The "Specialest"

It's tuck-in time. I'm bending down to give my daughter the hugs and kisses to close out the day.
She says into my ear, "Hugs are the specialest when you're not in a hurry. Are you in a hurry, mom?"
"No," I answer, willing it to be true.
"See, so this hug is the specialest."
I allow myself to fully embrace and be present with my little philosopher.
Connecting in an unhurried way, is indeed, "the specialest."
Thanks for the reminder, little one.

Inner Beast

Nothing brings out my inner beast like a scheduled family photo session. My director's hat goes on, and I have in mind the exact image and impression we are going for. I'm bound and determined to fit my family into it, and know they will put up no obstacle too great for me. The outfits have been picked out, the hair made the best of - yet somehow the kids must sense my tension, because the harder I work on their hair, posture and smiles, the more they resist. After straddling his wiggling brother and sister and being told " one more " or "last one" seven or eight times, our eldest had "had it" and dissolved into tears. There we were, making a family memory, falling apart in the photo studio.
And outdoor pictures present even greater challenges. Looking through my photo files at our multiple attempts at a group family shot where no one's pannies were showing, no one was scowling or making rabbit ears, I had to smile. I stopped myself before clicking delete on the above pictures(from 12-07), because as time goes on, I think I'll grow to prefer these wild family shots to the picture perfect studio ones.

Over-stuffed

The aisles of Wal-Mart track the trends of America. Here, at the start of the new year, the displays offer attractive storage containers and organizing devices in every form and fashion imaginable, each promising the spaciousness and order we crave. They know we are all feeling encroached upon after a season of “stuffing” our faces, homes, and credit cards, and they are prepared to ride the financial wave of our new year’s resolutions.
Like many, I’ve renewed my zeal for decluttering my home this January, and it’s surprising how painful some items can be to sift through and reevaluate their role in my life.
I have a stack of brand-new books of learning games for reading and math, from when I was homeschooling. They watch me, reminding me of all that is possible. Yet, I haven’t opened them or used them. Taking them off of my central shelf and storing them elsewhere as a resource, or passing them on, seems an admission of defeat. I want to be the kind of mom who invents games, and infuses regular moments with amazing learning opportunities. Can I still do that without those books? Yes, I can. So I think I’ll replace them with a cd player and some music and audio books the kids and I can listen to over breakfast, or during dinner, or while playing mancala. I pause before removing the Baby Games book, which I flip through and think of all the rhymes I missed teaching the kids when they were 0-3, and how much more is possible than what we actually did. Before slipping into regret, I thank God for the special 0-3 activities we did manage to do, and think of someone else to bless the book with.
Do you sometimes experience that inward pang when you are about to get rid of, or sort through something? Maybe it’s that collection of cookbooks you never touch. But getting rid of them would mean you are never going to be the kind of cook who shops for capers and garnishes with pine nuts, and the loss of that ideal is too painful, so the gourmet magazines stack there, and continue to proclaim all that is possible, but not very doable.
Maybe it’s reams of parenting books which you know hold the missing pieces and key answers to all of your quandaries with the children, and they just await a season of poring over them to excavate and apply all the wisdom --later.
Or it could be the investment of scrap-booking materials, which make you feel cross-eyed to think about using, but promise the right kind of preserved memories –one day. I’m not suggesting we ruthlessly erase all such things from our lives, but be willing to re-evaluate them.
I’ve begun to ask myself what an item represents to me, and if it has a real role in the life I live and love, rather than the one I think I should be living. Releasing some of these less helpful things helps ensure that there is enough "prime real-estate" in my home to offer access to the items I truly love and regularly use.

Whatever

I am beginning to understand that God is a lot less concerned in WHAT I do, and more invested in HOW I do it. I spend time poring over the specifics of scenario after scenario with Him; Is this the right path Lord? Is this the right school? Is this the right decision about this job? Is this the position I should take on? Embedded within each question is the fear that “And if it isn’t, what then?” Rather than reflecting so much on the "what" I am doing, I'd like to shift my focus to the "for whom."
“Whatever you do, work at it with your whole-heart, as if serving the Lord and not men.” Colossians 3:23. Whatever. I find this instruction both challenging and liberating. God is not as “hung up” as I am on the specific assignments. Indeed, He can and will use all of it for His purposes and His glory. What blesses His heart is for me to do each thing, no matter how small, whole-heartedly, as an offering to Him. This infuses the most mundane and repetitive tasks with purpose and even the possibility of joy.

