Well, there's a new title in town and boy, I just can't wait to start clawing my way for the esteemed honor. Of course, all I have to do is get a little plastic surgery, spend thousands on my wardrobe and have nanny, errand girl, taxi service, cleaning service, hair stylist and most likely anti-depressants and sleeping pills. Tell me, have you heard, we are all supposed to be fighting to be called "momshells." You know, hot mamma bombshells.
Because, let's face it ladies, that is all there is to life. We should be ashamed of ourselves if we are not running on that treadmill, appearing to effortlessly balance our children, husbands, finances, community service, all while looking fab-u-lous. Tightrope artists at the circus are asked to do perform this death-defying feat a mere 20 minutes or less per show, but our society asks us to work it 24/7. The final result of all that hard work is to showcase to the world that we are perfect human beings with no flaws, no problems, no stress and while we are at it...no character, no inward reflection and clearly no reality.
How dare society continue to put this pressure on us to add just one more level of idiocy to the long list of perfections it already has created for us! Don't buy into this or any other ridiculously sinful label society has thrust upon us. And just what does that confirm if someone is labeled as such? Nothing. Not one thing about their parenting, their love, their devotion, their compassion, their patience, their instruction, the volunteerism, their selflessness.
I say...give up that facade, Jessica Denay, author of the "Hot Moms Handbook" and possible lead promoter of this filth. I would love to ask her, "What are you hiding from, Ms. Denay? Do you not want anyone to actually know you? Who are you deep down inside? Do you want anyone to hear your heart or know your, (gasp!) mind? What are you so afraid that people will learn about you if you stepped out of this plastic perfection and let the real you be heard." As a mom, I want to know your fears, your failures, your goals and dreams, not what you have done to become lust-worthy.
A friend and fellow blogger was prompted to write the following to me when I informed her of this garbage: "This new title just kills me-momshell-the key part of the word is the most revealing-"shell". A shell's only purpose is to protect the living, growing creature within. This title implies that we are only interested in the care and upkeep of the surface-the shell. Our society as a whole is guilty of just looking at the surface and making the assumption that if the surface looks good then the inside must be good as well." Amen, sister!
In fact, let this be a challenge to every one of us. When we wake up in the morning, as we choose our clothing for the day, as we speak to our children in public and in the privacy of our home (because how differently we chose our words in these two places), when we are shopping, when we speak to other parents on the soccer field, when we make choices for dinner and when we kiss our children goodnight. Ask yourself, why am I doing this? What is my motivation behind my choice and my words? Defined by the world or defined by love.
Let us fight the world today. Let us not find our identity in it anymore. You may be wondering where then, should you find your strength, your definition of self. Well, my choice today is to find it in Christ alone. Because, ladies, only He gives me the freedom to be.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Things That Go Bump in the Night
Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Borderline tornadic. I don't even think that is a real word (and I think I can write a book). But it feels appropriate in describing my brain the past few days. I have a million little pieces of paper, random words in my journal that I keep in my purse, emails to friends, comments on blogs all wrestling for order and understanding. I figure this will be my life for a while until I understand where this is all headed.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Random Thoughts on a Sunday Morning
Silence is golden. That little phrase sums up my weekend in several ways. I was treated to the most coveted of situations for a mom - a day and night at home ALONE! Yes, the husband gathered up our brood and took them camping with the cub scouts amidst some excitement and protest among the campers. Right when they were leaving Sadie announced that she DID NOT want to go. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Nearing the End
Wow! What a response from you readers! Thank you for the hilarious, tear-inducing comments, the votes of support and for forwarding on the link to my blog. It obviously struck a chord with many of you. I have been working on "Confessions of a Real Mom, Part 2" in my mind over the past couple of days. It will be written, but unfortunately, not today.
I had a phone conversation with my father this morning regarding my 89-year old grandfather. He has suffered from Alzheimer's for over 10 years. That is an incredibly long time over which your mind and body to slowly deteriorate. His time on this earth has been prolonged solely because of the complete devotion of his caregiver, my grandmother. You can read about their incredible relationship here, in a post I wrote last April.
Sadly, my grandfather is losing his ability to swallow, his pacemaker the only catalyst keeping his heart beating. And, because of 3 weeks in the hospital, he can no longer sit up on his own. We are nearing the end. He is being moved back to the "home" where he has resided for the last 5 years and Hospice is being called in to make him comfortable. My heart is breaking for my grandmother. Simply breaking.
Some of you have had the privilege to meet my grandfather, Chip Aulbert, when he was still thriving. I have no doubt that you recognized that his small stature vastly contrasted with large volumes of love and laughter that he brought to the world.
He was crazy funny. One time, he hooked the video camera up when no one was home and recorded himself singing several songs. Actually, it was one song, a made-up song, just sung in several different octaves. The name of the song? "Pine Tree." The title being the only words of the song...just repeated over and over. Why did he do this? Simply for entertaining our family, bringing hilarity into our lives and giving us an experience to chat about for years.
This man had no high school diploma, yet became the head of engineering at Thomas Built Buses where he worked his entire life. He could invent and then fabricate anything. He was visionary.
