Thinking Out Loud

Paper Airplanes and the Holy Spirit

2012-01-29T18:21:00.000-08:00

I’ve flown a lot in my life. I think I was a week old when I rode in a plane for the first time. A little Cessna. My parents and sister and I had to fly to another town to get our groceries when we lived in the highlands of PNG. In high school, I flew home to PNG from Australia at every term break, totaling sixteen flights a year for four years.
I know that some people are terribly scared of flying. I was never terribly scared, but I will not say that I never worried. When I did worry, I would close my eyes and picture the hand of God, holding our plane and guiding it to its destination.
Jeremy and I were shepherding the second grade class this morning and the lesson they were being taught was about the Holy Spirit. And paper airplanes.
After this past week, I figured I needed this as much as they did. A neighbor in his last days, a former co-worker (can you call them that when it was student teaching??) with potentially bad news about his cancer, and family friends dying in a plane crash and leaving behind three daughters who are just entering adulthood. As well as the more trivial, yet ever present, worries about kids and money and daily ‘stuff’.
I was not at all surprised when the second graders replied that they did not know what the Holy Spirit was. But I was pleasantly amazed at the beauty of this lesson.
The children were lined up and given a piece of paper and told to throw it. What a disappointment, the papers all fluttered to the floor. This symbolized us trying to go about our lives without paying attention to the directions we are given through Christ. Then they were told to fold the paper once, and again, and one last time, never more instruction than just to fold it. Each time they added a fold, they got to throw it and see what happened. Each time a disappointment. Just because the Holy Spirit is with us does not mean that we get to stand by and do nothing and still expect everything.
The kids were then given step by step instructions to make their own ‘Holy Spirit Flyer’. They were thrilled to see the planes take shape and then could hardly wait to fly them.
Isn’t that something like parenting? We are amazed as we watch our children grow into their own person and then at some point, we let them ‘fly’ off on their own.
Now the kids lined up and took turns throwing their planes. And as seven year old boys will do, the jokes about crashing began. The connection sunk in immediately and I wanted to shut my eyes, to block out their words, to stop imagining that dear sweet couple and their last moments as their plane’s engine blew up, sending them plummeting to the earth with one final explosion. But then I caught myself and began to piece it together. Was not the same Holy Spirit with them in their final moments? God’s hand was still with them, it just continued to carry them away, up to Heaven as their plane dropped away. They were good, kind, generous people who raised kind and loving daughters.
While my heart aches for all the suffering of those around me, I have found a bit more peace today, knowing that that very same hand of God that I pictured so long ago is with us all as we fly, whether literally or metaphorically. I just pray that I can live as he taught, follow his instructions, and help to bring some of that peace to other people’s lives.

And Now What?

2012-01-07T20:36:00.000-08:00

In early December I got word that my doula certification was official. Two weeks later, I finished my student teaching - the end of my master’s degree program. While I am still teaching my natural birth classes, co-leading Girl Scouts, and volunteering with Sunday School, I was worried that I would be bored.
Not to worry! I had forgotten that I had signed up (out of Mommy-guilt) to put together Hannah’s class quilt and volunteered to teach an Art Explorers lesson for her class as well. Oh, and the house has a number of projects that are long-overdue for attention. I managed to attack both kids’ rooms and do a clean-sweep for outgrown clothes and ‘stuff’. And now that I bought that nice fabric to make the quilt and I have some left over, I’m thinking of making some clothes and accessories for the girls. And there is that scarf I started knitting for Eli. And the book I’m supposed to be reading for my book club (which I’m hosting). Guess I won’t be bored.
It is funny how, for the past half year, I had built up this long list in my head of everything I was going to do when I was done with student teaching. I managed to grossly over-estimate how much could actually get done in a day (or week)!
I had also forgotten how nice it is to have lunch with Evie. We both like to sit in the sunlight at the end of the table at lunch time and soak up the warmth as we eat. I always joke about having a nap, hoping that one day she will humor her mama and cave in. No such luck so far.
I had applied for a half-time teaching position at a nearby school but I think it was filled before my application even got in. I’m not too worried. It would be nice to earn some money to refill the empty coffers after paying for grad school. But as my wise younger sister said, “it is just money and we have each other.” She is right. Evie will never be three again.
So for now, I will continue to teach natural birth classes and hopefully get some doula clients so that we can plan our summer trip. And I will marvel at how blessed I am.

The Lord Giveth and The Lord Taketh Away

2011-08-21T19:22:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning, I held the foot of a mother as she pushed her newborn son into the world. Thursday evening, I held the hand of my husband’s Grandma as she passed away. There was crying both days. Tears of joy and tears of pain at both. It is the natural ebb and flow of life.

In what was some amazing timing (or perhaps a mama and baby who were really wanting me there as their support) the baby came five days after his due date, the day after I returned home from vacation. Leaving on the baby’s due date was very hard for me as I had really hoped to be at the birth to support this family that I had come to know, not to mention complete the requirements for my birth doula certification. I hoped and prayed throughout our vacation, believing it impossible, that this baby would wait. And he did.

The labor and birth were perfect, classic second baby labor with very speedy pushing and birth. Everything went as it should with no complications. But birth is never a ‘blah’ event, no matter how textbook it is. There are moments of self-doubt, of anger even at having to go through such a struggle to bring this new life into being. And then there are moments of incredible joy, when the baby is placed lovingly on the mother and all is known to be well. When the tears of relief and wonder escape the eyes of all present.

Gram’s passing was similar in a way. She was 93, she had lived a long and richly blessed life. She passed her driving test almost a year ago and was still getting about mostly on her own only months ago despite her repeated wonderment at when it would be her turn to go. She knew her race was nearly done, she was at peace with going on to meet the Lord (she even quoted her mother, saying “Jesus doesn’t want me and the devil won’t take me”). She fell and broke her hip two months ago and recovered well from the surgery, even walking a bit right before returning to her own condo a few weeks ago.

But it was her time. In the last three weeks her congestive heart failure progressed more rapidly and she was unable to get comfortable rest at night. She still wore her beautifully radiant smile when we visited her only three weeks ago, she lit up when she saw the children. But we could tell that the end was nearing and she was struggling more and more each day.

On Thursday evening, Jeremy got home from work and I had dinner packed up to eat in the car. We had talked with his parents and knew that we needed to go and say our goodbyes. When we arrived his mother met us and told us we had just made it. Gram’s breathing was very labored and her breaths were few and far between. It picked up as we talked and as she listened to her other grandchildren talking to her on the phone.

Evie sat with grandma on the bed pulled up next to GG as Jeremy and I held her hands. Hannah and Eli came in to hold her hands and say goodbye and then Hannah made a friendship bracelet for GG. We put the bracelet on next to Gram’s rosary and Hannah started working on another behind me on the bed. Evie and Grandma moved to the floor to play with stuffed animals and conversation turned to the birth I had attended the day before.

As we talked, Gram’s breathing slowed more and more and then stopped. Mom looked up from where she and Evie were playing, noticing and came to Gram’s side. Aunt Peggy also came over from where she had been sitting and hugged her mother. There were tears. I sent Hannah to the living room and gave Gram one last kiss.

Then I found Hannah, GG Rosebud, in a puddle of tears.

Life, even when it goes as we know it should, is not easy. I guess that is good, but man it hurts. We moved here with the purpose of raising our children close to their family. I wanted my kids to know what I never felt I had - to have relatives at all their birthdays and all the holidays and even the in between days. Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, and by God’s amazing grace, two Great Grandmas that they would grow up knowing and then live their lives with the wonderful memories of them. And we have that at a cost. The cost of true sorrow over the loss of a loved one.

My own Grandpa died when I was six years old. I knew him and loved him but I had also spent a large part of my life very far away from him. I remember when he died. I remember my Mom being very sad but I also remember thinking that there was something wrong with me because I was not as sad as she was.

A year ago last week, my own Grandmother passed away. We had the fortune of being with her to say goodbye two days before she passed. I felt a different kind of sorrow at her passing, more a sense of wishing that I had gotten to know her better. I did have some great memories of times spent with her and her old cabin in Marquette marks the one place in this world that I truly feel connected to (being the one place I have returned to repeatedly in my life since I was a baby).

Gram Jennings I will miss more in the everyday. I had the good fortune of getting to know her well over the past fourteen years since Jeremy and I were engaged. I have always been impressed with her sense of style and her generously loving spirit. She made the best lemon cream angel food cake (which I tried making and failed miserably at - I’ll have to work on that). St. Patrick’s day has always been celebrated with corned beef and cabbage since I met her and I love it (being a non-red meat eating person these days I still allow myself some corned beef on St Paddy’s day). I have always loved that she likes silver as much as I do, she got the kids beautiful silver baby rattles. I loved that she loved my kids and enjoyed watching her eyes light up when the kids came to visit. I know they are going to miss the games of hide and seek they always played at her condo. All the family festivities will be a little less without her. One less place at the table for Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthdays and just plain old family get togethers.

So there are tears of sadness. And perhaps there should be tears of joy. Joy that she is finally in heaven where she so badly wanted to be for the past few months. The joy of her passing from this life on earth on to her eternal home, something like the joy of a baby being born. Once the baby is born, the mother begins her worrying, "is he cold? hungry? wet? hurt?". And now our worrying over Gram is done but our sadness remains.

It is as it should be, just not easy.

My Ideal School

2011-08-04T04:50:00.000-07:00

I am a fantastical idealist. I believe that everything can be done better and that there is always room for improvement and that maybe, perhaps I could be the one to do it.

Having almost finished my masters degree in education, my head is full of the latest and greatest teaching methodologies and theories, some of which are in use around the world and led to greater successes than what we see in our own public education system. Things as mundane as ‘what do the kids sit on?’ cross my mind regularly (form what I know about our natural physical state, I cannot stand to see children made to sit in seats all day - an exercise ball would be so much better and more natural for their bodies - as would getting up and moving more)!

Make no mistake, I know that we are blessed with some pretty darn good schools where we live, but that is not enough to stop a dreamer from dreaming!

So what would my ideal school look like?

It would be situated near the river and near an open park with natural spaces for exploration and hands on learning. The children would wear uniforms (yes, I did just say that). The building(s) would have windows that open and stay open on all pleasant days. The school would have a garden that is tended by the kids and that provides food for the lunches. School days and annual calendars would be made to work with families - slightly longer days that start a little later and longer school years that have more long breaks within them, similar to the year around schedule. There would be a pool and tennis courts and basket ball hoops and fields for more sports.

And these are just the visual trimmings. The meat of the school comes from the approach to learning and assessment. Teaching would be student-centered with more choice available to students in their learning and more flexibility in assessments, allowing for an individualized education that allows and encourages each child to reach their fullest potential. No cookie cutter test driven learning here, thank you very much!

Oh! I almost forgot, kids would be allowed time to wash their hands before lunch at a long trough-sink that would run down the hallway leading to the cafeteria.

Teachers would be respected as professionals and would have onsite childcare and preschool available for their young ones with time allowances for breastfeeding moms so that returning to work is not wracked with guilt but with pride.

Experts in al areas would be consulted in an ongoing basis to keep the school running at maximum potential and serving families in the best and most honest and straightforward way, keeping communication open to allow for constant improvements.

Students would interact with the world and use technologies to stay abreast of current trends in society - using new technologies to forge international learning communities that support one another and sharing students work in a way that connects them to their parents (imagine being able to see a poem your kid just wrote while you are at work!) and with other learners (think shared subject area blogging about current learning).

The possibilities are endless!!

Someday, someday.

For now, I am preparing to student teach in the fifth grade and hope that I can use some of this enthusiasm to get my students excited to continue learning where they are headed - the terrifying halls of middle school!

Tot at the Wheel

2011-07-25T21:47:00.000-07:00

I was recently telling someone this story and though I should write it down for posterity.

When I was about 2 years old and we were living in the Southern Highlands of Papua New Guinea, my dad had flown somewhere and while we waited for his plane to return, my mom and sister and I were visiting our friends at the Catholic station on the top of a mountain. Mom was talking with Father Hans while my older sister and I were playing around, running in and out of the house.

Now, you have to understand that out in the bush where we were, there were not many vehicles and even fewer people who could drive one, so everyone who had a car occasionally left their keys in the ignition.

So I am told that I heard and then ran out to confirm by sighting my dad’s plane coming in for landing at the air strip. I ran in to tell my mom and she must have, in good mommy fashion, said something like, “okay, just a minute,” and resumed finishing her conversation. being impatient, I ran out the our Suzuki jeep that had it’s doors off and jumped right up on the driver’s seat. Did I call my sister to come join me, or did she just run with me, I don’t know. But at any rate, she jumped in the passenger side and was holding on to the roof with her feet on the seat and her rear end hanging out a bit. Which was probably a good thing because I turned the key in the ignition and the jeep began rolling backwards down the mountain.

