Big Feeling Day

We had a Big Feeling Day at our house this week.

 

By "Big Feelings" I don't mean:

 

I GOT A PONY FOR MY BIRTHDAY!

 

Nor do I mean Big Feelings like:

 

MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE FROM AWESOMENESS!

 

I'm talking about the Other Big Feelings. Feelings about losing the game. Feelings about my sticker ripped. Feelings about where my sister sits when we're reading books together. Feelings about my balloon popped. Feelings about whose fault it is that my balloon popped. Feelings about I want a snack and mama said 'no more cookies.'

 

The Big Feelings were loud.  They were sometimes accompanied by thrashing, falling, or kicking.  They were also Long Feelings accompanied by lengthy whining.

 

Ironically, I had set aside to give more focused attention to my kids.  I wasn't trying to cook.  I wasn't studying.  I wasn't cleaning.  I was reading books and saying "yes" to playing games and looking for the lego pieces and all the other things that should prevent Big Feelings.

 

And yet...

 We felt like this:

And something like this:

 

By the end of the day, I was having some Big Feelings of my own.  Fortunately, I have not completely taught my boys to read the clock, so bedtime came mysteriously quickly.  Everyone slept long and hard and woke up with much smaller feelings.  Feelings like "I'm hungry for breakfast" and "how many days til Friday?" and " when can we play at my friend's house?" Everyday kind of feelings are my favorite kind.



Parenting Dilemna: Part 1

Hello blog friends! I'm hoping to return to "mommy blogging" in this season when I have been gifted with more time with the kiddos.  To warm myself up as I get back into blogging, I thought I'd start a series on "Parenting Dilemmas."  Nothing serious this time, no disciple or character formation questions, but something much more straightforward. 


Hands and feet.  My son Titus, for whatever reason, has fingernails that for some reason attract dirt.  They attract dirt and hold onto it.  For some reason, normal handwashing does not even come close to eradicating this layer of blackness under his nails.  On a normal day, it may look like he has not washed his hands in a week, judging from his fingernails.  He does not dig in the dirt anymore than my other children, and I keep his nails just as well trimmed, but for some reason he carries black sludge along with him. 

Solution: frequent baths.  I have never been one to give daily baths; I just don't have it in me by the end of the day.  But a semi-weekly soak in the tub usually eradicates the fingernail grime. 

Enter Indian baths.  These days our "baths" are standing near the faucet of water and letting mama scrub down with soap and rinse.  There is no playing and no soaking.  While this has been much more efficient and not unpleasant, it has eliminated my nail-cleaning solution.  Now that even swimming season has ended, all three of my children are sporting a nice black layer on toes and feet. 

I'm asking for your advice: how do you battle your kids' nail-sludge? Do you get them to wash dishes as a sneaky way at this?  Do you have a water play station for them?  Do you have a nail brush and hold them down while they kick and scream?  Do you paint their fingernails to cover it up (just kidding, I wasn't planning to do this...).

Thanks in advance, and may your day be full of sludge-free kiddos.

small world.

The other day I was looking at a piece of cross stitch I completed almost 13 years ago now.  It is about 2 feet by 3 feet, a very small pattern, and every millimeter of it is covered with stitches.  The picture is the close up of two wolves that I had completed for Matt on the occasion of our wedding.

I wondered, who was the person who made that? Who took the time to sew each of those teeny stitches?  Who had two free hands, adequate hours, good lighting and un-bumped elbows, focus to read and follow the pattern for each of those thousand of stitches?  Who had the where-with-all to make sure each stitch went in the same direction for uniformity? Who had the patience for that?

Who was she?  Have I met her?

She is so different from the person I know myself to be today.

Today the person I know has gone from a meticulously focused detail-oriented organizational fiend to a multi-tasker moving at the speed of light, and dropping alot of balls in the process (to mix a whole bunch of metaphors!). 

On unanswered prayer and grumbling

Here's another post I wrote awhile ago and never felt quite ready to post.  A couple of conversations about this recently brought it to mind.  I'm taking a step of faith and posting this during a season where the grumbling seems to be winning over the contentment and I need to remember. Remember.

