nurser. "
Okay, first off, why is it that people, in general, are okay with seeing rubber nipples all over the place, but the real thing is not okay? Since they are constantly comparing nursing with urinating (?), it would be like saying, you can't pee in public, but you catheterize, extract the urine into a bottle, attach a rubber penis and release the urine in this way, publically. Of course I wouldn't want to see this either, since urinating is in a completely different category than breastfeeding, but why is society okay with rubber nipples, cow nipples, but not human flesh nipples?
And don't you DARE say that I am a "human Playtex nurser"!!!!!! Don't you know that the Playtex is an artificial form of ME? I am not some human form of a plastic object!!! What was made first, lady?! If the breast is so "shameful", why was it the part of the body chosen to make milk and nourish our babies? Why not the finger, the ear, the tips of our hair? Wouldn't that be easier? We wouldn't have to even raise our shirts. The breast is the part of the body closest to the heart, the sound of the womb, that's why even bottle-feeding mothers know to hold their babies in their arms, at breast height when feeding.
"At a minimum, they need to be fed. Newborns have a lot of time on their hands since they don't hold down jobs, drive or fret about the state of the world, so eating becomes disproportionately important to them."
Oh my goodness, I don't know if I want to even address this, it's just so ignorant. And if YOU had to double your weight and height in a matter of months in order to continue living, would you call a need to eat often dispraportionate? I call it a God-given SURVIVAL instinct! Babies who lack this "disproportionate" need to eat are called Failure to Thrive babies and can have many health problems, even die, because of it. Ignorant, ignorant woman.

Women and Birthing

2005-07-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

My mother-in-law told me the other day that there was no way she would want to be with her daughter while her daughter labored and gave birth to her grandchild. When asked why, she said it's because she knew how much pain it was and didn't want to see her daughter in pain and not be able to help her. She also said that she knows too much about what could go wrong and would be looking at everything in an altered light. (she is a nurse in a neonatal unit) It saddens me to think of how skewed is our society's view on birth. I can't wait to assist my daughter through such an awesome right of passage. To be a part of that magic, that wonder, that miracle that is birth. To help her reach into her inner strength, to highlight her beauty and her power. It's funny how our views are completely opposite.

Something from Elizabeth Davis' Heart and Hands:

It is ironic that feminism has not more strongly aligned itself with the
midwifery issue, especially since reproductive self-determination is central to
the feminist vision. Truly, what could be more feminist than the practice
of midwifery? The most potent lesson of childbirth is the revelation of
essential feminine force. Giving birth calls on a woman to shed her social
skin and discover her ability to cooperate with and surrender to elemental
forces. Birth can profoundly transform a woman, strengthen her faith, and
deepen her identity. Hence the midwife, guardian and facilitator of this
process, is intrinsically feminist by the very nature of her work. She
knows that women who labor on their won terms and triumph in spontaneous
birthing will mother in a fiercely independent fashion, with strength and inner
certainty spilling into every other aspect of their lives.

A Night in Shining Armor

2005-06-23T21:15:00.000-07:00

The night comes rushing in, silver on black, sleek and dark, here to
take me away to new lands yet to be explored. It scoops me up,
enveloping me with it's heavy arms and whispers sweet dreams in my
ear.