Multi-tasking

"Multitasking has been normalized. It is costly to the soul," are the wise words of an Episcopal monk.
Mothers in particular consider the ability to multi-task a necessity and a valuable skill. How else could one prepare dinner, help with homework, mediate sibling conflicts, fill-out paperwork, and handle the daily details of running a household? Yet it is possible to take this emphasis too far. Moments were not intended to be compressed to hold more, and eventually the hyper-focus on achievement takes its toll. I read an article from Christianity Today about multi-tasking, and how one woman found it to be to the detriment of her soul. She had every moment of her day action packed and even felt obligated to utilize every opportunity, even stopping at a stop light. The pace became increasingly frantic, and she could feel her soul withering in the intensity.
Important skills to cultivate as well may be: the art of doing one thing at a time, of being fully present with another person, and of intentionally leaving a void in our thoughts and schedules to be more open to hear the voice of God.

Sizing it all Up

My son and I had a date night tonight to celebrate his completion of the book The Tale of Despereaux. We headed for McDonald's for dessert off of the dollar menu and a rousing match of putt-putt golf on the table game station. I indulged in a "snack-size" Reese's McFlurry for only $1.69. The advertising poster showed a carefully manicured hand cradling the "mini" McFlurry, and promised a harmless degree of indulgence. Half-way through, I realized I had been duped by the term "snack-size", as the treat was sizeable and as calorie-laden as anything.
Marketing is a curious thing. Sizes are determined more by what sells than by the actual size of what they label. For example, if women who wear size 14 will happily purchase a well-fitting pair of size 12 jeans, why not call those jeans 12 Stretch? I have friends who are a true size 4, but now have to look for a size 2 or even 0, to get a good fit. They haven't changed, the sizes have. The illusion of thinness sells more than the reality of inches, I guess. Or if spending an inordinate amount of money for a "small" coffee brings people to their senses, why not label the cups Tall, Venti and Grande? 100 calorie mini bites of lite oreos and cheese nips are marketed by offering smaller amounts (in fact, you pay more for packages that offer less), while BK drive-through attendants are quick to offer to "biggie size" Big Angus Burger meal deals. Pizza chains seem to avoid offering small sizes. It's 3 mediums for 5$ each. Or any large for $10, or an Xtra large for whatever, but a curiously absent small-sized offer. Maybe it's because when you are ordering pizza, you've given up the illusion of being on a diet.
Any size discrepancies or funky marketing ploys you've discovered?

What makes a memory?

Around the dinner table this evening, we were reminiscing about special memories with our grandparents. For me it was climbing up on Grandpa's lap for a cuddle and a giggle over one of his monkey faces. Or digging around in Grandma's garden and being taught how to make a dried flower arrangement for a local competition. Drinking icy tang out of her fluted orange glasses, or sitting around her for an animated reading of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe at bedtime.
Interesting how many of our most vivid memories are of subtle everyday moments. It reminds me not to outdo myself trying to create grand productions for my children, but to be present with them in the simple daily moments of life: peering down the throats of snapdragons in the front yard, wrapping them up in a fluffy towel after bath and pausing for a snuggle, reading Caps for Sale...again, and bravely handing them chocolate chip beaters to lick.
What are your most vivid childhood memories characterized by?

Insectarium

We have been having a great visit with Grams and Gramps this week. Today, we ventured to downtown New Orleans to experience the Insectarium and the Deep Sea IMAX with the kids. Mom and dad have a running bet that the first one to use the "h" word (commenting on how "hot" the weather is) owes the other person something grand. So we'd occasionally remark about the frigid temperatures, and get a chuckle. But really, the weather was fairly mild.
The insects were exquisite, especially the rare beetles and the butterflies. Benjamin enjoyed the underground exhibit most, with larger than life bugs and a synthetic spider which lurches from a trap door as you amble by in the darkness. Debra Lynn sampled a chocolate chip and cricket cookie, along with Benjamin and Grandpa. They received the most adventurous award, to which Timothy responded, "Yeah, but I get the smartest award." Mom was on a roll with witty phrases and jokes throughout the day, and she and I kept giggling. She dubbed the murky Bayou Lafource, our source of drinking water, as Bayou LaFlush, and wondered aloud if the Pure Cajun of Pure Cajun Swamp Tours was an oxymoron. Then came her series of jokes about ants, "What do you call an ant that just wants to be alone? Antisocial." And then there was, "What does an ant write at the completion of its higher education? An Antithesis"
Timothy and I got to visit with one of the bug breeders, who admitted to releasing into the outside world, local excess bugs. The way bugs reproduce in general, it's hard to imagine that it requires a level of involvement or intentionality to ensure that they do. She seemed to enjoy her job.
The Deep Sea Imax movie was intriguing, and te kids kept reaching out to grab the moon jellies on the screen, while mom remembered the sting of having swum through a group of them while snorkeling in Costa Rica. Once reentering daylight, we slurped down grape and strawberry snowballs and headed for the parking lot.
Great day. Great memories. I feel thankful.