Last spring, God came through for us in a big way.  He answered a big prayer of the previous six months, even longer.  A prayer that was starting to feel overlooked, unheard... But that’s a story for another post, one where I get to testify of God’s goodness to us.  However, today I want to talk about “unanswered” prayers.  

Here’s the context: The prayer God answered last spring was in the form of a job for me.  We so clearly saw God’s hand in it, His loving, caring, perfect provision, that I was humbled out of grumbling. How dare I grumble at how good God has been to me?...  In awe of his daddy care for us.

And then someone told me that they were praying that I wouldn’t have to work.  The person who told me that is a prayer warrior and someone who loves us immensely (my mom!).  Another dear friend and sister in prayer happened to mention that she was praying for the same thing: that I would be able to stay home with my children and care for my home.  I did not ask anyone to pray for these things.  I didn’t dare pray them for myself after seeing how God had provided.  Did I dare pray that He would take away what He had so generously provided?  It seemed so ungrateful.  What to do?  

This fall Matt and I re-evaluated our situation.  How was is going for him to be home most of the time and for me to be working full-time?  How was it impacting each of us? Our children? Our home? Our progress on other goals?  It seemed to be working, but sometimes felt a bit less than ideal.  We tentatively began to pray that God would provide the right job for Matt.  Someone (hi Rachel!) asked us how they could pray for us, and we included this on the list, stated ever so gingerly, “if it’s God’s will,” of course.

This whispered prayer, as of today, remains unanswered.  We haven’t gone looking for ways for God to answer it, instead trusting that if He desires to change our current situation, He will.

On the other hand, I see God answering this prayer daily.  He answers it most days by providing daily contentment in our current situation.  He answers it by giving me a husband who has risen to the challenge of his current role (potty training! time outs! teaching a baby how to sleep in her bed! mastering the grocery shopping with three kids in tow! making me feel welcome, loved, and cared for when I return home from work! making sure I have time to spend with our children!).  He answers it by giving us a baby who doesn’t fight a bottle from daddy most days and sons who look forward joyfully to “daddy days.” He answers it by providing me with meaningful, stimulating work and joy in doing it well.  He even blesses above and beyond with a flexible schedule that allows for me to be home one weekday each week.

And yet... there are days when I still grumble, when I think that things could be better if God answered it “my way.” The days when I wonder if the prayer is unanswered.  Surely the Sovereign God could provide a job that would use my husband’s gifts for His Kingdom, that would allow Matt to work outside the home.  Certainly He could arrange a situation where we could pay the bills and I could stay home and bake bread and clean the bathroom and read books with my children to my heart’s content.  

Maybe the answer is “not yet.”  Maybe this is part of the way he is growing my desire to build a home in India, where my role will be more at home.  Maybe he has more  for each of us to learn in these roles. Maybe he has more ways to use us in this season.

And so I continue to speculate about what God is doing behind the scenes; I celebrate the days when I see the good work he is doing; and I and pray for grace on the days when I want to grumble.  

Suffer well?

The bag I carry feels a little heavier every day, as if someone is adding a few papers every day to my trusty messenger bag that I cart to and from work. Almost imperceptible, but over time, I wonder why my steps seem to come a millisecond slower and slower. It’s the shorter days of sunlight, the longer days of work, the apparent ineffectiveness of my efforts, the worry if I am doing The Right Thing with my sons. It’s the compulsion to feed my family better, to keep the house cleaner, to find more resources where they don’t exist for the women I help, to make more phone calls, to pray more, to spend less money, to spend money on things we need (new socks for 4 year old boys!), to finish that overdue library book, to be more thankful, to worry less and trust more, to go to the gym, to……. It’s the grief at a friend’s new grief on top of multiple recent grief’s, the weight of decisions made and decisions that need to be made, the anticipated goodbyes and hellos. 

This morning in my Facebook feed, I caught a brief glance at a book titled “Don’t Waste Your Pain.” I know nothing about the book, for good or ill, but it reminded me of an essay written by a Westminster Professor a few years ago entitled “Don’t Waste Your Cancer.” The essay was moving, inspiring, and memorable; the writer has since lost the battle to cancer and won the spiritual battle. However, as those words, that idea, flickered onto the screen and my memory this morning, I felt myself recoil. “What,” my brain screamed, “on top of everything else, I have to suffer The Right Way too?” For a “doer” like me, this sounds like another task, another assignment. 