Farewell Florida

2005-06-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

As our moving day quickly approaches, I am filled with excitement and relief to be leaving this state for good! I'm sure in six months to a years' time, I will be able to look back to our time here with some fondness and longing, but for now, I want to run far, far away!
Our time here has been filled with such an odd assortment of trials and blessings. The birth of my daughter was such a blessing, but it was surrounded by disappointment, incredible stress, and post partum depression. We bought our first home here, hmmm...still up in the air on that one as to whether the whole experience was a blessing or a trial! The weather could be considered a blessing, exept when you have to evacuate four times in 2 (3?) months for hurricanes. And with warm weather comes all sorts of lovely critters. Big black snakes meeting you at the front door as you come in with an armload of groceries. Ants covering the floor in search of unseen food. Lizards running away with every move you make. Lizards in the house. Dead lizards under the bed. Fireants attacking your baby, leaving 72 bites on a single foot. The fear of alligators in the drainage ditch behind the house. I could never truly enjoy being outdoors here, and I never really felt safe letting the boys play out in the back.
The few friends we've made here are dear to my heart, and I am sad to be leaving them. I am upset that I will miss out on the chance to help them welcome a new member into their family. I am sad that I won't be able to watch my Bradley babies grow up, and my Bradley parents expand upon the love and dedication they already posess.
But I am leaving this place with my face pointed West, where the evergreens are calling me home. I am longing to be cleansed by the cool, refreshing air, a drizzle of rain, a dazzling view of mountains and the sound, and a delicious cup of SBC.

Lost and Found

2005-06-22T21:10:00.000-07:00

An article I read awhile back, and have recently found again.

Fighting a Losing Battle

2005-06-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

The past few days I've come to realize that I am fighting a losing battle. I thought that my work as a natural Childbirth educator and labor doula was going to help with lowering the use of medication during labor and birth. I thought that it would help lower c-section rates. I thought that the purpose of my work was to help women fight what our society has turned birth into - a medical event - and hold their hand as they sit back and let nature take it's course. Apparently, I was wrong. Apparently, I am in the great minority of doulas who think this way. Apparently, I am narrow-minded and hold too high of a standard and will never have any clients in the area where we are moving.
Certainly I would never make a woman feel bad for receiving medication or for having a c-section. I understand that these things happen, and sometimes for a good purpose. But I don't think I'd be able to support a woman who held beliefs that were in complete contrast to mine. Who wanted drugs all the way, who wasn't even open to trying some natural approaches to working through labor.
If I were a post-partum doula, I'd have a real hard time going into a house of a family that was ingrained with Ezzoing or Baby Whispering their baby. I could not just stand by and support a mother who refused to respond to her baby's cries, who ignored her baby's needs. Sure, it's her right as a mother to parent her child as she sees fit, but my convictions would not allow me to help her implement that decision.
If I were a parenting support person, I could not go into someone's house and help them punitively parent their children, if that's the choice they had made. I would go in there with alternatives to spankings and time outs, and help to show that there is another way, a better way, a healthier way to parent.
Maybe I'm in the wrong field. I cannot just put my heart, my convictions aside and be excited and supportive of a decision that is against what I believe, what I advocate for. It would be wrong for me to share my strong beliefs with some while dropping those beliefs when I get paid to support someone who doesn't feel as I do.
Does it sound as if I'm judging? I hope not. I do not judge. I do not look down on a woman who choses medication for birth, who let's her baby "learn to soothe itself to sleep", or one who believes that spanking is the proper form of discipline for her children. I used to hold some of these beliefs myself, until I became aware of the truth. As I delved deeper into studies of the side effects of a medicated labor, crying it out and spanking, I soon discovered that I had been fed so many lies. I was following a path that had been layed out before me, not through my informed decisions, but by family, friends and doctors who were following tradition.
I'm one of those crazy childbirth ladies who writes to Congress to get policies changed. Who writes letters to newspaper editors, who signs petitions and peacefully assembles to protest certain hospital policies. I teach my students to be consumers of their births, to weigh the benefits and risks, to free themselves of fears, and past hang-ups, to be physically, emotionally, and mentally healthy for this important event. I show my students the studies that have been done on drug intake during labor and birth and how it affects the baby, the mom, breastfeeding, bonding, their lives. How could I teach this to my students one day and then turn around the next and say sure, lady, I will support you in your choice to be completely medicated from the time you feel your first contraction. I would be a hypocrite. Who would listen to me?
Is anybody even listening now?
My battle to change the way our society views birth is a losing battle. We can never win this. We can never change this attitude of the majority of obstetricians. We can never change the attitudes of mainstream pregnant women who go to these obstetricians because that's who their insurance company assigned them to. The rights of women. It's getting so mixed up. I thought we were fighting for the rights of women when I make the choice to see a midwife and birth at home, naturally, not having to fight ridiculous, tradition(not medically-)-based procedures. Man, this has my mind so jumbled, I can't even type out what I want to say. I can't even formulate how I feel.