At that point my mom and Father Hans must have come running form the house and one of them managed to pull my sister out of the side while the other tried to pry me out. Did I put up a fight, not wanting to get out of my sweet ride? Maybe. Somehow, I must have fallen for a brief moment so that my legs were under the jeep and the wheels were rolling toward me. Someone pulled me to safety and stopped the car only inches from a large rainforest tree.

Whew!

Maybe this was just another day on the mission field for my parents.

They say that your earliest memories are usually traumatic events that your brain stores with whatever language you have available at the time. So when I was five years old and woke up from a dream about an airplane rolling over my legs, my mom put it together and told me this story.

Crazy. But that is my life and there are plenty more where that one came from.

Twelve Years - Already???

2011-06-23T20:29:00.000-07:00

As my facebook page has so kindly reminded me, our anniversary will be this coming Sunday. June 26th. And this will be our twelfth. I know it is cliche to say ‘where has the time gone?’ or ‘it seems like just yesterday!’. Sorry, but it does! I overheard a friend recently telling someone that he always jokes that he and his wife have been married for thirteen years, nine of them happily. The fact that we have a child who will be turning nine this year startles me every time I am reminded. I know some people thought we were married too young and had children too young but we don’t regret a thing. Sure, we have disagreements like anyone else. I know I’m no walk in the park to live with (just ask anyone in my house the day after I have cleaned!). And yes, it might have been nice to have been more financially stable at times (like now, LOL) but what is romance without a few kinks to work out?

You want a good story? I think our story is pretty good. (of course I’m biased)

It all started on a.... Okay, I don’t even really know. I know it was a park around Detroit called Greenfield Village or something like that. There are some pictures somewhere. Anyway, the reason I don’t remember is that I was a couple months old. Jeremy was five years old. He had a baby brother who was a few months older than me who was colicky. So the story goes that Jeremy told his mom repeatedly in the following days that, “that Martha baby is such a good baby, that Martha baby doesn’t cry.”

At that time, my parents were serving as missionaries in Papua New Guinea. Our parents had met when my Dad was serving his vicarage year at their church the year that Jeremy was born, so when we were on furlough, it was a good chance to catch up with old friends. While we were in PNG, Jeremy’s parents would send us care packages with toys and books (when studying children’s literature in college I went home for Christmas and brought back some of my favorite childhood books only to open them and find inscriptions written to Jeremy in the fronts of several!).

But back to the childhood years. When I was seven my family moved to Chicago for my Dad to work on his PhD at the U of C. This meant we got to visit with the Paschkes more often and I developed a schoolgirl crush on Jeremy. Of course, he was 12 or thirteen at the time and he was way too cool to pay attention to an obnoxious little girl in pigtails chasing him around. He does vaguely recall someone chasing him with water balloons at a church picnic. Yup, that was me! I thought he was dreamy with his braces and his big smile, looking so cool as he headed off to baseball games or band practice when we were visiting for dinner.

Then we headed back to PNG for two years. The next time we returned I was twelve and something about moving so frequently gave me the boldness needed to send a letter to Jeremy after we visited them on our way through town. I was in seventh grade and he was a senior in high school who had a girlfriend but he actually wrote back to me. Of course I was heartbroken to learn that he had a girlfriend but I loved reading his letters and loved that he cared enough to write to me so we continued writing. For six years.

Yes, you read that right. What started out as friendly notes back and forth grew into love letters over the course of six years. I was in boarding school in Australia for most of that time and checking my mailbox at the end of the school day was the best part of my day. When I had a letter, it made my day. I would grab it and run to my room and lay on my bed to read his letter even before changing out of my uniform.

My senior year in high school, Jeremy finished college a semester early and came to Australia to study for a year. He arrived when our family was on summer vacation in Cairns, so we got to enjoy my favorite waterfalls and some time together before we went back to our respective schools. Even though he was still sixteen hours away by car (which neither of us had then anyway) he could call me! I remember being in one of the classroom buildings studying on a weekend day when I heard a few of my friends running from the dorms, screaming my name - Jeremy had called (the dorm had one phone at the end of the hall that people could receive calls on). Girls intentionally walked past me several times to eavesdrop on our conversation. So imagine the excitement in the dorm when he actually came to visit once! My house mistress had come to trust me over the three year I had already been there and since he was written down as a family friend who had been approved of by my parents for visiting, she was much more lenient with our visiting. We sat on the steps or Ross Roy, the grand old building that stood at the top of the hill near our dorms to talk one afternoon and a few of my friends tiptoed past to catch sight of my dreamboat boyfriend that I had talked so much about. Then we were allowed to go into the city on the weekend for a few hours (which was pretty much unheard of for our boarding school, so all those years of good behavior paid off!). We walked around the city a bit and enjoyed a picnic lunch before he had to get me back.

Then a stroke of luck - I won an essay contest that sent me to Sydney as a part of the Youth Futures Forum, a national forum that drew youth form all over Australia to talk about how we envisioned the future of the country (I felt like a bit of a cheat, not really being Australian) and it happened to be held at the same time that Jeremy and his parents were visiting Sydney! So when my conference was over, they picked me up and I got to be a tourist in the country I had already lived in for three years. We saw the zoo and rode the water taxis and saw the famous beaches and even caught a show at the opera house. It was amazing! I do recall having that madly-in-love-inability-to chew-and-swallow feeling the whole time and when I boarded my plane back to Brisbane I sobbed like a baby. That Martha baby does cry.

After finishing high school, my family returned to the States and after a half year of working I started college at St Olaf in Minnesota. Jeremy came up to the Twin Cities to study physics at the U of M and one fall day when I took the shuttle bus to the city to visit him, we ate dinner and then he got down on one knee and proposed marriage.

I arrived back at my dorm that night flushed with excitement and after calculating the time difference, I called my best friend who was in a boarding school in Taiwan and asked if she would be my maid of honor. The plans were beginning!

Our engagement lasted almost two years but the wedding day seemed to arrive before I knew it! We were married at my Dad’s church in southeastern Indiana on a very hot June 26th. At our rehearsal dinner the night before, his uncles brought a pig out on a spit and a platter of yams as a continuation of the joke our parents had had about bride-price, which was the custom in PNG.

I woke up on our wedding day with monster-sized butterflies in my stomach. My Dad made me some tea and ran to get something to settle my stomach. The day is a blur of happy memories - I know I cried as I said my vows - I had dreamed of this day for so long it was hard to believe it was happening. I remember it drizzled as we arrived at the reception site and I insisted that the photographer still take some outdoor pictures. I remember his brothers carrying me on their shoulders around the reception hall. I remember all our friends and relatives that were a part of the day. His friends decorated our car but most of it washed off in the drizzle during the reception. I remember my Dad speaking during the reception and playing old tapes of the two of us talking when we were little. There was so much laughter and joy that night.

That outpouring of joy and love from family and friends at our wedding has sustained us through these twelve years as we moved and started our family and as we continue to grow. Sure, we have our spats, we have our days like everyone else but there are a few things I am sure of in life and one of them is that Jeremy and I were meant to be. I still feel like that giddy school girl when I think of how much I love him. Yes, he turns laundry pink sometimes but that makes him human - so that I can get past the flittering stomach of first love and be able to chew and swallow in his presence.

As testament to what our twelve years has brought us - three kids and an over-commitment to our local community - I am only now finishing this piece that I started three weeks ago. As I hear about marriages failing and unfaithful spouses and unhappy wives I know that I am truly blessed to have by my side a man that never leaves me in doubt and whose love I can always count on. Of course it is much more than that. Words do not do justice to the deep and abiding love that you know cannot be broken when you have your soulmate by your side. So here’s to another twelve years and more!

My Secret to ‘Good’ Kids

2011-06-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

I was enjoying a conversation with another Mom at the pool last night when she said she really had to leave and added apologetically, that it might get ugly since she would have to drag her daughter out kicking and screaming. I tried to share my secret with her and figured I would share it with all of you too.

Here it is - my kids are not necessarily ‘better’ than anyone else’s although I do (blush) receive lots of compliments on their behavior. I’ve just been sneaky in how I manage those ‘unwanted’ behaviors. You know, the whining, fighting, complaining etc. Which is not to say that they never do it, but I think we are on to something in our house so I want to share it.

1. Whining - especially at stores - the “I want that” “so-and-so has that, why can’t I?” etc. that are frequently encountered in retail settings. Since they were very young, I have kept up an Amazon wishlist for each of them. Whenever something is desired we simply write it down or remember it and add it to the wishlist when we get home. (you’d be amazed how often the must-have item is quickly forgotten) As for grocery store meltdowns over specific commercial items and candies, the remedy was simple. We only shop at Trader Joes. Not only has it been less expensive and healthier for our family, but there are no cartoon characters wielding their trance-like powers over my kids. Oh, and we don’t have TV, so they have not seen the commercials for all this junk anyway.

2. Fighting. Oh No You Did Not Just Hurt Your Sibling! This is a big one for me, any kind of hurtful behavior is stopped immediately. If at home, they are removed from the house to the back step since this behavior is not acceptable in our house. Of course I stand nearby on the inside to watch them and when they are brought back in they are reminded that hurting people is just not an option and they need to apologize ("say it like you mean it" never really works, does it? a muttered and shamed apology is fine). Usually just a quick disapproving look and a reminder that what happened was not okay is sufficient for minor infractions.

3. Complaining. This brings me to the pool incident. Evie HATES leaving the pool. The first time I experienced her strong reaction to my telling her we had to go I froze. It took me a few minutes to gather myself and figure out my strategy - “Hey Evie, if you complain about leaving now, we won’t be able to come back because it won’t be fun for Mommy.” Amazingly, this two and a half year old had the logic skills to figure out the ramifications of continuing her tantrum. My hunch is that all kids are smarter than we give them credit for and most of the time we can appeal to their logic and get great results. This applies to a wealth of situations. Complaining about not having anything to do? Okay, I’ll take your computer for a week. Don’t like the food? You have to try it, not finish but at least try it so that you can be honest in your description of why you don’t like it.

So last night as another little girl was being hauled out of the pool kicking and screaming, Evie whimpered, I whispered this in her ear, she took a deep breath and held my hand to walk out of the pool. Ah, now we all had a fun night and will look forward to returning for another swim!

Praising God on a Beautiful Day

2011-06-16T20:45:00.000-07:00

Most of you who know me, know that I am an ‘MK’, a ‘PK’, a regular church-goer and so on. But if you really know me, you also know that I am not very open about my faith. I often feel that my faith is not really up to snuff for someone with the ‘churchy’ credentials I have. I don’t do daily devotions, my Biblical knowledge is sorely lacking, I do not like to pray out loud other than our mealtime prayers and I get uncomfortable when talk of religion becomes anything more than intellectual conversation. So it may surprise some of you as much as it surprised me that today a hymn just popped into my head. And I could not shake it.

We were leaving the pool on our bikes and this hymn started playing in my head. As I started going over the lyrics to myself, I realized that it was quite perfect. The day had been quite perfect. The house was clean, laundry done, Jeremy had gotten some work done but was home in time to enjoy lunch with us on the patio. The kids had enjoyed playing outside some more (well, minus Evie who is going through a spat with insects). The weather was perfection - blue skies with big fluffy white clouds blowing by, right around the mid-70s to almost 80 degrees, not humid, just perfect. I was ready to teach my class which is my real passion. Life is good. I have a new nephew whom I absolutely adore, who is a miraculous gift from God. Siblings that I love, parents who are continuing their phenomenal parenting as fabulous grandparents. Grad school classes are all done, student teaching is coming up and then a diploma, another achievement that will open up life to more experiences, more challenges, more joy. Doula certification is in the works, allowing me to be present and assist couples in that exhilarating experience of becoming a family. We are blessed beyond measure with good fortune in our lives, how could I not be amazingly joyful? Something within me, perhaps my inner ‘PK’ busted out with a hymn that captured the moment perfectly:

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

1. Praise to the Lord, The Almighty, the King of creation! O my soul, praise Him, For He is thy health and salvation! All ye who hear, Now to His temple draw near; Praise Him in glad adoration.

2. Praise to the Lord, Who over all things so wondrously reigneth, Shelters thee under His wings, Yea, so gently sustaineth! Hast thou not seen How all your longings have been Granted in what He ordaineth?