Greenbrier Farm

I met an Amish gentleman at the local Farmer's Market last week. Following my mother's trusty motto, "It never hurts to ask," I got permission to bring my "city-dweller" kids to his farm for a visit during the week. Two other families joined us on the 30 minute drive into the country. Mr. Cade was burning a pile of goat manure, to keep the flies at bay, when we pulled up. He introduced us to his gentle plow horse, Hans, and allowed the kids to pet him and feed him oats. We met several of his goats, who got acquainted with us by nibbling on our cuffs, pockets and loose threads. The children especially enjoyed cradling the tiny goat, Dottie. Ben loved perstering the volatile geese, and we were awestruck by the huge array of spiders in the rafters overhead. The children helped to gather eggs from the hen's nesting areas.

While wandering amongst the animals, I was able to glean a bit of history from Mr Kade. Mr. Kade was taught to craft of making goat cheese from his Grandfather and purposed to pass it on to his son, but his son rejected the Amish way of life for that of an engineer in New Orleans. The typical Amish way would be to shun such a one, but Mr. Kade maintains a relationship with his son and family, despite their "worldly ways." (He related with chagrin that they had a television in every room of the house). His daughter had chosen the lifestyle, and looked after things when he and his wife had to be away. On one of their absences, his daughter had to relate the news to them, that their buggy had been dragged into the front yard and set on fire. They reckoned it had been done by disgruntled neighbors that had been complaining of his driving the horse and buggy on the highway. I was apalled by this act, nearly reminiscent of the acts of the KKK, but he didn't seem particularly alarmed or resentful, just matter of fact.
He explained the reason for Amish refusing to use tractors. A one man tractor is seen as an impediment rather than an asset, as one wouldn't be required to draw strength and fellowship from a community of 10 men to do the job, but would labor alone. The Amish value community and unity so strongly, that they ensure that there is no broken fellowship within the community, before any of them partake of the twice annual Communion supper. One of the reasons he couldn't offer tours of his farm to the general public is his lack of insurance, which he says is typical among Amish. "Insured by the good Lord," is how he spoke of it.
I came away feeling that there was much which could be learned from this man's way of life. And we especially enjoyed the farm eggs the kids helped to gather: even if they were fertile.

GPS Rescue

I have always been, shall we say, directionally challenged. I still require directions to a place after having been there multiple times. My father used to try to reoirient me to the world by stating matter-of-factly, "You see, the sun rises in the east. It sets in the west", as if that should solve everything. Some people seem to operate with an inner compass. Well, on my recent road trip to Kentucky, solo with our three kids, I discovered my inner compass: our new GPS.
It attaches to my car windshield and instantly provides the reassurance that I am headed in the right direction (provided I have entered my destination correctly), and steers me back on the path each time I deviate from it. It also shows the speed limit, next to the speed I am going. But my favorite feature is that it has an ongoing tally of "how long til we get there" so I am ready for an answer to that plaguing question without a moments' thought. Long live the GPS!

Crisis Mode

I've become aware of my own well-practiced method for formulating a crisis from a given scenario.

It goes like this: Observe something happening which was not what I'd envisioned (endless material here). Obsess over why it has happened, what should have happened, and what I should have done to prevent it. Analyze feelings about this and all the possible outcomes. Share my doubts and fears broadly, and allow my inner disquiet to feed off of the reaction of my empathetic friends. Make a decision about what to do, and then doubt it. Resist any decisive action, because nothing is as it "should be." If a quiet resolution presents itself, feel sheepish about reporting back to everyone that it was nothing really, inwardly wonder why I always find something to be overwrought over, and wonder what other people must think of me. When another opportunity to obsess presents itself, repeat the cycle. As painful and counterproductive as crisis mode is, it must be doing something for me, because I keep finding myself there.

This came to my attention through a recent (real) problem we faced.