Grace and Mercy

2005-06-21T21:40:00.000-07:00

Luke 6:27"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. 30Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. 31Do to others as you would have them do to you.
32"If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' love those who love them. 33And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' do that. 34And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full. 35But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. 36Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. "

What great words to live by. Not only for our interactions with other adults, but in our parenting as well. Our children, who are "sinners" as all men are, deserve as much love, goodness, repayment, etc, as we are to give our "enemies". It continues to baffle me as to why the Lord's words of love, grace and mercy continue to be kept from children. Why are Christian parents taught to met out punishments, to beat our children into submission, that children only learn when there is pain involved?!
I struggle daily with the urge to spank, and I know that it is not a calm, teaching act. It is an act of revenge. I am angry that they disobeyed and want to make sure they recieve punishment for it. This is not what Jesus has taught. "Turn the other cheek" "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful." By definition, mercy is "the withholding of deserved punishment." And grace is "undeserved favor." Our Lord has given us both His mercy and His grace. And then He taught us to give it to others. Not just those we like and love and who treats us kindly, but to those we dislike, those who spit in our faces, who steal and who call us names.
By spanking and punishing our children, we are not teaching grace, mercy and how to love others, but instead we are teaching revenge, an "eye for an eye" rather than turning the other cheek.
Yesterday I took my kids to the aquarium. We had just sat down at our table in the cafe when I witnessed an incident in the cashier's line behind us. A frazzled mom pushing a stroller with a baby, holding onto two trays, and trying to keep her two older boys with her went crazy on her boy who looked to be about four or five years old. He had run ahead and she was laying it on him. She had him by the arms and was shaking him and screaming in his face to never run away again, to stay right with her. It made me naseous to see this interaction, especially because the little boy stood there with eyes open wide with fear, body trembling. It also made me naseous because I understood what that mom was feeling. I understood her rage, as I've been there, in her place, before. I understood looking my child in the eyes to see his fear of me. My heart went out to this mom, who was overloaded, stressed and frazzled by what was going on. She continued with her screaming and negative demeanor with this little boy all throughout their lunch as she tried to nurse the baby and keep everyone at the table. I wish that I could have helped her. I would have offered to help with the baby or the food, but I had my three little ones finally settled at the table, and I know they would have bolted for the doors if I had left the table. Now that I typed that out, it seems like such a lame excuse. I could have done something, something to encourage this mom, to ease the stress a bit, to lighten the mood and make her laugh, to help her enjoy her time out with her kids. But I didn't. I was focused on my own kids who were, for once in their lives, sitting still at a table in a public place, behaving uncommonly well.
It's sad that it takes situations like these to remind me that I've made some progress. I'm glad to have come out of that darkness, and into some light. I'm happy to be able to put a positive spin on life, on parenting, on fun. I just wish that these mountain tops could have been attained without having first wandered the miry clay pits of the valley below.

What would it be like if it were different?

2005-06-19T20:16:00.000-07:00

The middle one took a long, late evening nap, and is therefore sitting beside me, leaning on me as we watch a video together on the couch. I wanted to watch Life is Beautiful or Matchstick Men, two of the movies I picked up at the library, but with the little one's eyes still open, I had to go for a replay of "What a Girl Wants". It's Colin Firth. I'm happy.
As middle slept, it was just oldest and youngest taking charge of my attention, and all of a sudden parenting seemed ten times easier. There was no bickering, no fighting, no tug-of-wars over toys, just peaceful lincoln log building and laughing at youngest trying to nab our logs. What would life be like if we had spaced our children differently? How odd it was to see for a small split-second what life looks like with children four years apart, instead of two. It seemed so easy for the moment, but is that how it really would be?
It was nice, calm, and quiet, but soon we missed middle. We missed his cute antics, his joyful bantering, his pudgy hands helping us build and coming up with creations all on his own. We missed his giggly games with youngest. Thank you, Lord, for having a perfect plan for our life. Thank you for all my children and their perfect spacing.
Man, I'm hungry. If middle hadn't slept for so long, we would have all gone to the market to pick up some yummy food. Now, my choices are left over chinese or some cauliflower. And the ever-present oranges. I don't want any of that! I want some chocolate. Any shape, form or style. I thought I'd make me some homemade chocolate pudding (oh, so, heavenly!), but realized we are OUT OF SUGAR!! Out of sugar? How can that be? I guess that's a good thing, but my poor tastebuds!