3. Praise to the Lord, Who doth prosper thy work and defend thee; Surely His goodness And mercy here daily attend thee. Ponder anew What the Almighty can do, If with His love He befriend thee.

4. Praise to the Lord, O let all that is in me adore Him! All that hath life and breath, Come now with praises before Him. Let the Amen Sound from His people again, Gladly for aye we adore Him.

For all the contemporary Christian music there is, and I love most of it, there is something about these old hymns, maybe it is that my body can feel the surge of the organ and the tingling feeling I get from experiencing the joining of so many voices, whatever it is, there is something about it that makes it so special that it is what played in my heart in a moment of incredible joy. What an incredible blessing from above this day, and all that it contained, has been!

the single most important societal problem of our day

2011-05-05T20:35:00.001-07:00

If I had to say what the single most important societal problem of our day is I would say it is the ‘disconnect’. Funny, we think we are so ‘connected’ with all our technology but in reality we have become increasingly disconnected from everything that is important in life – the people closest to us, the environment around us, and even our own selves.

We think that having the new hot phone will help us stay connected to everything and everyone but we use it as a distraction tool, something to occupy time. Instead of making a connection with the person sitting next to us outside our daughter’s ballet class we check our emails and browse the internet.

I would not even say that it is the fault of the technology we use so much as the choices we are making. Mobile phones are great for many situations. It is not the devices but the users who seem to have lost touch, or disconnected from those around them.

We have disconnected ourselves from the earth and air that surrounds us, we hide inside out of fear or laziness and fail to make a real connection with nature. Maybe this makes it easier to go on using plastic bags and driving gas-guzzling high-pollution vehicles – if we don’t see the beauty that we are destroying through our own daily choices we don’t have to feel bad about what we do.

We also disconnect from our own being, from our physical body through not paying attention to aches and pains and reactions to certain foods that may be causing us more ill than good, and from our spiritual self constant worry about the future and keeping up with the Jones’ rather than being fully present in experiencing the joy in each fleeting moment.

Staying connected to others, to the space around us and to our innermost being is something that takes effort. It requires of us something more than most are willing to give but the payoff is so much greater than we could ever expect – the hug from an understanding friend, the tranquility of sitting peacefully, watching the waves crash on the shore, the incredible peace you can experience when you know that you have made positive decisions that will make not only your own, but someone else’s life a little bit better. That is why regaining the lost connection is worth the effort.

Rewards

2011-03-14T19:53:00.000-07:00

I spent the day today creating what I hope will solve all behavior issues in this house. Cool. I bet you want to know what it is, huh?

Well, I started thinking last week when I went to a home party where a behavior reward system was offered for sale. It was jars with marbles, similar to what my daughter’s second grade teacher does in her classroom - you do good, you get a marble. Once the marble jar is full, you pick a prize. Basically the carrot idea.

Now, having a degree in psychology and almost a degree in education I know that reward systems are used frequently and I also know that they are the cause of great debate. There are several great books out there that explain in detail why reward systems don’t really work. Alfie Kohn’s book, 'Punished By Rewards’ is the one that comes to mind first.

"Kohn, the author of other iconoclastic books, among them You Know What They Say: The Truth About Popular Beliefs ( LJ 8/90), here shows how rewards of all sorts undermine our efforts to teach students, manage workers, and raise children. Although aimed at a general audience, the book is based on extensive research and documented with almost 100 pages of notes and references. The first six review the behaviorist tradition and lay out in a clear and convincing manner Kohn's central argument that "pop behaviorism" is dangerously prevalent in our society. Here Kohn discusses why rewards, including praise, fail to promote lasting behavior change or enhance performance and frequently make things worse. The remaining six chapters examine the effect of rewards and alternatives to them in companies, schools, and the home. Recommended for all types of libraries.

- Mary Chatfield, Angelo State Univ., San Angelo, Tex.
Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.”

Knowing all of this has not stopped me from using rewards at all with my own children, it is really hard not to. It usually works very well with young children, they love to get a sticker or a lollipop or watch a movie. Rewards can be easy to come up with. So it is very tempting to fall into a trap of always relying on them. I’ll admit that I used rewards with my kids for potty training, although I think I did this more so with the last one. I know the first two kids got a big prize when they went for a week with no accidents, they never got something for each time they went potty. I had seen a friend attempt this and her kid trained himself to let out a little bit at a time in order to rack up the prizes - I’m sure that is not good for a kid physically! I used a random rewards system instead, a reward was given maybe every five or ten times. I often forgot to give one and there was no arguing (worth it just for that!). The final prize was something picked by the child as a celebration of their accomplishments, something they were proud to pick out. not to say this is the way to go, but it did work for us.

It has been a while since the older kids have had any sort of chart for their responsibilities. They had one when they were in preschool and all it entailed was placing a smiley-faced magnet under each task they completed that day before bedtime. There were no prizes that I can remember, but they were excited to see that they had filled in all their smiles.

Recently we revisited the idea of a chore chart in order to keep the kids on task for what they need to be doing each day without my having to scream it at them repeatedly. Every Mom out there knows what I mean. “Seriously, it is almost spring break of your second year of school and you still need to be reminded to wash your hands when you get home???!!!” I have tried to use Dr. Driekurs suggestion of the natural consequence - “If you don’t hurry up, you’ll miss the bus and you WILL be walking today!!!” (his idea is that you make the kids walk just once, with you driving alongside to make sure they are safe, to teach them the idea of why it is important to get themselves ready in the morning). It is a wonderful idea but when I look at my precious little blue-eyed-pouting-lipped little boy I just cannot bring myself to so it.

I saw an article posted on my facebook page about gentle parenting and why gentle parents do not use rewards and punishments. I want to be a gentle parent. I feel that we are gentle parents in many ways with our kids so I immediately decided I had to change the plan. Doing a marble jar was not going to be our thing. I can just picture myself, taunting them with the marbles in hopes of getting them to win the prize because I don’t want to see them not get it. It would get ugly. Just as ugly as having no system.

Instead I went and bought four small wooden plaques and one larger one. I talked with the kids at breakfast and we agreed that a self-assessment system would be our goal. I am in the middle of painting the four signs with our house rules/responsibilities - “Be Helpful” “Be Responsible” “Be Honest” and “Be Kind”. The fifth plaque has the days of the week and each child’s name. They will be responsible for honestly recording how they did each day on the four rules/responsibilities. A smile means “I did great and feel good about this”; a frown means “I know I messed this up today but I will try to do better tomorrow” and a straight lipped mouth will mean “I did some good and some not so good today”. I’m sure there will be days when being honest is too hard, but that is yet another good lesson to be learned.

There may be a surprise movie or dinner out every once in a while when weeks have been particularly good, to let them know how much we appreciate their efforts and recognize that it is not easy.

Sure, we will have to spend a lot of time talking about these values and what things in our daily life are encompassed by each one but I think this will be a good thing and ought to get much discussion anyway. Instead of holding the carrot out in front of them and using the stick when they veer off the course, they will know why they are on the course and what they need to do to stay on it.

Lofty goals, I know. I’ll let you know how it goes. So far today it went pretty well. There was discussion of what needed to get done rather than orders being barked. It felt good for a change and I hope it can stick.

(while I was writing this, Jeremy was watching this:

PNG - My Life in a Tropical Paradox

2011-01-30T20:32:00.001-08:00

I was recently at a party with friends when someone asked some questions about my experience growing up in Papua New Guinea. I had not talked about it in a long time and while talking I realized how much I had missed sharing this experience with people who were interested.

If you did not know this already, I was born in a remote village in the jungles of the Enga province of Papua New Guinea. Enga meris (women from Enga) are known for being quite fearsome. I like to think I can be fearsome. I was delivered by a New Guinean midwife since the Scottish doctor who delivered my older sister was on furlough. Perhaps this is the beginnings of my fascination with the miracle of birth (and an insane admiration of my Mama).

I spent the first few years of my life playing with leaves and sticks and dirt, wearing a grass skirt, being carried over vine bridges on the shoulders of New Guinean men (I don’t think they trusted my parents and their slippery white-folk hair that was no good for a kid to hold on to), and riding in helicopters to go grocery shopping. I honestly do not recall a thing about those early years beyond what I have seen in pictures and been told in stories.

Apparently I could speak three languages by the time I was three. English, Melanesian Pidgin and Duna, the local language (there are over 800 languages in PNG). And I could tell who spoke which language. I am impressed with me. If only I could remember one of those languages well now! I learned recently about myself that my early exposure to many languages while making it easier for me to learn other languages as I grew up, also made me incapable of communicating fully to the extent of my intellectual desire - I reduce everything to the simplest of terms. Perhaps I am always preparing to have to change something into another language. I’ll claim that as my excuse. Please tell my professors!

There were some funny stories surrounding our return to the US when I was three. Like me and my sister diving for cover under the car in the grocery store parking lot when we heard a helicopter - in PNG it would have been a police helicopter coming to break up a tribal war with tear gas. Or my Mom trying to tell us that snow was soft stuff and us jumping off the steps onto our faces in three inches of it.

There was the confusion for me of living in a really white town for a few years and then moving to Hyde Park in chicago and having African American kids - who looked like my first friends - being angry towards me. It took years for me to understand that.

We returned to PNG when I was ten and quickly learned that the paradise we had left behind seven years before was now a pretty scary place to be. Violence, especially against expats and women was rampant. Our home had bars on the windows and alarm switches in every room that could send the Seminary students running to our rescue should we need them. We could not go out at night. The few times we tried to ended badly. Once my Dad picked a few of us up from a school dance and our car was attacked as we neared the one-lane bridge that led to home. He desperately tried to turn the car around but the engine died as the men beat on the windows of the van and my friends and I sat paralyzed in fear. We eventually got turned around and back to the police station where we waited for hours for an escort home. There were even times in broad daylight that were quite terrifying. My younger sister and I were in a friends’ car on the way to their house when a man jumped out and threw a rock into the windshield of the car, leaving us covered in glass and blood. Thankfully my friend’s Mom had the presence of mind to keep driving us to safety. It was impossible to deny the fear that we all lived with.

Yet at the same time there were beautiful moments - we would drive down close to the coast and smell the salty air, or I would climb the tree in our back yard and watch as the sun began to set and the palm trees swayed lightly in the breeze. Between the two different houses we lived in over those eight years, we had pineapples, guavas, lemons, star fruit, papaya, bananas, passion fruit and mangoes growing either in our yard or across the street. I used to make a game of eating lemons and daring other kids to do it too. (One poor girl threw up from it.) And we had a pool. A round, corrugated tin pool that we could make an awesome wave in by pushing down repeatedly on a large inner tube until the wave would crash over our heads and sometimes over the sides of the pool. I remember trips into town when we would get to pick out a treat at the grocery store, maybe some gum or a dove bar. There was a smell about the city. A combination of sweat and buai (it is chewed and spit out like tobacco) and rain. Thinking about that smell makes me happy. I remember trips into town to go to the international hotel and swim in the big pool and eat fries and drink a lemon lime bitter. Once the toucan that resided there caught a ball that was being thrown around in the pool. School was usually fun too, especially when we had to run from building to building through the rain. We would arrive at the next class refreshed and exhilarated! The sound of the rain at night, beating down on the tin roof, was so peaceful. I miss that. So while there was a very real risk and danger involved every day, there was always beauty and fun to balance it out. And that it what life is - balance.

Surrogacy

2011-01-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

“I’ll do it.”

It was that simple. I did not hesitate. My friend had been talking about how she was thinking about looking for a gestational surrogate. She had been diagnosed with lupus after having her first child and was told she should not attempt to get pregnant again. Most of us in the playgroup that were gathered at her house that day had just recently had our second children.

We were driving home from an appointment one day, several months later, when she turned to me and said, “why are you doing this?” I could not tell if she was still surprised that I would do this or if she thought that I was a little insane for doing it, but it was easy for me, I knew that she and her husband had two blastocysts that were still cryogenically frozen from their previous round of IVF and I knew that they needed a chance to grow into the life that they had the potential for. I am not choosing sides in the abortion debate here, nowhere near. I am not even judging whether or not people should use medicine in this way. All I knew was that if it were me, and I had two little possible babies out there I would want them to have a chance at life.

Sometime during my pregnancy with my own first child my husband and I were watching the show Everwood and there was an episode where one of the character, Nina, was a gestational surrogate for a friend of hers. I thought it was such a beautiful and selfless gift. I knew that two of my husband’s cousins were struggling with infertility and even though it had only taken a few months for us to conceive our first, each time it did not happen was agony for me. I could not imagine living with that kind of painful longing for so long.