I must now add “Suffer The Right Way” to my to-do list.

Here’s what I know: when items like Pray more, Call a friend, Suffer correctly, Parent “better” show up on my to-do list as chores, I have lost my way…my focus is misplaced. In these things I need to DO less and rest more. 

Rest on my Jesus who has done everything that needs to be “done.” “It is finished,” He said.

Believe in his promise that He will complete whatever remains. “He who started the good work in you will be faithful to complete it.”

Turn away from the to-do list and look into his face. “Turn your eyes upon Jesus, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.”
 
Start less sentences with “I need to…”

Call me

 

 

Call me.

With the noise

The baby crying

The argument over putting on his socks

The Bat Cave falling over

“But I can’t find LIGHTENING MCQUEEN”

The fries are burning

“It’s too cold!”

You’re late getting out the door and you’re frazzled

Someone fell asleep on the couch just as it’s time to go

“Did you have an accident?”

Someone yelling

Where’s the milk?

Mamaaaamaamama…

I want to hear all of it 

I cannot do anything from here

I cannot put on socks or clean up the puddle or soothe the crying baby

I cannot even talk to you. I know you can't talk now.

But let me bear silent witness to the mess, to the glorious mess of this family, our family, our lives.

Allow me to bear witness to your struggle and your triumph. 

Call me.

Free Fall!

Some days as a parent I feel like I'm in free fall.
Propelled forward at a great rate of speed,
the weight I'm carrying speeding the momentum of the fall,
and nothing with which to catch myself.
Where and how will we all land?

The other day I glimpsed another parents' ordinary, extra-ordinary moment of free fall.  Walking down a busy sidewalk in Center City on New Years Eve, a couple each carrying a child.  Dad was carrying an older toddler or preschooler, maybe 4 or 5 years old.  As I have some experience with this, I know that your range of vision is limited when you are carrying a heavy child in front of you with both arms... specifically, you can't see where you're stepping.  Dad was in such a predicament, and he missed the curb of the sidewalk.

Free fall.

From where I was standing, I saw dad and child coming straight down, like a tree cut in the forest, no bending, no wavering.  The trajectory showed that the back of the child's head was going to be the first thing in direct contact with the sidewalk. I gasped, and things seemed to go into slow-motion.

Here's what I saw:

Dad never let go.   

Human instinct causes us to put out our hands to catch ourselves when we're falling.  Dad did not put out his hands.  His instinct to hold onto his son was stronger than the instinct for self-preservation.

Dad threw himself in the path of danger.  

Even though I saw it as if in slow-motion, I can't tell you how he did it.  But dad somehow twisted and nearly somersaulted his body in such a way that his son never even touched the sidewalk.  It was as if dad curled around, threw his own body -- his head and shoulder -- at the sidewalk to take the direct impact.  He threw his own head toward the sidewalk.

I have a few free fall situations of my own.  Not sure where the impact will be or where we'll land.  Feeling like I have nothing to grab on to.

Maybe the reason I have nothing to grab onto is because I am holding so tight to something that's important to me.  Am I holding onto my child, not willing to let go in order to brace myself?  Am I holding onto my God, not willing to grasp at some passing theory or assurance?
 
It's time for me to throw myself at the hard parts.  When my son is frustrated because learning a new skill is hard: feel that with him instead of feeling frustrated at him.  The uncertainty of a new approach with feeding: trust my instincts instead following the books out of fear.  The days when I feel like I.Can.Not.Do.Every.Thing: throw myself at what I know is most important (my walk with God, my family relationships), and let the rest "fall" into place.

This is not a resolve to "try harder" and "do better;" I know from experience that this is doomed to fail.  It is throwing myself on the mercy of God, who will always provide a softer landing than a Center City sidewalk:

For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways;

they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

Ps 91:11-12

You Sing Over Me

This morning, my son Micah woke up early and curled into my arms as I was getting ready to leave for the day.  His little race car pajamas were still warm from the covers and he was sparkling with delight at being the only one downstairs with me.  I wrapped his little self in my arms and sang him a song.  It went something like this:

You are my Micah.

And I love you.

You are strong, you are wild, you can dance like a star.