It's lonely in a house half-empty

2005-06-12T20:22:00.000-07:00

Boxes are filling, flaps closing, tape sealing, rooms emptying.
Our bedroom echos the sound of the kids' laughter as I chase them around the house with my tickle monster hands, always ending up in a pile on our bed where little sister waits in gleeful anticipation.
Our bare walls bounce our voices back and forth, no longer muted by the quilts, the paintings, the desk full of papers. The house is an odd mixture of stark cleaness and confused packing chaos.
Sunday evenings are always the let down after the high of the weekend. Hubby leaves in the afternoon to go back to his training, leaving an obvious void in his wake. All the giggles and jumping of yesterday are muted, mellowed with the absence of the one who radiates energy and excitement. Though we are a family of five, when he is gone, our house is half empty. He brings out a different side of the kids, one that is special just between them, one that I cannot replicate. When he is gone, I see only one side of the kids. We are all half-empty.

This last week, before the Tropical Storm rolled in, we splashed our way through the days.

And when it got too hot, we came inside to find other silly stuff to do.

A legacy for my daughter

2005-05-24T23:36:00.000-07:00

As I look at your sweet, peaceful face, quiet and still in slumber, I dream about your future.
Who will you love? What will your passions be? Who will you become?
Motherhood has changed me. Though hedged in by firm goals, the stones of my planned-out future crumbled around me with the pregnancy and birth of my firstborn. I have never researched more, loved more, raged more, or wondered more than those few months of new motherhood. My past passions were mere childhood paddle pool splashings. They were interests, but how far will an infatuation with Fox Mulder take you? Now that I am a mother, my interests have changed. It is not about me, it is about you. The choices I make, the books I read, the issues I fight for, they are not for me, they are for you.
I want for you to be able to choose where you give birth, and not have to hide your decision from the world. I want for you to give birth uninhibited by preconcieved notions, unneccessary fears, or controlling people. I want you to believe in your body and how your Lord God made you. This fight is for you.
I want for you to give your babies the best nourishment God ever made. A milk that is produced only by you! I want you to feel confident in feeding your baby his/her perfect food. I want for you to be comfortable feeding your baby when he's hungry, where he's hungry. I want for others to accept you and make you welcome - breasts, milk and all. This fight is for you.
I want for you to be able to make the decision to stay home with your children and not be seen as wasting an education, not working, or taking advantage of your husband. I want for you to understand that motherhood is the hardest and yet the most wonderful way of life. It is more demanding and takes so much more skill than any job you will ever have, and I want you to feel the honor of having this job. I want for you to be seen as the dedicated, hard-working woman you will one day be. This fight is for you...

Your life will be different.
You will know the beauty of a baby's face emerging from your body, fully aware, fully in love.
You will know the freedom of feeding your baby wherever you need to without feeling a hint of shame, without being encumbered by modesty.
You will know the joy of loving and being loved by someone who respects you, who honors you, who delights in you, and holds you up high for the world to see that this is a woman who knows what it is to be a woman.