So I signed on the lines and I took the blood tests and I went to the fertility office appointments and met with a lawyer and learned how to give myself injections. We prepared. We got giddy every once in a while, thinking about this beautiful experience we were hoping to share.

My husband was a little reluctant at first but was always fully supportive of me. Others were weary and admitted their concern, if only through their lack of encouragement. I came to learn a lot about those around me as I viewed their reactions to my experience. I did worry about my own children’s understanding of what was going on and how they might handle it if Mommy had a baby and it was not their baby to keep. I knew they would understand when the time came. They were only 3 years old and 18 months.

I don’t remember when they set they appointment for the transfer (it is not called implantation because the blastocysts have to implant themselves, they only deposit them into the uterus). I remember being anxious. I remember them telling us that the blastocysts had thawed well and were of good quality. Then we watched the monitor as they guided the thin tube into my uterus and carefully transferred the tiny blastocysts - we could actually see them on the monitor! It was pretty cool. I was worried that movement might decrease the odds of success, so I lay still for as long as I could (but having had a full bladder for the procedure made it impossible to wait long).

The whole process did not take long and afterwards we went to the Cheesecake Factory on Michigan Ave. for lunch. We were all holding our breath, hoping that it would work. It was December, so they were worried about the ice on the sidewalks.

I was to go in to the office for a blood draw pregnancy test in a few days.

I went home and my wonderful husband agreed to give me the shots of hormones because I was too chicken to give them to myself. He does not do well with needles (usually passes out at the sight of them) so this was huge for him. Every evening he would give me the shot. I was a little surprised at how big the needle was but it was part of the process and I desperately wanted this to work for my friends.

It was just before Christmas and we were headed down to my parent’s house to celebrate early with them. We stopped at the fertility office so that I could run in and have the blood draw that would tell us what we’d all been waiting for.

The next day I received a phone call from my friend. “It WORKED!!!” She yelled through joyful tears. I sat down and laughed and cried with her over the phone.

A few days later we were back at home and preparing to go in to my in-laws for Christmas. I was beginning to feel the nausea and finally feeling like this was all very real. My husband had become quite good at giving the shots and my poor pjs were showing signs of the two weeks’ worth of injections - small drops of blood had stained the waistband. As we headed in to grandma and grandpa’s house the day before Christmas Eve, we stopped for another quick blood draw to confirm the pregnancy for a second time.

I was laying on a bed upstairs reading a Jodi Picoult book while my little boy slept nearby when I heard my phone vibrating. I decided not to answer it and risk waking him up. After a few minutes I checked my messages. It was a nurse from the fertility office.

I don’t even remember what she said in the message but she was talking about the hormone levels being low and something about how I could quit doing the shots. It all became something of a blur as I rushed down the stairs with hot tears streaming down my face. I called my friend. She had heard as well. I had miscarried. But I did not believe it. Physically, nothing had changed. I insisted that they were wrong. Part of me knew that they knew what they were talking about but I did not want to face it, so I still did the shot that night.

We went out to a comedy club with my brothers in law and their wives and a cousin. Everyone had margaritas but I could not bring myself to drink. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe. The comedy skits must have been funny but I don’t remember laughing.

The next morning I woke up and knew they were right. A chill ran through me when I knew the baby(ies?) had passed. I bawled. Relatives tried to comfort me and tell me it was for the best. It would have been too hard anyway. Something like that. Maybe they were right. But it still did not feel right to me.

Days passed. I finally saw my friend about a week later. We drove around for a while and then parked near the river and talked. She seemed so much more together than I had expected. She was worried about me. I was worried about her. We cried and hugged. Someday it would all be okay.

I guess I am naive. It was only about a year and a half later, just after having talked with her about her hopes for adoption that I learned that she had been cheating on her husband for a while and was planning on leaving him. It would seem to be another story altogether but after what we had gone through together I was incredibly shocked. I know that infertility can take it’s toll on relationships but she knew this too and they had one child that they had gone through a lot to have. How she could do this was beyond me and I was furious with her. It damaged our relationship beyond repair. The one thing that kept running through my head was, “if you are so sure that this is what is right for your life, would you have done this even if the surrogacy had worked out? Because you are making a fool of me now too.”

The light at the end of all of this is that as I was talking with her husband as he was trying to understand what was going on, how his world was crashing all around him, my husband and I (I like to claim responsibility) hooked him up with another friend who had gone through a divorce and the two of them hit it off. They have been engaged for a year now! Not how I had ever really pictured things turning out but it is good to have some happy to the ending.

For the two years after the surrogacy I cried a lot right before Christmas. I had also found a new respect for Mary in the Christmas story. She was the first surrogate, after all. I suppose her story did not have the happiest of endings either. At least not the earthly story. Not that I rate myself so highly as to compare myself to Mary. Heavens no! But it does make me pause to think about everything I went through and how there can be little glimmers of hope where we least expect it and even when things don’t go how we’d hoped we can still learn about ourselves and those around us.

Every once in a while we are faced with the opportunity to do something that just feels right. Sure, it did not ‘work’ in the way that we had hoped. But the question was answered. There is peace in that. And I believe it is that gift of knowing and not having to live with the not knowing that was my gift to them. People like to make a bigger deal out of it than I think it is worthy of. I just did what I could to help some friends find a bit of peace in their lives. We all do it in some way or other at some point in our lives.

Christmas Without Santa

2010-12-10T11:48:00.000-08:00

We are those parents. The ones whose kids know that Santa is a lie. (and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, you get the picture.)

Okay, I know you are wondering why would parents ruin their kids' childhood by telling them this?? (you are also thinking “I better keep my kids away from their kids!!” aren’t you??)

It might not be what you are thinking and it is not nearly as bad as you are picturing.

They do enjoy being children, they love Christmas just as much as any other kids out there. They made me crazy begging to decorate the tree, Eli bounds down the stairs every morning, excited to open the next window on the advent calendar, and they even talk about the excitement of getting gifts from ‘Santa’.

It was my husband, Jeremy, who decided it should be this way when we first had Hannah eight years ago and when he explained his reasoning to me, it made sense. He just wanted our kids to know to whom they should be grateful for their stockings-full of presents. But out of that one reason have grown a plethora of reasons that I am now thankful that we don’t have to keep up with a lie.

First of all - it is a lie. It is the one thing that almost all parents consistently lie to their kids about. Do you remember how you felt when you found out the truth?? A little disappointed? Or were you the older sibling who spoiled it for a younger one? It was ruined for me when our family was staying in a hotel on Christmas Eve and my sister woke me up and pointed to the end of the bed where our Dad was trying to quietly fill the stockings. Sure, it did not destroy Christmas for me, but there was that lingering feeling of, "gee, what else are they lying about?”

It is just plain creepy. Sorry, I really don’t want to offend anyone who is trying to keep up the Santa thing, but think about it, we tell our little kids to go sit on a stranger’s lap?? I just saw a link to a HuffPost story about Sketchy Santas - Santas who’s laps you would not want your kids to sit on. When we are all worked up about having our kids patted down at the airport for security reasons and yet we have no qualms about telling them that they better be nice and sit on Santa’s lap? My eight year old is the one who told me this year that it is creepy when I asked if she wanted to see the Santa house in town. I feel a little more comfortable knowing that she knows that something like that is creepy. Not to even mention the fact that we act as if it is a wonderful thing that some creepy old man is breaking and entering into every house in the world. I don’t think I’d sleep to well if I had been scared of the Santa at the mall if I was told that he was coming to my house while I was asleep!

Jesus is the reason for the season. No, we aren’t going to go all Evangelical on you. Our kids are not going to be competing in the Bible bee any day soon. We are a good sampling of the ‘frozen chosen’. That said, when our kids talk about Christmas, they talk about baby Jesus. The two year old took baby Jesus out of his manger and made him give me hugs and kisses the other day. She said, "baby Jesus loves you!” And I know that she gets it. We are celebrating Jesus. Not some jolly old man. They enjoy singing in church on Christmas Eve and are not anxious to get out of there so that Santa can come already.

Work. Jeremy overheard a co-worker talking about the great lengths she was going to in order to keep her two middle-school aged sons believing in Santa. I don’t know about you, but I just don’t have time to stress out about keeping up the task of establishing proof of a non-existent being.

Gratitude. It was the original reason we had for teaching them that these things are not real. They know that Mommy and Daddy are Santa, the Easter bunny and the Tooth fairy. They know that Mommy and Daddy have a limited budget so they don’t get worked up when they don’t get some really expensive toy in their stocking. And when the tooth fairy forgets, they know who to hit up! They know that listening to us and behaving themselves really does matter because who knows if Santa can see, but Mommy is right here and you better not do that! And when we can pull off that one cool gift, we get little arms wrapped around our necks in gratitude. And it feels so good.

All this said, I do believe that we are all entitled to our own holiday traditions and I have no intention of messing with yours or judging you for yours, this is what works for us and I thought I’d share it in case you are trying to decide for yourself or wondering what it is like when they know.

Christmas is magical because of friends and family and the birth of Christ. We don’t need much more than that.

Storms

2010-11-22T05:59:00.000-08:00

I woke up in heaven. The clock read 7:21 instead of 6:04 (we are on Thanksgiving break!). No alarm went off. The kids had slept in and the girls had just come to snuggle in my bed. They were whispering “I love you’s” to each other. And to top it off - rain was tapping on my window. Followed by a flash of lightening and a roll of thunder. Happiness, peace, love. Can’t get better than this. (okay, it could have - Jer could have had the day off too.)

I don’t remember the first time I realized that I loved rain storms this much. I think I was scared of them as a small child. Check with my Mom on that one. What I do know is that I became intensely aware of their power when we lived in PNG in the early 90s. I was eleven or twelve and we had come to the realization that the country we had been sent to as missionaries had changed significantly in the past eight years into a country wrought with civil unrest, drunkenness, violence - particularly toward women. I heard stories of it every day at school. Thankfully PNG is a rainforest nation so I could count on the tropical downpours to lull me to sleep. I felt safer, as though God himself was wrapping me in His almighty hands to bring me safe through the night. We had corrugated tin roofs which made the pitter patter of raindrops more like a crashing drumming sound. It was delightful. Knowing that there was something bigger than me, and He was taking care of things so I could sleep.

When it rained during the day, we would hug our books to our chests and run between classroom buildings, exhilarated by the feel of raindrops splashing on our faces and not even thinking of wanting to keep the rain off of us. It was a good 90 degrees every day so the daytime rains were always welcome. Even when it meant soaking wet shoes that squished with each step for the rest of the day. I loved seeing the white spider flowers after the rain, the delicate drip of water on the tips of their petals. Some days we would huddle closer to the center of the common area while we ate lunch because the water was splashing heavily around the sides. (our lunch area was the concrete slab under a raised building, no walls needed)

Later, in high school (a boarding school in Australia) we did not get as much rain, but of all of Australia, Brisbane is one of the rainier places. We again had the metal roofs, so if I had a room on the second floor I could hear the sound I loved at night (that and the occasional possum falling out of the tree and screeching!). When it rained on the weekends it was like God had pressed ‘pause’ and people would stay indoors and just hang out playing games and watching movies and maybe (maybe) doing homework together as the sisters we had become. We would run out the back to the tuck shop in the next dorm to buy a handful of candy to share. Maybe a microwaved pizza for lunch. Or a bowl of ramen noodles, made with hot water from the bathroom. Rainy days were together times. Of course if it rained on a school day, we were in trouble in our white uniform dresses!

In college, at St. Olaf in Northfield MN, I recall a heavy rainfall early in my freshman year. We put on our oldest clothes and ran to the soccer field that had rain gushing down the corners, forming giant waterslides/mudslides which we took to on our backsides. Good thing we were not returning to our mothers’ bathrooms to wash off! People came together in the spirit of fun. Unbounded joy. No holding back, did not matter if you knew anyone or what you looked like, we were just there to have fun. (in the winter we would take cafeteria trays to sled down the same hills)

My favorite places are those that I associate with rain - New Zealand, The Northwestern US, the East Coast to name a few. Some days I’d love nothing more than to be in one of these places with the family, sitting at a coffee shop outside where the rain splashes on a metal roof above us and we can soak up that much needed moisture while sipping our tea or hot chocolate and talking about what to do next.

Now as a grown-up (am I?), I still love storms. I love the light mist that we had yesterday as we walked to the library, gently tickling my face and soothing dry skin. Such a refreshing feeling! I love the heavy rains that keep us inside as a family playing games or snuggling together to watch a movie. Baking. That big pause button gets hit and we can do things we might otherwise have justified not doing because we were too busy. We don’t get enough storms here. Or have not lately at least. Even as I finish writing this, the clouds are clearing and I can see blue sky.