You’re my beloved child, and so wonderful you are.

You are my Micah.

And I love you.

I see God’s love in you, you are kind, strong and true.

You are sweet, thoughtful too, and I love the things you do.

You are my Micah.

And I love you.

You can put on your shoes, you can buckle in the car.

You run fast, jump high, I love everything you are.

You are my Micah.

And I love you.

It went on like this for awhile… a random listing of all the things I love about him, all the things he can do, the ways I see God at work in him.  It was pretty tuneless and most often didn’t rhyme or have a good cadence. But it always came back to “My Micah, and I love you.”

My Micah, he absorbed this song like a flower opening to the spring sun… brightness and joy just shone out. Snuggled though he was, I felt him GROW as I held him.  He was being fed by love.  He basked in it.

Have you heard the song that is sung over you?  A song written in words and deeds by one whose love is never changing, never failing, perfect, and abundant.  A song that never ends.

It sounds something like this:

I made you in a secret place; I made you very, very good.

I chose you before I created the world to be mine.

You are my beloved child. 

I watch you at all times; I see you in the dark and in the light; 

you cannot go so far that I cannot see you. 

My angels guard your steps.

I love you so much that I showed the greatest love: laying down my life for you.

I want you to be with me forever.

Nothing, not height or depth or anything in creation can separate you from my love.

See what great love I have for you: I call you my child!
I have great plans for you!  

I am preparing a perfect home for you where we can be together forever. 

I am the Mighty Warrior, with you.  I delight in you. 

 I rejoice over you with singing.

Saying good-bye

Today I find myself saying good-bye.  Grieving the loss of something very good in exchange for something better.  I’m not sad, but I’m aware of the exchange that is about to happen.  Change, even the best changes, require a letting go of something else. 

The change I anticipate is going from a family of four to a family of five.  Five!  I’m so excited to welcome this little girl.  I can’t wait to meet her and for her to meet her daddy.  I get giddy at the thought of introducing her to her brothers.   I’m eager to watch the love and the bonds grow between Daddy and Daughter, between Titus and Sister, between Micah and Baby.  And of course my own falling-in-love-all-over-again experience with her. 

But for today I need to remember and enjoy what it’s like to be a family of four.  To read books with Titus and Micah this evening and realize that the moments of snuggling with one arm for each are numbered.  To load everyone up in the car and realize that one parent for one child is about to end.  To sneak in to kiss sleeping boys and go to my quiet room to sleep all night (sort of maybe) and know that the all night will soon become a series of very broken nights.  To savor the sweetness in my relationship with each of my sons, and to know that it will grow, but change, as a new person joins our family.

I can’t wait to meet her.  But today I’m saying good-bye to our life as it has been.  It has been amazing. 

Bedtime whisperings

The last of the last of the last of the bedtime routine has morphed into some kind of competition over who says “I love you” last.  This has led to hysterical crying on more than one occasion.  Since I do not understand the rules of the competition and how to help everyone “win” at this, I try to change the game.  We’ve been ending the day differently, and often it leads to some quiet talking with each boy as they settle down for the night.  How I love to hear their thoughts as they begin to unpack all the experiences they’ve had in the day!

Last night Titus was apparently thinking about the up-coming trip to Florida for a friend’s wedding.  He asked me about the airplane: “Will Daddy ride on the airplane?”  “Yes, Daddy will ride on the airplane.”  “Will Mama ride on the airplane?” “Yes, Titus, I’ll be on the airplane.”  “Will Micah be on the airplane?” “Yes, Micah too.”  “Will I be on the airplane?” “Yes, you too, Titus.”  “All of the family?” “Yes, all of the family, Titus.”  I am so proud of my son for seeking answers to questions that are clearly causing him anxiety.  He’s asked me about this several times, and each time seems relieved to know that we will ALL be there.

For Micah, last night’s pondering were less clear to me.  “Mama,” he said, “I’m not going to bring any toys to the meeting.”  “Okay, Micah…”  what meeting?  Early this morning he announced that he needed to go tell Titus that he is not going to bring any toys to the meeting.  I'm wondering if Titus understood that more than I did!

You have your hands full!

“You have your hands full.” 