Joy

2005-05-21T20:53:00.000-07:00

A spirit of depression and discontent hangs over me like an umbrella spreading wide to block the thousands of drops of joy that rains down throughout the day. I hear the pattering of joy, as my children laugh, joke, giggle and delight in life. I see others out dancing in their joy-rain with smiles of delight as they saturate their souls with love and contentment. And I watch, in the dry shade. Seeing what I'm missing, but somehow unable to pull down my umprella and tuck it away.
I go through the motions of fun and delight, jumping in life's splashy puddles, but this umbrella lingers, blocking out what I need. It's as if the umbrella is one of those, deep, clear ones that totally surrounds you. You can see all around and appreciate what's going on, without getting a single drop of joy on yourself.

Mama, tell me a story...

2005-05-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

Of when you were a little girl.

Once upon a time, when mama was a little girl, she and her friends and her two big brothers (that's your co-co ty and co-co teej) used to play in the woods across the street from her house. These woods were not just any woods, they were magical woods. Once you stepped onto that mossy floor, brushed against the tree feathers and looked at the mottled world around you, you realized you could be anyone, be anywhere here in these woods.
Mama and her friends oftentimes became princesses. We surrounded ourselves in our castles of brown bark and green needles, climbed up the skinny tree branch towers to look down on our kingdom below. The banana seats of our bikes became the sleek hide of horses, or the bouncy seat of a fancy carriage carrying us off to our parties and balls.
Othertimes we became young destitutes. Peasants who set up house in these trees. With pine branches for brooms and hollowed stumps for pots we'd clear our dirt floors and set our stews simmering then play with our babies, always clutched tightly in arm.
And the boys, they became hunters and warriors and biologists in those woods. They'd dig holes wide enough and deep enough for any tiger who might happen to live in those woods, then cleverly lay branches and leaves over the large pit as to deceive those tigers (or little sisters) from knowing what doom lie before them. They'd collect many varieties of bugs and reptiles and study them under magnifying glasses on the driveway, in the sun. They'd chase each other on their bikes, bravely tumbling over branches, jumping over pits and racing down hills.The woods truly were a magical place.
Then, one day, while mama was at school, a group of construction men came to the woods. And in those few hours that mama spent that day cooped up in an old, musty room, trying to remember what was 3x6, and hiding the tears that would not stay put while Charlotte told Wilbur that she was not going to stay with him forever, the bulldozers, wheel loaders and dump trucks demolished, destroyed and leveled our magical world. As my brothers and I walked home from the school bus stop, we paused with mouths agape looking at the huge void that used to be our playground, our secret, magical escape from reality. Our childhood. The ground loomed ahead of us. We could see the backyards of the houses that were built on the opposite side of our neighborhood. In between us and them was no longer the green buffer, but a huge gaping wound, littered with bits of leaves and ferns and branches and bark.
Mama ran inside her house and sobbed out for her mama. Mema came and held her tight, knowing without speaking how her heart must hurt.
As the days passed and new construction went underway for our demolished play area, we began some construction of our own. Papa, co-co Ty and co-co Teej gathered together some boards, some nails, some screws and some hammers and started building a treehouse in our backyard. High up with three tall trees as supports, the boys went to work connecting board to tree, to more boards, until a triangular home began to form.

Who's WHO?

2005-05-21T20:31:00.000-07:00

"One and a half million babies die every year because they are not breastfed. Millions more become ill. What makes a woman believe she cannot breastfeed her baby, is the undermining of her confidence, by formula advertising." -UNICEF
In 1981, concerned for the millions of babies that die due to disease caused by the microbes that grow in unrefridgerated bottles of formula, or unsafe water that is mixed with formula, and due to the lack of natural immunities and perfect nutrition found in breastmilk, The World Health Organization and UNICEF got together and came up with The International Code of Marketing Breast-Milk Substitutes.
If you read through this document, you will see it is a well-researched, ethically sound, health promoting Code. A breastfeeding mother is a healthier mother. A breastfeeding baby is a healthier baby. A mother's body detects any disease or illness in it's environment, and in turn produces the appropriate antibodies for those diseases in the milk it makes. Breastmilk is the perfect food for human babies. It is free, it is easy, it is convenient. It keeps a baby's tummy and heart soothed, and boosts mom's mothering ability.
So, who is THIS man? What is the point to his article?