This Monday, my son was accidentally left behind in his PreK classroom while his class headed to lunch: he was in time-out for throwing a toy, and in the commotion, they didn't notice. He was thankfully, not upset, and was retrieved a few minutes later, but Bill and I were alarmed, and so was the principal. Bill and I talked and prayed together about what we should do. We decided together that we were pleased with his overall school experience, that he was happy and we felt that pulling him out would not be productive. We met with the principal, and she swiftly arranged for him to be moved to a different class the next day. He entered his new class without skipping a beat, and seemed at ease. The softer approach of the new teacher seemed a better fit for all of us. This was by far the simplest problem resolution I'd experienced. Unfortunately, my crisis enhancing abilities had kicked in, and it didn't unfold as simply as it could have.
To backtrack, when I heard about what happened, I panicked about my decision to put him in Prek at all, and wondered what damage I'd done, and how much better things could have been for him at home or in a different school. I wanted to immediately jerk him out. I wanted to talk to everyone I could about how I was feeling, and ask what they thought I should do. Bill, perceiving this, asked that I not broadly share yet and complicate matters for me, and fortunately I listened. After Bill and I had made the decision with the principal, rather than letting her handle it, I showed up at the school, trying to talk to the teachers and figure out how we could ease his transition, since I was so worried about it. The principal had not had time to talk with them. I talked to the new teacher before she knew, and sent his current teachers into an emotional reaction about losing Ben and how they'd miss him and how sad they were that they'd lost our confidence. Then I began doubting whether Bill and I have made the right decision in moving him at all. His two teachers and I were all in tears, and in front of his class during nap time. I was in control mode: doing everything I could to settle my inner turmoil and creating more in the process. When I shared my doubts about our decision with Bill, he held fast that this was the step that we were taking, and that I needed to reign in my emotions, and come to terms with it. That this was not a crisis. It was a situation we had firmly and properly addressed and it was going to be fine. "Could it possibly be that blissfully simple?" I wondered.
I took my doubts and fears to God, finally. A friend from church called and asked how I was, as I'd missed Bible study. I gave her the cliff-notes of the situation, and she prayed for me and shared something she'd written about the battle with her own "What If.." thinking and how God had brought her reassurance. It ministered to me. When I led Benjamin to his new class the next morning, he joined right in and ended up having a great day. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Here are the lessons I've been given from this scenario.
1. Christ offers me His peace, but it's my responsibility to not LET my heart be troubled. I have some choice in the matter. I can identify and reject toxic thinking.
2. Let other people do their jobs, while I do mine.
3. When I am emotionally raw, select carefully how broadly I share: it can add to my own disquiet, rehearsing the scenario again and again.
4. Trust my husband's view point and welcome the stability he offers.
5. Don't look so much for a way OUT of problems (or feel fully responsible for having one in the first place). Seek God for a way THROUGH the problem.
6. My children are not made of glass and I need not continually panic that life and its challenges will shatter them.
7. There are things which I do that perpetrate me being in crisis mode, that I don't want to do any longer.

Decisions

"What would be most life-giving for my family?", is the question I am asking when it comes to decisions about our schedule, choices for involvements and guidelines for living. I am more habitual at asking questions like, "What is working best for everyone else?" or "What do I wish I could manage?" or "What did I always envision for myself and my family?" or "What must I do to keep up, and not lag behind?" None of these are bad considerations, yet I've allowed them to muddy the waters of my mind, until I feel pulled into multiple scenarios. Until I find myself forcing our family into a predetermined mold, whatever the price, since this is what we are "supposed to be" or how it's "supposed to look."
Asking, "What would be most life-giving for us, here and now?" feels liberating.

The Annual Christmas Plague --errr Play

I ran the most chaotic Christmas play practice imaginable today. Joseph and Gabriel had a stare-down contest during Scene Three. We had shepherds bumping into and crawling under the pre-set Communion table. No one, including me, was sure of who went where, and did or said what. How hard can a Christmas play be, really? But each year it morphs into a many tentacled beast which only proves worth it when it's all over. I'm a much better support person or delegee (a word?) than a director. Thank God we are serving among a loving and forgiving bunch of people. I'll let you know how it all turns out.

Thirty Five

I am now a thirty five year-old woman. I have three children, 4, 6, and 8. I parent, serve and laugh alongside my visionary husband and pastor. I teach ESL part-time. I volunteer at my kids' school. I am facilitating a small group for women called "Quieting a Noisy Soul." I am participating in a transformative women's Bible study titled "Believing God." I have a partner in Scripture memory. I am available to women to talk through issues and pray together. I help lead worship each Sunday, and teach 1st, 2nd and 3rd graders for Sunday school. I get out and meet moms for coffee each Wednesday night at Starbucks. I've rediscovered my love for great books, tennis and writing. I'm planning on kayak fishing more with my husband this year. I'm working out three times a week. I just got my braces off. I love sushi.
You know what? I am happy.
The remarkable thing about this, is that, I have had favorable life circumstances in the past, and been unable to access contentment in the midst of them. My mind was fixated upon what could or should be better, what might just happen next, how I'd better enjoy this now because it was too good to be true, and how I didn't deserve all this and had better feel guilty for having it.