I’ve heard this often in the last three years.  I’ve even said it to other mothers.  It’s not an untrue statement.  Many days, my hands are literally FULL.  I’ve often joked that at least with twins I have one hand for each.  

But this statement often sounds like this:  “SIGH… You have your hands (too) full.”

Recently someone said this to me at least three times in the course of a Sunday morning.  Then she said, “And you have another one coming! (sigh!)”  (how terrible!)  “I guess you’re done after this!”

OUCH.  This stung. 

As if children are a burden.  A season of life to be endured.  Infancy a series of sleepless nights and diaper changes. The toddler years a blur of time-outs and temper tantrums.  School days a gauntlet of homework and social upheaval.  The teenage years a battle of wills and hormonal terrors.  And every additional child simply a prolonging and repetition of these seasons.

May it not be. 

Yes, there are hard days in our home.  We’ve been tired and we’ve snapped at each other and we’ve cried and we cleaned up poop and we’ve wondered when bedtime would come.  We’ve had long nights and longer days.  We’ve “just wanted a break.” 

And then we’re right back in there.  With joyful spinning around the room (“Daddy, the house is tilting”) and new books from the library to delight over, and recitation of favorite Bible verses, and hugs and I-Love-You’s freely given and received.  With prayers over ouchies and forgiveness for hurt feelings and learning new words ("turnstile," "dromedary").  With sunshine on blond heads and digging in the dirt for bugs and painting pictures of dinosaurs and rocketships.  With uncontrollable laughter and smiles that can change the whole day.  

And I can’t wait to open my full hands to another, who will undoubtedly leave my hands more than full (I don’t have three hands).  And will leave my heart overflowing. 

In the still of the night

The middle of the night and early morning have become welcome quiet spaces for me recently.  Somehow I'm learning to relish the 4am wake-up calls from a certain little boy and the pregnancy insomnia that makes me alert at odd hours of the night.  When else do I feel so free from responsibilities and able to read, to pray, to let my mind wander? 

This evening I had some lovely quiet time with my boys, as I helped to ease them into sleep in a place away from home.  They were giddy with the fun of sleeping at Papa and Nana's house and excited about waking up to Daddy coming home tomorrow.  As they went from bouncing to wriggling to fidgeting to stillness, I had a chance to reflect and simply soak up the moment.

It is a good place to be.  Sandwiched on one side by twenty-three days that I faced with anxiety, long days without a parenting partner, broken phone conversations, devotions and verses said without Daddy's help.  Sandwiched on the other side by exhaustion and re-entry to "normal" life, hard conversations about the future, decisions about jobs and budgets and child care. 

But tonight... tonight is good.  I can soak in this moment with my sons and look forward to waking to my husband's return in the morning.   Best of all, I trust in the God who carried us through these twenty-three days, gifted me with this moment of peace and joy, and will walk with us through whatever the coming days hold. 

The only thing that counts

I like to DO something.  I want to be active, engaged, fixing rather than fretting, using my hands, using my words.  So when I read Galatians 5:6b, I focus on the "doing" part.  Here's what it says:

The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.

I immediately zoom in on the "expressing" part... that's the part that calls for action.  That's what counts, where it's at... the active expression of love. 

However, a closer look reveals that the phrase "expressing itself through love" is a description linked to the main object of the sentence: faith.  The only thing that counts is faith.

My faith is in God and in His son Jesus.  This faith means that I accept every aspect of His character.  Such as:

God is love. 1 Jn 4:16 

God is truth.  Jn 14:6 

God is holy.  Lev 11:44

I cannot have faith in a God who loves me and live as if my life is insignificant.  This denies the God who calls me His beloved. 

I cannot have faith in a God of truth and think that His promises do not apply to me.  This denies the God who has given me "these very great and precious promises." 2 Pet 1:4

I cannot have faith in a God of holiness and believe that He will "understand" my weakness if I harden my heart to His call.  This denies the need for Jesus' death as a way to bring me back to God.

I could go on.  Faith is not a mental mind-game, a "yes, I believe in God."  It overtakes every aspect of my life, every thought, every decision, every action.  

Everything that does not come from faith is sin.

Rom 14:23b

Whatever thoughts I think, decisions I make, actions I take, if they are not rooted and grounded in true faith in a God of love, truth, and holiness, they are sinful.  They cannot stand.  They will not stand. 