*"Promoters of breast-feeding managed to smear the use of healthy formula to nourish babies and discourage marketing of bottle-feeding products."

...Even if the water was clean at the well head, an hour later, mixed with powdered Nestle Nan or other marketed madness, it has microbes that will cause bloody diarrhea, marasmus, fever and death to two babies every minute. Where water is unsafe, a bottle-fed baby is 25 times more likely to die of diarrhea than a breastfed child.

*"The immediate objective of the resolution is to force infant-formula packages to carry warning labels akin to those on cigarettes or liquor. The ultimate goal is to scare mothers into abandoning bottle-feeding."

If every baby were exclusively breastfed from birth for six months, an estimated 1.3 million additional lives would be saved and millions more enhanced every year. Breastfeeding also eliminates the expense of infant formula or other substitutes and the incalculable emotional and economic cost of illness and death resulting from problems associated with artificial feeding. In many countries, feeding a child on breastmilk substitutes can cost more than the average income of a family. Breastfeeding can also help families with birth spacing by delaying the resumption of fertility after childbirth.

*"But many women lack the time or, in some cases, the health to feed their babies from their own breasts. For them, infant formula is an excellent substitute."

Here are some of the innovative strategies developed to implement the Code:In Iran, the Government has taken control of the import and sale of breastmilk substitutes. Formula is available only by prescription, and the tins must carry a generic label - no brand names, pictures or promotional messages are allowed.

*"For example, if a woman wants to pursue an active career outside the home, breast-feeding is often impractical. Infant formula provides the freedom that many women want, and deserve. Trying to make formula anathema is to thrust such women back to the Dark Ages.This question of choice for women is especially compelling in developing nations, where economies are beginning to draw females, as well as males, into the work force in key positions."

This is particularly important today, as women workers face ever worsening conditions of work. Given the current process of economic globalization, conditions of paid work are becoming more uncertain and precarious. As a result many women are working more for less. Breastfeeding is a right of mothers and is a fundamental component in assuring a child's right to food, health and care. Governments and civil society should pursue full implementation of these as human rights.

*"There's a correlation between high rates of infant-formula use and low rates of infant mortality. The reason is not that infant formula is better than breast milk, but that, as a country develops, infant health and nutrition improve, and the use of formula, at the same time, increases."

Many mothers do not exclusively breastfeed for the first six months of the baby’s life, nor continue breastfeeding for the recommended two years or more, instead replacing breastmilk with commercial or other substitutes. Formula feeding is an expensive and carries risks of additional illness and death, particularly where the levels of infectious disease are high and where preparation and storage of these substiutes is not carried out properly. Many studies indicate that a non-breastfed child living in disease-ridden and unhygienic conditions is between six and 25 times more likely to die of diarrhoea and four times more likely to die of pneumonia than breastfed infants. A recent study of postneonatal mortality in the United States found a 25% increase in mortality when infant were not breastfed.

*"This means that Africans should be able to choose, and not to be scared or shamed into breast-feeding. Radicals and their supporters at the WHO, however, want to keep African women, in effect, barefoot, denying them the choice, as they modernize, of a healthy, convenient product."

Exclusive breastfeeding for six months is crucial for the health of mothers and infants everywhere, not just among those who do not have access to clean water and cannot afford artificial breastmilk substitutes. But we also know that everywhere women are entering the work force in greater numbers and need special support to be able to breastfeed exclusively.Much of women's work is informal, poorly paid, or unpaid, unrecognized, and unprotected by labour legislation. Women usually take responsibility for unpaid household work and the nurturing work of child rearing. Thus, work includes income-generating activities in the recognized labour market and in the informal sector, as well as unpaid, unrecognized household and volunteer work. Only women have the capacity to breastfeed. But the integration of breastfeeding with other kinds of work requires new policies and actions to protect the rights of women, including the right to breastfeed.