The core of the Quieting the Noisy Soul study has been "My soul can rest, because God Himself is more than enough for me." It gives me the assurance, that when trials come, and they will, the bottom will hold, because of Who holds me. That assurance frees me to savor the now, while not shrinking from the future. Of course, I'll have to update this as we're tested. I'll keep you posted.

Behind and Before

You hem me in, behind and before. You have laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. Too lofty for me to attain. Psalm 139:5-6

I don't know about you, but I am one person in need of being hemmed in. I lose sight of the limits of my responsibility and ability. Suddenly the world is MY fix-it project, and the most basic tasks at my doorstep lie undone. I find the concept of being hemmed in a relief not a hinderance. That would mean I would have clarity as to the realm I am to focus my energies upon, the plot of land which I am to cultivate, and the yards of others which would be best for me to stay out of.
My friend Debbie was given an image of her life as a garden. God he had given her a plot of land with a quaint fence and gate. She was to focus on tending the treasures therein, and would be given discernment concerning who and what to open her gate to, lest her seedlings be trampled, and rich soil scattered about.
So hem me in, Dear Lord. Show me the limits of my responsibility. Help me to be good stewards of all that is entrusted to me, and entrust others and their pain, I'd so love to fix, to you. There is One Redeemer. And it is not, nor ever will it be, me.

Tact

"Your cat is dead, Debra. Molly died. That old man, our neighbor, said so."
The tact of little brothers. That is not the way I'd hoped to break the news to our daughter, and I hadn't even realized that wise little Benjamin had picked up on my conversation with the neighbor the day before. Did I know anyone with a little black and white kitty with a collar. She had been accidentally backed over by our neighbors the day before. It sounded too much like our Molly, but I was still hoping it wasn't and I was certainly not ready to tell the kids about it.
I guess 4 yo Ben thought the walk to the school bus was as good a time as any. He looked puzzled when he saw me standing there holding her while she was crying, so he decided to repeat the news flash. I interrupted him, "let's not talk about that anymore Benjamin, it's hurting her feelings." His brow furrowed over her distress, as if seeing the gravity of the situation for the first time. He stooped down and picked up two pine needles and held them in front of our faces. "This is you, Debbuh, and this one is mommy." Then he crossed them over eachother. "And you are hugging." For some reason, we got tickled over that, and giggles covered over wailing. We spent the rest of the wait for the bus musing about kitties in heaven. Not sure that they will be there, but I don't think God is going to take issue with this point of theology when it consoles the pain of his precious ones.

Regrets

I read a beautiful article about letting go of regrets. Do I have regrets in my life? I really can name no major ones. I still get struck by the fear that any given decision will lead to a regret, and the thought alone immobilizes me.

I realized that I operate by an inaccurate belief: that if I am experiencing discomfort, or pain in a situation, or if it is not playing out the way I'd envisioned, the decision must be wrong.

But pain is often a precursor to growth, although not all growth brings pain. And life on earth is and will be trying.

In seeking to avoid all regrets, one may easily lead a regrettable life.

Deleting Diapers

I just deleted diapers and wipes from my weekly grocery list that I print off of the computer. Amazingly, we no longer have need for either (although wipes always come in handy if you don't mind smelling like a powdery tushy). This feels like a rite of passage. Changing diapers is not one of the parts of babyhood I deal with nostalgia over - although there are plenty of others.

Fulfilled Prophecy

"Enjoy these years. They go fast."
How many times have I heard this sage wisdom, and thought, "Yeah right, it's only 10 am and lunch/ nap time is light years away." Or, "There is a reason people have to be told to enjoy these years. They were too fatigued to enjoy them themselves."
Now, sure enough, my youngest is nearly four, and every piece of baby furniture has been donated and even the half-pack of pull-ups given away. In a way, it did go fast.
I hope I can always enjoy the stage our kids are in now, enjoying memories of how they got to where they are today, and anticipating the future, but mostly soaking in who they are now.

pms

Are we as women, ever NOT hormonal? We are either pre-menstrual, menstrual or post-menstrual; trying to conceive, pregnant, or post-pardum; pre-menopausal, menopausal or post menopausal. Too bad men don't get a free pass for moodiness, a short fuse, or irrational behavior. I, for one, am thankful for my man's stabilizing force in my hormonal life.