 

I join the father in Mark 9:24, pleading:

I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!

 

Tuesday's awards

Sweetest: Titus bringing Micah's new toy truck to him upstairs.  "I found this for you Micah."

Funniest: Titus and Micah playing hockey together, and saying "fight, fight."  Then they wanted to put gloves on "because hockey guys wear gloves" and presumably because they take them off to fight.  (I'm not sure this is actually funny, but I know that Daddy will think it is!)

Most precious: Prayer time, Micah: "and help us to sleep well and help us to not do bad things."  Titus: "and thank you for our lunch and our family..."


Most refreshing: A visit from a friend who I don't get to see often, seeing Micah and Titus laugh and laugh with her.

Three Ways to Change the Day

Some days just need a change in them, you know?  Nothing terrible has happened, but the time is dragging or you feel irritable or children are restless.  Here's three simple things that I find helpful for us.

1. Music!
I enjoy quiet too much to play music all day, so sometimes I forget to turn it on at all.  However, if I am feeling sluggish or I have a cleaning task, there's nothing like some upbeat music to energize me.  If my mind is taking all the wrong turns, I need to turn on some praise or scripture music to get back on track.

For my children, there is something hypnotic about Veggie Tales music... no joke!  They will play more independently and contentedly without me if Veggie Tales are setting the soundtrack.  We also have music that they love to dance to (Sandra Boynton and some of the Slugs and Bugs).  Recently, they have been absolutely captivated by a library CD, Jazz for Babies.  The several times I've played it, they've sat and listened, not doing anything else other than getting out toy instruments to join in and asking "what song comes next?"  Wow. 

2. Friends
Sometimes you just need a fresh face to change the tone of a day.  I can't count how many days have been rescued by a visit from a friend.  Seeing someone else's perspective, hearing their stories, playing games their way... these all help to get us out of our ruts.  This strategy is harder for me to implement spontaneously, but I try to schedule it in often enough that it comes on those days when we really need it. 

3. Prayer
You know those days when everything seems to go wrong?  By 8am, you've already given a succession of time-outs, or the afternoon has been filled with tears instead of smiles?  Those are moments we take to Jesus.  We bring our tear-stained cheeks, our rebellious hearts, our weary bodies and we ask for grace and help, for joy, and for peace in our home.  I LOVE LOVE to be able to talk to my children an hour later or at bedtime and remind them what we prayed for and show them how kindly and clearly God answered our prayer.  This happens all the time!  

What strategies do you use when you need a change in your day?

Happiness?

I made some choices today that resulted in many tears and great unhappiness. 

As I reflected midday at the causes of the tears, I thought tonight's post was going to be about instincts.  About how I failed to follow my maternal instincts and thus to prevent tears where they could have been avoided.

As I thought more, I decided the post needed to be about insecurities.  About my inclination to compare my sons to the other children at church, to wonder what I am doing wrong that they still suffer such distress when left in the nursery.  To think that I am failing because I am unable to keep them quietly entertained during church.

But I'm coming at this from another angle.  Tonight it's about happiness.

Let me back up a week and remember a conversation I had with a dear family friend.  She brought gifts for the boys, and they both latched onto a certain scooter toy that was given to one of them; it resulted in a great deal of fighting and unhappiness.  She was upset that she had not given them the same items and so prevented this unhappiness.  I stood by my position that it is good for them to learn to share and that they do not need to have two of each toy.  I told her, "My first priority is not their happiness." 

I needed to remind myself of that today.  

Scene one: the church nursery.  Titus is upset that I am leaving.  There are loving and capable care-takers, and one in particular who has connected well with Titus in the past.  He tells me, "Go, we've got this."  I leave Titus crying.  I have a nagging suspicion that this is an unhappiness from which he will not be easily distracted.  However, I choose to place a priority on hearing the word of God applied to my life.  True to my suspicions, I learn later that Titus did cry for a very long time and much worse than I had anticipated.  I feel heartbroken.  He is calm when I pick him up, but looks worn, as we all feel after a long, hard cry.  I worry that my selfishness sacrificed his happiness.