I was not ready for the blue sky yet this morning. We are still in our jammies, needing breakfast and needing to clean. While the rain lasted we could justify just laying here and watching shows together but alas now we must get up and get going.

In Sickness and in Health

2010-11-15T16:14:00.000-08:00

I lied. I so totally and utterly lied. I am not a good wife when my husband is sick. I’ll take the health but to be completely honest, I am not good with the sickness part of marriage.

Hubby emailed earlier today to tell me that he thought he was coming down with a cold. Nothing else. No greeting, just that. “I think I am getting a cold.” I should not have been surprised then, when he walked through the door coughing, sputtering, sniffling and doing this little whine/moan thing he does when he wants sympathy and to be let off the hook from all responsibility. I’ll admit it - I was feeling hostile. I had been scouring the house from top to bottom with my sidekick in tow all day. Took her to her tumbling class and then on a quick errand to pick up a few things for my eldest’s birthday party that is five days away. Oh, and getting ready to teach from home tonight, making dinner, taking the kids to the playground and cleaning up after dinner. Now I’m not saying that I don’t think he worked hard all day, of course he did. But his day ends when he walks through the door moaning and I guarantee that before the oldest two are asleep, he will be out. And I will be wrapping up class and cleaning up, getting things squared away for the morning and finishing up a few other household chores that need to be done.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband dearly. He is a wonderful father, amazingly supportive and kind and, well, everything good a husband should be and I know that he puts up with more than his fair share of my own faults (should I be hoping that he never blogs about me?). I am no saint. I’ll give him that. But why is it that men feel they have the right to become an extra child in the house when they are sick and yet if I were to be ill, I would still be doing everything that needed to be done for everyone else in this house. There was the time that I was incredibly sick with strep last year when I did have a few days ‘off’ (I still had to get the kids ready and out the door as I was barely able to stand and was running to the bathroom to hurl and desperately trying to reach him on his cell phone - oh and I was still breastfeeding the youngest). Or maybe I don’t cut myself slack?

It has been interesting to me now that I am aware of this fault of mine, my inability to show true sympathy to my husband when he is sick, to monitor myself and my responses to him. Like when he stood up from the dinner table and asked if I wanted him to help clean up (hey, he asked and I DO give him credit for that!) but knowing full-well that he was only phrasing his statement of “I’m heading up to bed now” into a question to make it sound better. Of course part of me wanted to snap a come-back about feeling over-burdened. But I was good, I said "no, you go upstairs, I’ve got this.” I am aware that my reactions are negative and counter-productive so I am working on being more kind. I am trying.

Still, I hear the gross man-cold sounds coming from upstairs and I shudder. I have to ask myself why is it that someone else being sick is so irksome to me? Maybe because it does not fit my pretty picture of how I want life to be? Is it because I have perfectionist tendencies and anything that falls outside of perfection is just not cool with me.

I do tend to try to deny my kids’ ailments, I like to assume that there really is not anything wrong with them, at least nothing bad. “It’s just nerves, you don’t have a tummy ache” (followed by child puking on me as if to prove their point) “it is just a little baby sniffles” (followed by baby hospitalized with RSV) “oh, you’ll be fine, just shake it off” (okay, this one I have thankfully been right about so far, knock on wood!). I have been really lucky that my kids just do not get sick much at all. Luck, genetics, healthy eating, hand washing, a combination perhaps.

I do believe that to a degree it is a control issue for me. Nerves we can work on with some breathing. Boo boos I can kiss better. Most things that reach beyond this make me feel out of control. If a kid were sick enough to stay home from school, it would throw the whole day into chaos. I don’t dare imagine worse scenarios.

A husband who is always there helping clean up and folding laundry and helping with bedtime and piano practice and who is now coughing and stuffy and moaning in head-cold agony leaves me feeling like the world is up-ended. My helpmate is temporarily out of service and I don’t function as well without him.

I do get the feeling that I am not the only Mom/Wife out there who tend to feel more angst that sympathy for her husband when he is ill. Knowing that I am not alone (I hope?!) in this helps me to a degree but also knowing that I am aware of my not-so-sympathetic tendencies and trying to be intentional about changing this will hopefully make me a better wife. Because he does deserve that. After all, I need to stop making a liar of myself. I promised.

30 Days of Thankfulness

2010-11-10T19:31:00.000-08:00

Those of you who follow my Facebook postings know that I have not jumped on the 30 Days of Thankfulness bandwagon. I am not ungrateful, just busy. So here is what I am thankful for:

1 - My Beautiful, Amazingly brilliant, and wonderfully kind Daughter Hannah

2 - My Handsome, Whiz-kid, and supremely gentle Son Eli

3 - My Sweet, Silly, Gorgeous, Cuddly Baby Girl Evie Jane

4 - My Loving, (Tolerant), Patient, Wickedly Smart, Super-Dad Husband Jeremy

5 - My Strong and amazingly talented sister Kara

6 - My Thoughtful and funny brother Eric

7 - My Big sister Linnea whose presence in my life is missed.

8 - My Mama who gave it her all to make me who I am.

9 - My Daddy who’s tears I saw as the plane took off, bringing me back to boarding school years ago.

10 - All of my Grandparents who must have done something right and who led fascinating lives.

11 - My in-Laws who are generous and always ready to spend time with the kids.

12 - My wonderful Aunt Karen, Godmother supreme, talented, caring and thoughtful.

13 - My Uncle Dan who shares my political views and humor.

14 - My Uncle David and Aunt Shirley who are fun to be around (yes, I remember dancing to Pretty Woman in your car!)

15 - My Uncles Noel, Nathan, Byron, Rocky - all amazing people that I wish I saw more!

16 - My Aunts Sylvelin and Gloria - ditto!

17 - My 19 cousins - all of whom I feel like I just have not had the chance to hang out with enough.

18 - My Paschke family Grandmas, Aunts and Uncle and Cousins, brothers and sisters-in law - all truly wonderful people that I love dearly.

19 - Every teacher I have ever had. Some taught me what to be and others taught me what not to be, all valuable lessons.

20 - My friends, near and far, old and new - you know who you are (yes, Mom, they are all my friends!)!

21 - My home. It is easy to forget what a treasure it is when dealing with cracked doors and bursting pipes, but I am truly fortunate.

22 - My neighborhood - (you guys got counted twice!) some have referred to it as Mayberry. It may just well be.

23 - The GORGEOUS weather we have had this week. LOVE it.

24 - The many strong women who have come to my classes seeking to have a natural birth.

25 - Chai. ‘nough said.

26 - Photographs old ones and new ones

27 - My health.

28 - Having had an adventurous childhood. (okay, sometimes I am not so thankful for this)

29 - Smells - the ocean, cinnamon, frangipanis, ginger, clean babies, pineapple, chai

30 - the forgiveness of anyone who was unintentionally left off of my list. I love you all and am always reminded of how wonderful my life is because of the people in it. Yes, chai is nice, but you are nicer!

Guns Germs and (no Steel)

2010-09-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my title. Stolen from a fabulous book which I did not read but heard excerpts from as my much wiser husband read it. The two things weighing on my mind right now are guns and germs. I could not think of anything steel related hat would work, thus not using the full title.

So when someone says 'Boy Scout’, what so you picture? Probably an eagerly helpful young man helping old ladies across streets and listening respectfully to authorities. Okay, maybe my picture is a little too idealistic (I find this gets me into all sorts of trouble). But imagine my shock when we pulled up to the campsite for Eli and Jeremy’s debut as Boy Scout and Leader and a string of about eight seven to nine year olds push past me, running full tilt, voices raised and guns aimed.

I have been fairly adamant that I am not okay with my kids playing with guns. After having lived in a country where it was common to hear of an acquaintance being held up at gun point, having a friend’s boyfriend shot and killed and having had guns aimed at our own car, I vowed to myself that I would never handle a gun. Since then I have heard so many more stories of senseless acts of violence carried out with guns and have NEVER heard of a single story where a gun saved a life. A fellow teacher at Jeremy’s school witnessed her husband being shot and killed in front of her on the south side of Chicago, a parent of one of his best students came home and shot and killed his wife in front of their children.

Guns are a weapon for cowards. You don’t have to think to hurt or kill a person with a gun. Studies have shown that kids who play a lot of video games that use target skills are almost equally skilled at pointing and shooting a gun even if they had never held an actual one before. So why is it that so many people think that guns are an acceptable toy for young boys (or boys of any age)? Why did those parents allow their sons to bring them on a Boy Scout camping trip and then stand by and watch them carry on as they did? Were they not appalled at all? Are they so desensitized to violence that this seemed mild to them?

The stranger thing is that one Dad finally told them to put the guns away and that “Boy Scouts don’t use guns” and then several hours later they were all given awards for BB gun shooting which they had earned by going to summer camp. Are we sending mixed messages? It terrifies me to think that this is what I have signed my son up for.

Aside form the guns, these boys were just plain horrible to each other and not anything of an example that most people expect them to be. Around the morning campfire, a bunch of them ganged up on one other boy and kept calling him gay. After abut fifteen minutes of standing there hoping that someone’s parent would have the sense to stop their child, I cracked and let them have it. Then I talked to the leader and let him know that I did not want my children around these kids. (I think one of them was his own, but he still needed to know since no one else there seemed to care). The fact that all those parents could stand there and listen to their own children talking the way they were is very sad. Jeremy pointed out that using the word ‘gay’ as an insult these days is like using the ’n’ word has been for some time. Is our community SO monogamous that this kind of behavior is still tolerated??

It saddens me deeply to have learned this side of what I thought was a fabulous community we live in. Maybe I had my hopes up too high but my feeling is that if you don’t expect better of your kids, you can’t expect them to turn out to be the wonderful people you want them to be. And I don’t want my son to be a gun-toting foul-mouthed fool who builds himself up by putting others down. I want him to be a humble, respectful and thoughtful person who can have a good time without it costing another person’s dignity.

Funny thing is, the youngest boys there were the best behaved by FAR. Maybe we need to split away from the rest of the pack?

And the germs, you ask? What about the germs? Ah yes. Back to the beginning of the school year and one of my pet peeves has come around again. That being the constant reminders from the school of the three Cs of flu season (Clean your hands, Cover you Cough and Contain your illness). The first of which there is no time for in the tight school day and yet they keep pretending that it happens. It is such hypocrisy to keep posting this all over as if it matters when they know full well that they do not have time to let kids wash their hands before eating. They claim that alcohol based hand sanitizer is just as effective and is available to the kids at school. Baloney. It is not as effective. First of all it does not do much for viruses, mostly only for bacteria and then it weakens their immune systems so that they are less able to fight off illness when it does present itself AND they are less and less responsive to the antibiotics given to treat disease when needed which leads to the development of the so-called super-bugs.

I talked with a friend today who used to work with a firm that designed schools and she said that if it was a plumbing thing that is not required by code, schools will not pay the extra for it. So for example, the private school that one of my professors worked at that had a trough-style sink long enough for ten or more kids at a time to wash their hands in the hallway upon entering from the playground on their way to lunch will never happen in a public school. Too bad since we just got a new school. Apparently hand washing was not enough of a priority then.

Thankfully my daughter has a teacher who realizes this and gives each student a hand wipe before lunch. Love her! And I send my son with a wipe for his hands. We will do our best to work with the system, let’s just not pretend we are doing things we aren’t, okay?

And no steel. (told you)

In a Blink

2010-09-08T20:07:00.000-07:00

Teach me to number my days
And count every moment before it slips away
Taking all the colors before they fade to gray
I don't want to miss even just a second more of this

It happens in a blink
It happens in a flash
It happens in the time it took to look back
I try to hold on tight, but there's no stopping time
What is it I've done with my life
It happens in a blink

When it's all said and done
No one remembers how far we have run
The only thing that matters is how we have loved
I don't want to miss even just a second more of this

It happens in a blink
it happens in a flash
it happens in the time it took to look back
I try to hold on tight but there's no stopping time
What is it I've done with my life
It happens in a blink

We arrived home from a fun weekend with family to the terrible news of the death of another family member. Jeremy’s Uncle Doug had died suddenly and unexpectedly from a heart attack Monday evening. We are all still in shock and deeply sad for the loss suffered by his wife and son and daughter in law. They are a small, close family. They had been out to dinner, the four of them just the night before. And that evening, he and his wife were picking up Gram to go to dinner at Mom and Dad’s.