My conclusion? What an IDIOT!!! Where did this guy come up with these "facts"? These "ideas"? The issue here is he's a big-business supporter and feels it's unfair for so many people to be boycotting Nestle. Nestle is the biggest violator of The Code, giving hospitals free samples in China, South Africa, Thailand and Hungary. It runs direct-mail promotions in Australia.Selling African women formula for their babies will improve neither the health nor the economy of Africa. Supporting the working woman's right to breastfeed, improving working conditions and protecting them under labour legislation would do a whole lot more good than taking their money and their children's health in return for a tin of milk-substitute.
Sorry this is not put together as well as I would have liked. I'm typing one-handed as I nurse my baby.
* the paragraphs in bold are quotes from Mr. Glassman's article
* the paragraphs in italics come from "The Code".

Death to Superwoman

2005-03-23T12:05:00.000-08:00

I used to think it was admirable to do everything, be everything and not need any help. I was raised in a house hold that taught independence from four weeks of age with sleeping through the night, gradually adding more time away from mom. You don’t need to ask for help, you can do it yourself seemed to be the motto that was ingrained within. I grew up believing that if I only studied harder, worked harder, I could truly be all that I wanted to be. And so, I did.
But all of that fell apart with the birth of my third child. My soul was weary, my spirit was weak. I had been parenting alone for six months, packed and moved across the county by myself and had had two weeks to unpack and try to settle in before the birth of my daughter. I was exhausted. I couldn’t do it by myself anymore. My dear husband, just starting a new job could not take any time off of work. He would hurry home as soon as he could, make us dinner and take the boys for a bike ride if there was time. But my strength had given out. I was being enveloped in the darkness of PPD. All alone without family or friends, I desperately needed that which I had been taught was not necessary – help.
I was running on empty, unable to give anything of myself, even to myself. I no longer could face the daily challenges of parenthood, or even the simple challenges of life. I wanted to give up. I wanted to go away. I desperately wanted someone to just come and rescue me, to make everything better. My dark mind was muddled with shadowy thoughts, that built up over days until they became a wall of thick, dense despair, blocking my view of what life used to be.
Why is PPD so prevalent in our society? It seems that every time I turn around I find out about another mama struggling through this dark valley. Has PPD always been this abundant? Is it this common all over the world? I don’t know those answers, but I’d love to find out. I’d love to have the resources to delve into the history of this depression that steals away the joy of new parenthood.
Though I don’t know the history, nor it’s effects in the rest of the world, I do have some theories. I believe that PPD is a fairly recent condition. If it has occurred throughout history, I am sure it was the rare and unfortunate woman who had to face this problem.
We are tribal people by nature, whether we want to believe it or not. We were not meant to be alone, separated from family and friends. Throughout the Bible, when a woman married a man, she went and lived, not just with her husband, but with his family as well. This is how it has been since the beginning of time, and how it still happens in many parts of the world today. In these communities, a mother is never alone, without help. There is always others around to help with the cooking, cleaning and child care. It is only in the recent “independence” era that we have become separated from each other, moving away from family, and dwelling in seclusion. I believe that this has played a key part in the rise in post partum depression.
Today, women are encouraged to get right back into the swing of things once their baby is born. There is even a popular parenting philosophy that exclaims that a baby should not disrupt a parents; lifestyle! What greater change can occur to a woman than becoming a mother!! Your life is changed forever. You can never go back to the way life was before this little miracle was born. What a drastic difference in today’s mothers from mothers of years’ past. Long ago, after a baby was born, mom and baby stayed in bed for 30+ days while others took over her responsibilities. The other women of the community fed the mother and looked after her needs so that all mom needed to worry about was resting, healing and establishing a nursing relationship with her baby. This was crucial. If baby was out and exposed to disease, there was a high probability of death. If breastfeeding wasn’t well established, baby would not thrive. Jewish law forbid a man to touch a woman who was bleeding, as she was unclean. So, throughout the postpartum bleeding phase, mom was left alone with the help of other women. God knew what was right for us. Not only for our physical health, but for our emotional health. When a new baby comes into our lives, it takes a while before we are able to have anything to give to our husbands. We are giving so much of ourselves to our helpless, dependant child that we do not have much left over for anyone else. Just thinking about cooking and cleaning is exhausting! We were made this way. Our babies need us during this “babymoon” period, and we need to meet their needs.
Women, don’t succumb to the societal pressures to be more than we were meant to be!! If you are a mother, than be fully a mother!! Take time to rest in your new little treasure. ASK FOR HELP. SEEK OUT SUPPORT. You need your tribe to take care of you. A husband is not enough. You cannot expect him to meet all of your needs. You need more.
Goodbye super woman. I now know that you were meant for comic books and imaginary worlds. You are not real, you are not truly attainable. The true superwoman is the one who knows her weaknesses and her strengths. Who knows how much she can give, and then ask for help before her well had dried up.
So now when I see a lady out with a tiny newborn baby, I no longer look at her with admiration, but with pity and empathy for the pressure we all receive to be everything, do everything.