Scene two: the car.  I offer to take a friend home after church, and also offer to make a quick stop she needs before heading home.  I realize that the delay of this stop combined with the length of time it takes to get to her home and back will inevitably result in the boys falling asleep in the car.  This means they won't nap at home later, which will leave them more worn and me without an afternoon respite.  I choose to do it anyway.  They do, in fact, sleep in the car, and are crying and screaming as I attempt to stumble-walk them from the car to the house.  They flop onto the floor but are too hungry to be eased back into napping.  Much crying occurs over the dinner table.  This is unhappiness that I could have prevented. 

Their happiness is important to me.  But it is not the most important goal.  Sometimes their character development takes priority (as in the case of learning to share the toy).  Sometimes my own spiritual needs take priority (as in the case of leaving Titus in the nursery).  Sometimes a valued relationship takes priority (in the case of giving a friend a ride). 

Will there be tears?  Yes. 
Will I wonder if I am making the right choice?  Yes. 
Will my boys learn that their happiness is not the only thing that matters?  Maybe, someday.

I need to remember this for myself, as well: my happiness is not the most important goal either.  

"Therefore, we do not lose heart.  Thought outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."  2 Cor 4:16-18

Lost in the cloud of mother-love?

Maternal instincts always put our children first, right?  Which means moms never struggle with selfishness, right?  Our children always get priority... we never think of our own needs... we never try to get our own way now that we're parents?  Selfishness is lost in the great cloud of mother-love, right? 

Yes, mothering does bring out much grace and love in me.  But is also brings my inherent selfishness into the bright light of minute-by-minute choices that I make in the daily routine of life.  It reveals my narcissism, my attention to my own "needs," wants, and priorities. 

Today I felt bad.  Just tired, sluggish, off.  I felt like my third child had taken up residence in my rib cage, not allowing my lungs to get a breath-full.  Not being able to breathe is somewhat distracting.  Silly, right? 

So I found a peaceful moment as the boys were playing to actually go horizontal on the couch.  And here comes my son: he sees the perfect opportunity for snuggling.  Now snuggling does not mean finding a cozy spot to curl up; it means wiggling and touching and caressing my belly and sitting on top of me and showing me a succession of animals and putting his face next to mine and touching some more and talking to me and bringing me books and ....  This is all unbearably sweet.

And I don't want to be touched. 

Ouch.  My reaction when I don't feel well is to retreat.  Don't touch me, don't talk to me, let me be.  My son's reaction to pain is to comfort.  His response to me lying on the couch is to join me. 

Reading I Spy books at the end of the day always tests my touch limits.  I'm tired and my nerves feel raw.  Something about I Spy books brings out the pointy-ness of elbows as they lean in to look.  It forces me to go at their pace rather than reading through the story and turning the page when I'm ready.   

I find myself with a choice to make.  The mother-love cloud isn't always working for me in these moments.  I need to chose to put them first, to remember how much I love them and how amazing it is to snuggle with them and to press in tight to read the book together and to put my arm around them tighter and hold a hand and tell them "I love you so much."  I need to stop thinking, "I can't breathe" and think "Look at what I get to breathe in... beautiful beloved boys." 

Car Talk

Titus: I saw a clown!!
Micah: Was is a clown house or a real clown?
T: A real clown, I think.
M: Was it on the sign?
T: Yeah.
M: What color was it?  Was it red, or blue, or yellow...?
T: Yellow, I think.
M: Oh, yellow.  Mama, do you like yellow?
Mama: Oh yes, it's one of my favorites.
M: Do you want a banana?  Bananas are yellow.
Mama: Maybe later.  What else is yellow?
(discussion of yellow things follows)

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M: It's good to share and I love Daddy.
Mama: Yes, that's wonderful!
T: I love Daddy too!
M: and I love Titus and Mama and Daddy and tiger and kitty...
T: and I love Mama and Micah and Daddy...
Mama: and Mama loves Micah and Titus and Daddy and baby...
Mama: and you know what?  God loves Daddy and Mama and Titus and Micah SOOO much!
M: I love ALLLL of the people!