In a recent discussion with my mostly-estranged sister, she expressed her anger towards me that I think that the blood of family means that you work harder at those relationships. It has been the source of huge frustration for me that my own family has this deep division. I have tried. Heck, I got a degree in psychology that was mostly based on this frustration. But our most recent discussion was so disappointing to me because I had such hope in the beginning that things might change for the better now. Unfortunately I seem to be infinitely naive.

I know that DNA-based relationships are not the be-all and end-all in life and there are certainly times when they aren’t even possible (adoption) or may be harmful and in those cases people find or get a new family that takes the place. But for the most part, family is something worth fighting for.

Jeremy and I chose to live in the Chicago area in order to be close to family. His family had a greater concentration here and my family is far-flung and tends to move frequently so this made sense to us, to raise our kids with the most family possible. And we see family fairly frequently. Even my family. Especially this month with it being my brother’s wedding! But I do get to feeling that we should be spending more time with family than we do right now. When Hannah was a baby and we had no classes or after-school activities, we went in to visit family or they came out here pretty frequently. But time moves on and people get busy and more children are added to the picture and activities pile up.

With the loss of my Grandma only a few weeks ago so quickly followed by Uncle Doug’s passing, I have become keenly aware of the truth in the lyrics above. That these things happen in a blink. So how can I make the most of every day with my family? I felt pretty guilty when I knelt by my Grandma’s bedside and introduced her to almost two-year-old Evelyn only a day before Grandma passed away. How had we not made it down there in all that time? I want to commit to carving out more time for family. I’ll start right now by looking at the calendar and figuring out when travel is possible and when hosting here is easier and open up communication with all the family involved. I want to establish family times as a number one priority for us.

Because a few weeks ago Uncle Doug was sitting on my back porch goofing around with the kids at Eli and Dad and Gram’s birthday party and I treasure that memory. I want to be sure that the kids grow up with lives filled with memories like Uncle Doug cheering them on when they take bites out of the Gingerbread house on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve will not be the same here this year. We will miss Uncle Doug’s laughter. But we will keep on gathering family and making more memories as we number our days.

Slow down, slow down

Before today becomes our yesterday

Slow down, slow down

Before you turn around and it's too late

It happens in a blink

it happens in a flash

it happens in the time it took to look back

I try to hold on tight but there's no stopping time

What is it I've done with my life

It happens in a blink

My Grandma

2010-08-14T20:51:00.000-07:00

My Grandma is dying. I sat on her bed yesterday and held her hand, listening to her labored breathing and watching her eyebrows rise in response to our voices. When we arrived, I leaned over her and said, “Grandma, it’s Martha, I am here and this is little Evie.” She opened her eyes, looked right at Evie and said, “Happy Birthday.” It was barely audible. It was special because Grandma is not talking much anymore. But we heard it. Of course it is not Evie’s birthday, but her birthday is only a month and a half away and Grandma had never met her before yesterday.

Poor Hannah understood what was happening to Grandma. My sister found Hannah crying in the living room when we had asked her to come in for a picture with Grandma. She talked with her and Hannah seemed to understand that soon Grandma will be at home in Heaven. We try to make it sound so simple and easy but it never is. It is a goodbye that has no earthly hello; it is beyond our capacity to comprehend. Yet somehow Hannah has found her peace with it. We talked again tonight and she seems to be doing okay with the whole idea. Last year at Aunt Barbara’s funeral I think she was just starting to put it all together. She was only six at the time but when they carried the coffin out of the small church, she had turned to me and asked, “What is in that box, Mommy?” I told her that is was Aunt Barbara’s body, that her spirit was gone to heaven. So confusing. Not just to a six year old, but still to me. I just pretend to understand it. Don’t we all?

Eli just turned six and yesterday he seemed more at ease with being by his Great Grandma. He came into the room a little timidly. But he came up close to Grandma’s bed and held her hand even though she could not really respond to him. I can’t tell how much he understands about death. He uses it as a punch line a lot which is disturbing me lately and I know Jeremy has talked to him about not doing that but it is his age, his stage in development to explore the idea of mortality. Maybe being near and holding Grandma’s hand helped him to see that death is not a great punch line to immature jokes, but something that is hard and sad and complex. Maybe. I don’t really know what he took from the experience. I was Eli’s age when my Grandpa died from a heart attack. I remember feeling quite adrift and confused. Feeling that at one moment I understood everything and the next I hadn’t a clue.

And sweet baby Evie came in and out of Grandma’s room with ease although she would become visibly uncomfortable when she looked at Grandma, I guess she too could tell that something was happening, that Grandma was not feeling well. She heard Grandma coughing and said, “GG need water!” (they call their Great Grandma’s GG for short). She was very insistent that we should get GG some water. She said, “I vuv u GG!” (I love you).

Once I re-introduced myself to Grandma upon entering her room again and she opened her eyes and said, “Hello sweetie.” Reminded me of being a little girl coming into the kitchen at camp and seeing her sitting on the edge of her stool, peeling carrots to make muffins for breakfast.

We had dinner with my Aunt who has dedicated these last years of her life to caring for Grandma around the clock and is already having a hard time adjusting to impending freedoms. I know it will be a difficult journey for her. One for which she is owed all of our support and encouragement after all that she has done for us in caring for Grandma all these years. She put on a fabulous meal and we had a good time talking and telling our favorite stories about Grandma. I wanted to hear her tell about Grandma and her sister starting a fire in their alley as little girls. I told about getting up early at camp when she and Grandpa would take us out for breakfast. I would get dressed quickly so I could go and watch her brush her LONG beautiful hair and then twirl it up into a pretty bun and pin it with all those hairpins that we would find for weeks after she had visited us. I like to think about her being madly in love with Grandpa and going out to San Diego to marry him before he went off to serve in the Marines in WWII. I remember her telling us about smoking with her friends out behind the cabin as a teenager. She sure was a spunky lady! She made me my first tea when I was four and I felt so special. She gave me a beautiful blue velveteen skirt with pink and purple and green ribbons on it for my sixth birthday and it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.

When I went to tell Grandma good-bye one last time, I struggled to hold back tears as my sister and I sat on either side of Grandma’s bed, holding hands across Grandma and each holding Grandma’s hands. I know Grandma knows she is dying but the reality of it is still something that seems so surreal. Does death ever become something ordinary? It is a necessary part of life and yet we never ever get used to the idea of death. Kids joke about it in the attempt to reconcile themselves to its existence in their lives. I myself knew that Grandma was getting older and was not in the best of health and yet still death is not something that I am prepared to deal with. I wanted to say the 23rd Psalm by her bedside but I could not get past saying it in my head over and over and over. I wanted to sing the benediction for her but could not get it past my lips. I felt weakened by the nearness of an ending that I did not want to recognize. And yet I knew that I had to say good bye. The lump in my throat was too large. Evie came running in, looking for me. I asked her to say good-bye to GG, and she did. She said, “bye bye, bye bye, bye bye GG, I vuv u!” I could not hold back the tears. Death makes no sense. Even to me.

Grandma is still holding on. She has more visitors coming. Her newest Great Grandchild may not get there until Wednesday. Her youngest child, my Uncle, will come on Monday. Her little sister will get there on Wednesday.

Grandma Susan (yes, that is her last name) is my last living grandparent. I love her and I will miss her.

On Being a Martha

2010-07-20T13:00:00.000-07:00

It happened again - I sat through another sermon on the importance of being less like Martha and more like Mary. I cannot remember how many of them I have heard in my life, but I know my reaction the minute I hear the lesson for the day being read. I brace myself. I glance around to see who is thinking, 'hmm, there she is, that ‘Martha’, I hope SHE is listening’. Okay, most of the time it was my own father, the man who named me (and joked about giving me the middle name Martha as well, to better match the way Jesus addressed the Martha of the Bible).

Now, I know that they are not talking about me specifically, but addressing a general attitude that is prevalent in our society. I get it. But think about this - how many other sermons are there where the pastor is up in the pulpit talking down about a person with a name that could be someone sitting next to you? Herod? Haven’t heard that one in a while. Pontius Pilate, nope. Jezebel? Not lately. Okay, there may be a few, but clearly this one speaks to me.

Martha was Jesus’ friend, right? So why the criticism of her? Was Mary really that much better? I mean, wouldn’t Mary and Jesus have gone hungry had it not been for Martha? And would Jesus have really wanted to visit them again if she did not take such good care of her home? I know a few Mary’s and yes, it is good to be a Mary every once in a while. I think my next chance to be a Mary will come when Evie goes off to college. T minus 16 or 17 years.

Was Mary herself even always a Mary? I wonder if her sister would have been living with her if that was how she was every day?

The problem for me is that I am incapable of saying ‘no’. I’m guessing that was her problem too. “Hey, Martha, go fix some dinner for us, will you? Jesus is coming to visit!” “Sure, no problem Mary!” “Hey, Martha can you help me with this?” “Of course!” Didn’t Jesus himself act like a Martha most of the time? Sure there were times when he said, "okay now we are going to take a break and pray" but most of the time he was walking hither and yon and helping everyone he could.

So let’s hear it for the Marthas out there who get it done and get it done right, the Marthas who work without stopping and never turn down a plea for help.

25 Things I Know Now as a Parent

2010-07-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

1. It is worth every sacrifice to spend as much time as I can with my babies - childhood goes by too fast.

2. Water, bubbles and giggles are three things you can never have too much of.

3. Letting them learn from their own mistakes can be hard and sometimes painful but the empowerment they gain in the end is worth it.

4. TV is not necessary.

5. I will never be done 'cleaning up'.

6. We don’t sleep alone in a bed with no covers, so why should they?

7. If I would not eat it, I will not feed it to my child (think pureed dinners in a jar).

8. No matter what the studies say, sugar makes children become little demons.

9. BUT - sometimes a lollipop IS the best way to buy yourself a little time.

10. Just because it worked for you does not mean it will work for me.

11. Buying shoes on sale and guessing on the size they will need in 6 months or a year will always backfire. If you do, buy big and then at least they will work a year later. Maybe.

12. Take pictures, lots of pictures!

13. It is SO not about you anymore.

14. We all do the best we can with what we have.

15. All those milestones you can’t wait to reach will come - being anxious will only make it seem longer and distract you from the present.

16. You know that toy that they ‘just have to have’? If you wait a week or two they probably won’t want it anymore.

17. It is always worth finding good quality shoes.

18. It is SO hard to hear the worst qualities of yourself come out of your children (picture the eldest exasperatingly shouting at her brother, “not like THAT!”) Oops!

19. Every day is a new day to try again to be that really awesome parent you intended to be yesterday.

20. Eventually you will have a day when you think, “I did good”. And you did.

21. Deep breaths can save a lot of trouble.

22. Take advantage of the “I DO IT MYSELF!” phase and let them learn to do it for themselves, whatever ‘it’ is.

23. There is nothing that will bring tears to your eyes like the gushing compliments from an elderly stranger, telling you how wonderful your children are.

24. Breastmilk really is a miracle cure.

25. When they wrap their little arms around your neck and say “I Wuv Oo, Mommy” you know you would go to the ends of the earth and back for them.

Vaccines

2010-07-05T09:49:00.000-07:00

Hot topic, I know.

I recently had a student stop coming to my Bradley Natural Childbirth classes. I was not sure why until she started emailing me with long rants about how she ‘just could not understand how someone would go to the trouble of having a natural birth only to then pump her kids full of unnatural stuff (vaccines)’. REALLY? REALLY? You quit coming to a class that is here to teach you how to conduct yourself in labor to achieve your goal of a natural birth because you disagree with the instructors stance on vaccinations? Wow.

She thinks I am a hypocrite. But aren’t we all at some point? And does this really make me a hypocrite? Am I so upset about this because I do still question whether I did the right thing by my kids?? Possibly.

Vaccines are a very tricky thing because there are those who have been fully vaccinated and are totally fine (two of mine did fine with the regular regimen). Then there are those who have had horrible experiences that I could never deny were not at least contributed to by the vaccines themselves. There is a LOT of science to support both sides. Everyone is passionate about their stance. I’m passionately in the middle and respect those on both sides.

I have lived in a third world country and seen (and had) some pretty nasty diseases. I know a vaccine for malaria would save millions of babies and children every year around the world. I know some wonderful people who work in the medical field and refuse to deem the medical establishment as the devil that those opposed to vaccines view them to be. I owe the medical establishment a huge debt of gratitude for giving me my baby sister who otherwise would not have survived her first year.