Puddles for me

2005-03-17T22:01:00.000-08:00

Grab a cup! Grab a pot! This puddle's all for me!
Raindrops falling, bare feet splashing, I'm wet as I can be.
See me, mama? Do you wanna play so happily?
Scoop it, pour it, but don't spill it! a puddle just for me.

The Old Man is Snoring

2005-03-17T21:38:00.000-08:00

Should we blow up the raft? Get out the paddles? Flip flops are lost in the depth of these puddles.

Who swept up all the rainclouds and left the dustpile sitting on top of Florida? I can no longer brag about the beauty of our weather while friends and family across the U.S. suffer through the winter. No beach excursions, no trips to Busch Gardens, only drip, drip, gush!
But I do love the sound of rain.
Rainsong is my lullaby. The song that shushed me to sleep as I lay sleepless in my crib, my bed, my college dorm room. It's the sound of home. The sound of wet, brown leaves falling to the ground in autumn. It's the background music on Christmas morning, as we rush to take hold of our stockings. It's the sound of mud forming to support the new spring flowers.

Looks like it should smell...

2005-03-15T21:43:00.000-08:00

I love this blog. Not necessarily the writing within, but the look of it. It looks like it should smell of rich leather and sweet book binding glue. It reminds me of my father's office with his rows of Shakespeare and Chaucer. Only neater. My dad tends to organize by piles rather than files.
My dad, so sweet and gentle, but with the power of a protective bear. Brown eyes, cleft chin, dimples, lazy eye when smiling. Jonah inherited his large round head, Drew his deep brown eyes, and Ella his cleft chin. I pray they will each develop some of his wisdom and strength as they grow into themselves. The boldness to stand for what is right, the humility of seeking forgiveness when having wronged someone. His love for literature, his deep philosophyzing, these gifts he's handed to me, will my children dig down to find in their pockets as well? Will they know the joy of opening a book that was written 300, 400 years before their lives? Will they aspire to understand the hidden meaning to "louse"? I hope so.

I've lost it

2005-03-14T09:52:00.000-08:00

I lost my ability to write. This is one of the main reasons I've been wanting to start a blog. To work more at my writing. I have a writing nature in me. The ability to paint a picture with words, to captivate an audience. Well, at least I did, once upon a time. My dad was an English teacher (MY english teacher, in fact!) and used to write some pretty amazing stuff. I wrote some great stuff in high school, even winning essay and creative writing contests. Then came college. Term papers, research papers, word limits, becoming an editor for the newspaper. Things changed. No longer was I focusing on painting a pretty picture, alliteration, or iambic pentameter. I now was focused on getting to the point. Beginning, middle, end with conclusion. That's it. Say what you need to say, no more, no less. That's what I've become. And with mommy-brain, I say even less, because I can't think of what I even want to say!! So, I'm here. I want to work on my writing. I want to tell of my day, not just of the simple facts, but of the beauties of my days. I want to see the wonder in my children. See things from their view. I want to look at the day and not just see the long list of "to do's", but see the endless possibilities of a cardboard box and a sheet.