--------------------

T: Are we on the ramp?
Mama: No, we're on the highway. 
T: Are we on the ramp now?
Mama: No, we're still on the highway.
T: But it feels like we're going down.
Mama: Yes, the highway goes down.  It's going to go under the underpass.
pause
T: How do we get off the highway?
Mama: We go off on the ramp.
pause
T: Are we on the ramp?
Mama: We're on the highway.
M: Are we going fast? Can we go fast?
Mama: Yes, we're going fast.  We can go fast on the highway if there's not too much traffic.
T: But we have to slow down if there's a red light.
Mama: Yes, that's right.
pause
T: Are we on the ramp?
and repeat...
 

All About Books

When I was a girl, one of my aspirations was to be an author of children's books.  I have always been an avid reader, and I remember a period of time in 4th and 5th grades where I would read stacks of age-appropriate books along with stacks of below-my-level children's books.  I was drawn to their simple stories, clever use of language, engaging plot lines.  It was a wonderful way for an aspiring author to study literature.

Recently, I am again surrounded by stacks of children's books.  I find myself in the picture book section of the library, barely able to restrain my grasping hands from choosing "just one more"... oh, Titus would like this one... oh, look at the pictures in this one... oh, the rhymes here are perfect... oh, I remember this one!  We are a book-reading family.  We read many, many different books.  We read the same books many, many times.

Sometimes I read a book and think, "I could write that!" Old aspirations linger, I suppose.  And sometimes I read a book, and I'm blown away by it's cleverness, it's beauty, it's ability to engage us, and I realize, "I would never have thought of that!" 

There are books that I think are marvelous.  There are books that my sons think are marvelous.  These often coincide, but not always.  Some books get put on the "return pile" more quickly than others.

There are books that I loved the first, second, and third time through.  But not so much on the fourth.

Some books I WANT to love... I know in my heart of heart they are good books: sound, educational, worthwhile.

There are books that read so well... the words practically fall off the tongue.  The rhythms are impossible to twist up... they always come smoothly.  They are a pleasure to read.  Dr Seuss, I'm looking at you.

Did you know you could sleep-read?  You know those times you've driven your car home only to wonder how you got there because you have no memory of passing that intersection or making that left turn?  It's possible to do that with a book: to get to the end with no memory of reading the words.  Or to read a book for the umpteenth time and notice a phrase for the first time...  have I been reading that all along?

Some books have some subtle adult humor mixed in.  Currently, we have a library book called "The Little Red Hen (Makes a Pizza)" by Philemon Sturges.  Every time the hen realizes that she is missing an ingredient, she says "Cluck."  Now, don't tell me that isn't intentional. 

It's fun to read in a new place or have books read by another person.  As much as we all love our daily snuggle-on-the-couch-and-read-together time, we also love to mix it up!  Reading at a coffee shop or while waiting at the doctor's office... reading at the park... these are special treats!  Having someone else read a beloved book lets us enjoy it in a new way; Grandma might read it just a little bit differently than mama does.  We love storytime at the library, and when Ms Elizabeth chooses a familiar book, the enjoyment skyrockets! 

Some books are gorgeous and some are icky.  Some are funny and some are serious.  Some are straightforward and some have a subtle agenda.  There are I Spy books and lift-the-flap books and truck books and poem books.  There are singing books and books without words.  There are at least a half dozen books for toddlers about trash trucks (we know them all). 

Books, books, books, we love books.

Decision Time?

To delay or fail to make decisions may be more sinful than to make wrong decisions out of faith and love. (Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer, [Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010], 218)

Our family has some decisions facing us: big, small, and in-between ones.  I stumbled on this statement a few days ago, and I've been turning it over in my mind. 

I'm a terrible decision-maker.  When the decision involves someone else, I almost always look for a way to get them to finalize the decision: what movie we should watch, where to eat, whether we should spend money on this item. 

Here are some of my recent thoughts on decision-making:

1.  Not making a decision is making a decision.  By choosing not to act, I act.
2. Similarly, if I allow someone else to make the decision, I am just as responsible for the outcome and consequences because I CHOSE to allow the other person to decide.
3. My plans need to be held loosely, always remembering that they are under God's will and authority (see James 4:13-17).  Even Paul made plans that God prevented Him from acting on.
4. I need help from others to make wise decisions: "Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed." Prov 15:22 
5. Thinking about the Bonhoeffer statement, maybe it's time for me to make some decisions that have been made by "default" for awhile. 

What about you?  How do you make decisions?