But then there is the pharmaceutical industry. Individually I’m sure they are in it to help people but then as a large corporation there seems to be more than a reasonable amount of greed. Could that be driving the push for vaccines? To an extent, sure.

There is the argument that the rate of most diseases we vaccinate for dropped significantly before the vaccines were introduced because of the improvements in sanitation and hygiene. I buy that. Women stopped dying following childbirth when doctors realized they needed to wash their hands in between patients. But cleanliness alone was not enough to eradicate many diseases.

I like Dr. Sears’ take on vaccinations because he does not throw it all out the window as a vast and evil conspiracy. He evaluates each vaccines with it’s pros and cons and gives an alternate schedule for vaccinating children that is easier on their little bodies (after all who has not witnessed a poor little groggy babe following routine vaccinations?). This schedule has worked very well for Evie. My doctor is on board with this schedule 100% and completely agrees that some vaccines seem to be less necessary these days. Which is not to say that I will skip many of them as I do feel a sense of social responsibility as well - I don’t want to be the one whose kid starts a measles outbreak (but don’t get me started on what is behind the drug companies’ discontinuation of the separate MMR).

You can read all you want to support your own beliefs (it’s called confirmation bias) and say that you are more educated on the topic than I am. I did not go to medical school so I won’t pretend to know more than my doctor but I will educate myself in a balanced way so that I can feel empowered in my decisions.

We all do the best we can with what we have. That is the job of parenting.

Gym Membership

2010-04-14T11:25:00.000-07:00

I have this theory that it is only because Americans are inherently lazy that we need gym memberships.

Seriously, if more people mowed their own lawns (and no, not on riding mowers!!), raked their own leaves, tended their own gardens, cleaned their own gutters, and all the other messy and difficult jobs that go with owning a home, they would not need the membership to a gym to keep them fit!

Admittedly, a lot of people don’t own homes, or they live in a condo with no maintenance. Sure, give them their gyms.

But really, there are people who PAY people to do the hard jobs and then PAY to get a gym membership to work out the very muscles they would have had they done those jobs themselves.

Okay, I am being a bit high on my horse here because I have been working in my yard for a large portion of every day for the last week or so. And I am beat but I feel good!

I may even pull out the old reel lawn mower and give that a go later (because I’m not strong enough to start the gas mower!).

To Anyone Who is About to Have a Baby

2010-04-14T11:11:00.001-07:00

I have been meaning for some time to make a list of the things I wish I had not wasted money on and the things I wish I had bought instead (had they been available then!)

So here goes, in no particular order.

Stroller. Had a Maclaren techno for Hannah. Loved that it was small and compact and made for taller people. Hated the tiny wheels that could not make it through grass. Have a Inglesina Zippy for Evie. Love it except that just after I bought it, the research came out the having a stroller that faces the baby toward you is great for bonding and language development. Would have bought the Bumbleride Flyer instead - it looks AWESOME!! It does appear to have slightly smaller wheels than my Zippy but I’d trade that for the turn around function. Eli got to ride in the double stroller since Hannah was still pretty little - we had the Combi side by side twin and loved it although I think there are better doubles out there these days.

Highchair. Wish with all my hear that I had splurged on the Stokke Kinderzeat. Those things are the bomb! they grow with the kid so that their feet are always on the foot rest (stops fidgeting) and they are always at the right height relative to the table. They now come with all sorts of baby attachments too!

Crib. Bought one at a garage sale for $100 and hardly ever used it. Okay I know it is a personal thing, but we let our kids co-sleep. They went to bed in their own bed/crib/pack’n’play and then if they woke up during the night they came into our bed. We sold the crib after Eli and Evie used the pack’n’play. The pack’n’play is big enough for them and the best thing is when you travel, they are not sleeping in an unfamiliar place. Our kids moved to a mattress in the floor at 15 months and did just fine. I would say if you want to save money, buy a nice pack’n’play and save the cash for fixing up a big kid room, which you will be doing before you know what hit you!

Changing table - honestly this is the biggest waste of money. Unless you get one free from someone else who has realized what a waste it was, I would not spend a penny on it. Get a changing pad and a diaper caddy and then you can change wherever which is what happens anyway!

Okay, that is all the time I have for this right now, I’ll add comments as time allows. ;-)

Vegetarianism

2010-03-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

Over the course of the last year or so I have gradually become more and more inclined toward a vegetarian diet. Aside from a few cravings for steak during my first pregnancy eight years ago (!) I have never been a huge fan of meat. Not to say I have not liked what I’ve had, but I can easily picture living without it.

There is so much evidence in current research that suggests that meat is not at all good for the environment and a fair amount that claims it is not even good for our health. To be fair, the claims do not suggest that one has to be an all-out vegan to be saving the environment or living a healthy lifestyle (I think the two should always go hand in hand), but we should be aware of where the meat we do eat is coming from and how it was processed/treated. Locally raised, free-range, hormone-free, antibiotic-free, grass fed is the best option to satisfy both environmentalists and health nerds like myself. I know I can find this at my local health foods store or the local green market. But I am too scared to look at the price tag. And yet if I consider how infrequently we do consume meat in our house maybe it would not be so bad to try using those as our source.

I personally have pretty much cut red meat out of my own diet. The kids still have beef hot dogs now and then and there are those infrequent social occasions where I feel that I have to eat the meat or risk offending the cook (thank you, Lutheran church for developing that strong sense of guilt in me). I have to say though, on several of those occasions I have felt pretty icky the next day. Not morally or anything silly like that, just icky in the tummy since I am not used to it anymore. I have not bought any beef other than hot dogs for the kids (nitrate free uncured hot dogs mind you) for over a year I’d say.

If you are tut-tutting about the iron, I can hear you from here. Actually ,my iron has been fine. I have donated blood several times this year. The two times I was turned away for low iron, it was well within the range of normal, just not as high as they want it for donation. There are plenty of sources of iron other than red meat (insert the rolling of the eyes I have to do for my Mom).

We have been eating a fair amount of chicken and fish. I try to find the free-range hormone-free chicken. And I keep forgetting which fish is better to buy (I need to get an ipod with that app - or just print the list to keep in my purse). I think it is the wild fish since they feed farmed fish the same corn feed they feed chickens and cattle. The kids love fish.

So I need to do some research in the different types of vegetarianism, like is there a name for vegetarians who eat mostly birds and fish but will under certain levels of pressure cave and eat the four legged animals? Should I make an announcement to all that I am no longer into eating four legged creatures? It always seems like it is too late when I sit down and the pork is there in front of me. Or do I just stick with not making a commitment just in case I can’t resist the smell of corned beef next year and risk being called a hypocrite?

That itch

2010-02-24T10:40:00.000-08:00

It is not that the winter seems to be in no hurry to move on, I'm actually at peace with our freezing temperatures. But I cannot seem to shake the longing to move. Funny thing is, every time I want to move, Jeremy does not. Maybe it all works out for the best in the end.

From the time I was born until we bought this house, I had lived in sixteen different houses/apartments/college dorms (and that is not counting the four-times-a-year room changes throughout high school). I think I got that number right. I am never sure how to count the moves where I went to one place but my parents went to another where I would go on holidays. I was a girl on the move. So is that why I keep getting an urge to start packing up and searching for houses?

When I was asked to speak at church on behalf of the stewardship committee a few years back I realized that we had been members of FVPC for longer than I had ever belonged to anything in my life! (family aside) So it was no surprise to me today as I drove home from shipping Grandma and Grandpa Felde's Girl Scout Cookies to Indy that I caught sight of one of our dear friends from church. She was headed in to work carrying some flowers for someone, just that kind of sweet person. And my thoughts turned to all the things I love about this place being home. All the wonderful neighbors, the teachers we adore, the park district classes that I'd be adrift without, the parks and bike paths the kids know by heart, Grandma and Grandpa, two Great Grandma's, and a handful of other relatives nearby. I have never felt so connected to a place.

And yet.

And yet there still lingers this need to explore and challenge myself to something new. Oregon has been one place that I keep thinking about. I think the idea of a place similar to this but with more moisture in the air would be like a middle ground of all my worlds. If that is possible! I dream about a place where the kids could have a woods or a creek in our own backyard to play in every day. Somewhere where Jeremy's work would not be so far away as to make our days apart seem endless. Somewhere a little more tranquil, no teenagers dealing drugs in the parking lot next to our house.

Have kids, will travel

2010-02-20T07:30:00.000-08:00

I had been on numerous airplanes and helicopters in the first three years of my life. Around the whole world once. Carried up and down aisles by flight attendants. I had my first passport picture taken when I was a few days old. My Dad had to tickle my foot (or slap it?) to get me to open my eyes. So it never occurred to me to leave my own kids behind when traveling.

I remember bouncing on a trampoline in Hong Kong when I was three years old. I love seeing the pictures of myself, only a few months old being carried in a snuggly through Norway. Sure I don't remember that trip but it is nonetheless a part of my life experience and who I am. I can say I have been there.

I understand the need to get away as a couple at times, but for us it is enough to have our time when the kids go to Grandma and Grandpa's for an overnight. If I am going someplace exciting and new, I want my kids by my side (or on my back) to experience it with me.

When Hannah was three and showing signs of being a bright kid, I asked our family doctor what things he recommended. He gave two answers - pick her friends carefully and travel.

So we took the kids to England. Some people thought we were nutty. The kids loved every minute of it and talk about it frequently. Eli was only three then and he recalls his favorite moments from that trip without help. They each made a book about the trip, thanks to Grandma and we keep them on the sofa table so they can look through them.

We just got back from Washington DC. Before going we watched a movie with the kids about the monuments and memorials. Eli had picked the FDR as his favorite to visit and although the weather ended up getting in the way of getting to that one, he knows we can go back someday in the spring or summer to see it. They loved all the museums and got excited every time we took the metro - their favorite part was having their own ticket and putting it into the turnstiles.

Sure it was exhausting touring the city with three kids in tow while Jer was in conferences and lectures, but at the end of the day it was a shared experience that we will talk about for years to come.

I would not trade that for the world!

Birth with a doula

2010-02-20T06:46:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago I attended a birth as a doula for one of my students. It is probably the biggest rush in life to be present at the birth of an amazing and wonderfully created new little person. It is the second birth I have attended and as hard as it is to go through labor with the Mom, seeing the tears in the new Mommy and Daddy's eyes as they gaze at their precious new babe is simply beautiful. Nothing like it in the whole word!

I served as their doula for free as I am still a student in the doula world. I am not sure if I will ever get to the process of becoming fully certified by the leading doula organization (DONA). Perhaps one day down the road. Being trained as a Bradley instructor, the Academy of Husband Coached Childbirth tells us we are qualified to work as doulas so I have offered the free service to my students in order to gain more experience.

Studies have shown that the continual presence of another woman while you are in labor can significantly improve the outcomes for both Mom and baby. After witnessing two births I can honestly say that while some may be skeptical of this claim I believe it is very true. As much as we might try to prepare a father for what his wife will experience in labor, he can not ever be truly ready to see his wife in that state and simultaneously handle his own feeling of helplessness and respond appropriately to her needs. A second-time Dad will be better equipped for this, but then a second-time Mom is also more prepared for the experience. Some women may be so in tune with their bodies that managing labor and birth on their own is quite easy for them, especially if they are already very committed to a natural birth. But my hunch is that the majority of women need the support and guidance of someone who has been there and done that.

Here is the scene - I walk into the room and Mom is sitting in the hospital bed, Dad sits beside her in the armchair trying to catch some Zs after being up all night. Mom is a little discouraged after laboring all night to only reach 3 centimeters dilation. She is already tired and is in need of reassurance that she can do this. I encourage her to get up and move around which almost instantly brings on stronger contractions. As she leans on the back of the chair, she starts to take the shallow chest-breaths of one in a state of panic. I remind her to take deep breaths and make low noises. She calms down and finishes the contraction. Her husband knows how she likes her back rubbed and holds her arm as they walk around the room. A little while later I let Dad lay down in the chair to take a quick nap while I help Mom through a few more contractions. He may have only had five minutes rest before her contractions really picked up and required the two of us helping her through them. At some point Mom looks at me and needs to know if what she is experiencing is normal. I reassure her that it is very normal and she is doing fine.

This experience is very similar to the first birth I witnessed. Both Moms wanted me to tell them at some point that this was normal. In our culture today we do not grow up with any sense of what normal birth is like. All we know is from the movies where women are always screaming and out of control and the baby seems to fly out a few minutes after labor starts. No wonder most women get to the hospital too soon!