He called me K.T., the only one in the family to do so. It always made me feel extra-special, most loved. He took me and my sister to our first and only circus show. Having an incredible addiction to sugar himself, he would constantly take us for ice cream, often at Swensen's at Friendly Center when we spent time at my grandparent's house. Much to our delight, he would, covertly, slip us candy. He helped me move into and out of college apartments, came to rescue me when I drove my truck into a lake and hugged me fiercely when my parents declared they were divorcing.
He called the light in the refrigerator and the high beam light on the dashboard of the car, the "Hootie." They would "magically" come on because of the mysterious "Hootie" and we believed every word. I can't believe we were so naive, and even as I write it, it doesn't make much sense!
And now, my grandfather, who brought a guaranteed smile to my face with just the mention of his name, is withering, deteriorating away. He is choking on his own saliva and there is nothing we can do, but watch and wait. My mind can only see the cruelty of what he has become and I am struggling with seeing the bigger picture. Lord, please take him home. Take him quickly and painlessly. Prepare my grandmother's heart and mind. And, in doing so, protect my grandmother from all-consuming grief and pain. Hear my heart, Lord, but let Your will be done.
I had a phone conversation with my father this morning regarding my 89-year old grandfather. He has suffered from Alzheimer's for over 10 years. That is an incredibly long time over which your mind and body to slowly deteriorate. His time on this earth has been prolonged solely because of the complete devotion of his caregiver, my grandmother. You can read about their incredible relationship here, in a post I wrote last April.
Sadly, my grandfather is losing his ability to swallow, his pacemaker the only catalyst keeping his heart beating. And, because of 3 weeks in the hospital, he can no longer sit up on his own. We are nearing the end. He is being moved back to the "home" where he has resided for the last 5 years and Hospice is being called in to make him comfortable. My heart is breaking for my grandmother. Simply breaking.
Some of you have had the privilege to meet my grandfather, Chip Aulbert, when he was still thriving. I have no doubt that you recognized that his small stature vastly contrasted with large volumes of love and laughter that he brought to the world.
He was crazy funny. One time, he hooked the video camera up when no one was home and recorded himself singing several songs. Actually, it was one song, a made-up song, just sung in several different octaves. The name of the song? "Pine Tree." The title being the only words of the song...just repeated over and over. Why did he do this? Simply for entertaining our family, bringing hilarity into our lives and giving us an experience to chat about for years.
This man had no high school diploma, yet became the head of engineering at Thomas Built Buses where he worked his entire life. He could invent and then fabricate anything. He was visionary.
He called me K.T., the only one in the family to do so. It always made me feel extra-special, most loved. He took me and my sister to our first and only circus show. Having an incredible addiction to sugar himself, he would constantly take us for ice cream, often at Swensen's at Friendly Center when we spent time at my grandparent's house. Much to our delight, he would, covertly, slip us candy. He helped me move into and out of college apartments, came to rescue me when I drove my truck into a lake and hugged me fiercely when my parents declared they were divorcing.
He called the light in the refrigerator and the high beam light on the dashboard of the car, the "Hootie." They would "magically" come on because of the mysterious "Hootie" and we believed every word. I can't believe we were so naive, and even as I write it, it doesn't make much sense!
And now, my grandfather, who brought a guaranteed smile to my face with just the mention of his name, is withering, deteriorating away. He is choking on his own saliva and there is nothing we can do, but watch and wait. My mind can only see the cruelty of what he has become and I am struggling with seeing the bigger picture. Lord, please take him home. Take him quickly and painlessly. Prepare my grandmother's heart and mind. And, in doing so, protect my grandmother from all-consuming grief and pain. Hear my heart, Lord, but let Your will be done.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Thoughts of Africa
I read this blog today. I suggest you do, too. It tugged at me. It highlighted a little hole in my heart. The hole created by the piece I left in Africa over 14 years ago and made larger by a second trip 6 years ago.
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise and hope in the early 90s. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid. And, I dream of holding the little orphan girl in Ghana again in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing His praises.
I don't know anyone who has ever been to Africa who wasn't deeply moved by the tension between beauty and despair. It is a continent that quickly creates passion and carves a lasting mark in the hearts of every visitor. A place that exists, defying the odds on so many levels. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I never think about those places without believing one day I might return on a more lengthy basis. How, where and why, I do not know.
Here's to possibilities...
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise and hope in the early 90s. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid. And, I dream of holding the little orphan girl in Ghana again in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing His praises.
I don't know anyone who has ever been to Africa who wasn't deeply moved by the tension between beauty and despair. It is a continent that quickly creates passion and carves a lasting mark in the hearts of every visitor. A place that exists, defying the odds on so many levels. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I never think about those places without believing one day I might return on a more lengthy basis. How, where and why, I do not know.
Here's to possibilities...
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Confessions of a Real Mom
You know what? I am fed up. I am tired. Ladies, we are all guilty of what I am about to write and it is time for it to stop.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Goodnight Sweetheart
The sweetest time for me with each of my children is the brief time I get to spend with them each night when it is time to tuck them in. It is usually just the two of us, alone, in their own beds. Our most precious conversations occur then. These are the chats that remind me that maybe I did something right that day, even if small. They are the exchanges that give me energy to keep going, the encouragement to stay on the parenting track.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
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