Both Moms also needed reminders with each contraction in hard labor to take deep abdominal breaths and make low noises instead of high pitched screams. The low noises move the diaphragm against the uterus creating a soothing sensation against the powerful contractions. It is amazing that that one thing can get a woman through every contraction until the minute the baby is born!

There came a point when the doctor felt Mom was not progressing quickly enough (and to think this Mom did a ton of research and picked this hospital in a rural area because she was under the impression that interventions would be less). They were telling her she needed antibiotics and pitocin and they needed her decision soon. At that point, 18 hours into labor, Mom was not in a frame of mind to make the decision on her own and Dad was feeling helpless. I talked them through the pros and cons and let them come to a decision. The blessing of being in that rural hospital was that they actually did give us time alone to talk it over. As we talked, I also talked with Mom about what might be holding her back. It is very common for Moms to 'bottle up' due to fears about the physical act of giving birth or emotional fears about becoming a Mom. The mind is so connected to the body that this can slow down a birth (or stop it altogether). As I talked her through letting go of whatever fear she may be harboring, something amazing happened and she hit transition.

Transition, as we tell our students, is the hardest part if you are in the one third of women who experience it but it is also the fastest part. So she had contractions that seemed to never end, one on top of another and as they were hooking up the IV for the antibiotics and pitocin, she reached full dilation.

By the time she could push she was so tired that she could not hold her own legs back, so her husband held one and I held the other and we cheered her on.

After about a half hour of pushing, the head was starting to emerge and the doctor said that she could have the baby in just one or two more contractions. On the next one, she gave it her all and the head slowly emerged quickly followed by the body. The doctor lifted baby up to her Mommy's tummy. She opened her mouth and for a split second the whole room was silent, waiting for the first cry. And it came, a tiny little wail of life. Pure and beautiful and simply amazing.

I helped Mom lift baby to her breast and start nuzzling. As I turned, I caught the tear escaping Dad's eye as he rubbed his wife's head in awe.

They thanked me as I left, but for me it was an incredible honor to be invited in to the most intimate event of becoming a family.

TV

2010-02-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

Most of you know that we do not have a TV in our house anymore. It just worked out that way. We never had cable and did not watch much so when the digital converter box did not work, we just got rid of the whole thing.

We still watch shows online or on our awesome apple cinema display screen, so we did not move back to the dark ages.

Some of you know that I did my internship in college at the National Institute on Media and the Family. It was definitely the coolest job I have had (other than being a Mom of course!). While there, I learned so much about all the awful video games that are out there as well as the extreme power of advertising. I read and was involved in studies on the effects of media on children. So when I read articles now about how careful we parents need to be about our children's media consumption I am not surprised.

I set out planning on limiting my kids' exposure but I always had a lingering feeling that if it was completely withheld (as in any other circumstance) it would become more desirable. So while we had tv, the only thing the kids were allowed to watch was PBS. It was the advertisements on other channels that really worried me. They were fine with that. They still get super excited when we allow them to watch a movie since it is only allowed on weekends and the rare rainy afternoon when we don't have something else going on. It is not so much that I want to shelter them form a big bad world so much as I do not want them to be the innocent targets of advertising. I see it at work whenever I set foot in a large retail or grocery store with them. We can do a whole shopping trip at Trader Joes with no problem, but we walk into Jewel or Dominicks and the begging and whining begins instantly. They want the fruit snacks with their favorite characters on them or the Doritos. (yes, I avoid big grocery stores unless in complete desperation)

While Eli and Evie and I were waiting for the car to be done at Jiffy Lube, I tried to distract them from the tv by playing rock paper scissors. They were happy to play and only rarely glanced up at the tv. I tried to keep an eye on it to make sure that I dragged them out of there if something inappropriate came on. Then it came on - a brink home security ad. A young woman says goodbye to her date and when she returns to her kitchen you hear a banging and see her terrified face as the camera pans to the intruder who is smashing in her back door. What in the WORLD???!!! I could not believe this and it happened so fast I do not even know if Eli saw it. An R rated ad for sure, that was so scary! And on tv in the middle of the day. how many little kids out there have seen this? And are they so desensitized already that it does not phase them like it did me? What does that say about our culture?

I am so glad that we do not have a tv in our house.

Oh, and yes, I know the Saints won the SuperBowl. I also spent the afternoon and evening planning our trip for next week, making dinner and reading with the kids.

Torn

2010-02-03T20:12:00.001-08:00

So last night I ran to the garage and realized I needed to move the van, ran back to the house to get the keys, realized they were in my pocket, ran back to move the van, back to the house to give Jer the keys and then back to the garage to pull open (that's right, pull - no electronic lift in our crooked garage) the garage door and back out in the station wagon to go to class at AU. If I did not hurry, I might not find a parking spot in time. I had to pick up my carpooling friend a few blocks away and as I sat in her driveway looking at her darkened house wondering if she was home (she was and we made it) I felt the anxiety merging with the dinner too-quickly-eaten in my gut. I wondered if maybe this is all too much for my family.

Mondays are the worst. Closely followed by Tuesdays. Every day we watch a friend's kid after school, so all of our afternoon activities are delayed until after 4pm. Honestly, we could not make it anywhere before then anyway! They get home, wash hands and sit down for a snack. Then it is homework time. Hannah has one spelling/writing worksheet to do every day plus a reading assignment or two and then the extra stuff like the poster for the hundredth day of school that she has to cover with 100 cut out words that she can read and the valentine's cards that have to be made. Eli has a spelling/writing assignment every day. I help him and he is usually done pretty fast. Then I help Hannah with hers and by the time we are done, it is time to leave for our afternoon's activities.

On Monday that is swimming. So first the kids have to change into their suits. Then we rush out the door and thankfully they are both in class at the same time, in the fall I was driving there twice a week! Class is from 4:30-5pm. They get out shivering and I toss them their clothes and send them to change in their respective changing rooms. We usually make it home by about 5:40. I have left dinner directions on our chalkboard wall for Jeremy who usually gets home by 5pm and has it on the table for us to eat quickly because Hannah has ballet at 6:15pm. Of course this was the only class at her level that 'worked' with our schedule. So she and I scarf our food and I yank her wet, chlorine-smelling hair into a bun and we charge back out to the car.

While Hannah dances, I read for my class which is on Tuesday night.

Tuesdays are not all that different. Hannah has guitar at 4pm, so we rush a little more to get there and then I entertain Eli and Evie for an hour in the hall of the rec center. We get home at about 5:20 and hopefully Jeremy has started on dinner again because I have to leave by 5:45pm to get to my class at AU.

Wednesday is not as bad, choir is not until 4:30 and in just a few weeks the Lenten dinners will start up, so I will not have to worry about making dinner!

Thursday both Evie and Eli have tumbling class, Evie in the morning and Eli after dinner so that is manageable.

Fridays I teach in the evening so I spend most of the day cleaning the house and preparing for class.

I started out with every intention of not overbooking my kids. I wanted to limit activities and allow for lots of free playing time. This new study just came out saying that American kids are using media for about 8 hours of the day. I do not understand how this is possible. We do not even have a tv in our house and the kids are allowed to watch movies on Friday evenings and maybe on the weekend, but there is no way there is time in their day for any quantifiable time spent with entertaining media. Poor Hannah was crying last week because it was Wednesday and we were running out the door to choir and she pointed out that she had not had time to play with the boys after school all week. It broke my heart to realize that here she is, only 7 and already there is no time in her day for playing.

I do not think they go to bed too early either, it is 7:30 by the time they are out and it is still hard to wake them in the morning at 6:30.

How can I fix this? Or is it even possible, does it just come with the territory of three kids? I want them to try new things in order to find the things they are passionate about so quitting classes altogether is not going to work. I suppose we will take a break from swimming although they are both getting so good at it, it seems a shame. Hannah has said that she does not want to sign up for guitar again so in a few weeks that will be done. But I do not want her to give up on it altogether so there will be something in it's place eventually.

And then what about when Evie wants to be in tumbling and swimming and a music class?

What is a Mom to do???

Oh, and as I am writing this, thinking that I will be in bed soon, the phone rang and it is one of my students who is likely in labor and will probably be calling back shortly to ask me to meet them at the hospital. So much for sleep!

Big Girl Bed

2010-01-29T05:57:00.000-08:00

So for the last week or so Evie, our youngest child who is sixteen months old, has been crying at bedtime. We first suspected teething (those eye teeth are a doozie!) but then when she was out of her pack n play which is parked next to her older siblings' bunk bed, she would bee-line for the bottom bunk. She liked to climb in, pull up the covers, reach up to turn on the reading lamp and grab herself a book. It was adorable. It also reminded me that both of the older kids had been transitioned to a big kid bed (in our house this constitutes a mattress on the floor) at about 15 months. Evie is 16 months and I am guessing that she had figured out the discrepancy in sleeping arrangements.

So last night as she bathed with her big sister, I cleared a space and with much effort hauled our old queen mattress out of the playroom and into the kids' shared bedroom. After realising that I was going to have to move more furniture than I intended on moving (Jeremy was with Eli at tumbling class) I got the mattress t lay down. Then discovered that it was longer than a twin, so I had to move more things and turn it around again.

Once it was in place, stinking out enough for a perfect toddler sized sleeping area, I returned to the hallway where I had left the partially collapsed pack n play. Now here is where I started getting choked up. I was puling my baby's blankies and dolls out of the bed that had been her crib since she was born and it hit me that she is growing up. I started asking myself if I did not do this, would I be able to slow down her growing up? Not a rational thought but it crossed my mind. No, of course not I told myself, besides she was so sad about being treated like a baby when her sibs were in their big beds right next to her.

So, we did it. I placed all her lovies on her new bed and went to get her form the bath. She was not sure what to think at first as I tried to get her jammies on while sitting with her on the new bed. It did not take ling though and she climbed right up to Hannah's bed and snuggled down on the pillow. I told her that was Hannah's bed and this was HER bed. She got a proud grin on her face and slowly slid down to her bed and put her head down on her pillow.

After a little bit of exploration in which she discovered she could stand on the edge of Hannah's bed and reach the bottom rung of the top bunk and then arch her head back and say "weeee!!!" just like in tumbling class, we settled in for some stories.

I had to stay with her for a while, rubbing her back, but she drifted off on her own after I left and there were no tears. She is proud of her new bed and her new big girl status.

So while a part of me is still aching at the loss of baby-hood, I feel good about it knowing that she is building her self-esteem and confidence.

Controversy

2010-01-28T19:41:00.000-08:00

Sorry, those of you who know me know that I do not shy away from controversy. I try to be careful but I am passionate about a lot of things.

So I have been following the buzz about the Tebows' Superbowl ad and there are a couple things that bother me about it. First of all it is the first ever advocacy ad permitted to run during the superbowl game. Why did they have to go and pick what is arguably the hottest topic out there to run in during a show that families and friends are watching together. I'm sure there will be more than one household shake-up as a result. Secondly, it is being watched by families which means that there are going to be a lot of parents out there thrust into explaining abortion to their kids. Why do they think this is a good idea??? It is beyond me. Why couldn't they use the gazillion bucks they are going to spend running the ad on something worthwhile like, I don't know, Haiti, orphans, starving people in their own community, homeless, poor, oppressed, AIDS, malaria, ANYTHING????!!!!

Here is the thing. I think that people who are anti-choice are missing something, I think that they assume that if you are pro-choice, you are pro-abortion. NO WAY! I think it is one of the worst, saddest most horrible things. BUT. But I do not think that anyone has the right to make that decision for anyone else unless they have walked a mile in their shoes. I could give all the sad and terrible examples that I'm sure any intelligent person could think of on their own, but one of the most impassioned arguments I have ever heard in favor of choice was a situation that I had never thought of - a woman carrying twins was told that if she did not terminate one twin, they would both die due to a complication known as twin to twin transfusion. Now, she was lucky enough to have been somewhere where that was an option for her. As horrid as that was for her, would the anti-choice folks have told her that she should have let them both die instead?

Yes, a loaded one, I know. But these situations are real and I do not believe that we should be the ones to make the judgement call on anyone when we do not even have a clue what they are facing.

I am not going to watch the superbowl, not out of protest of this ad, I never have watched it anyway. But, I am glad that I won't be the parent who has to explain to my kids what the ad is saying.

Junk

2010-01-22T10:55:00.000-08:00

Getting rid of junk is so liberating. All junk, junk mail, knick knacky junk, general clutter, the stuff that never gets used, the toys no one plays with, the clothes that don't get worn... All of it!

I signed up for tonic mailstopper (did it change names again? I can't remember). For a few bucks, they get rid of most of your junk mail. Love it! Every day now, I get a small handful of mail, some of it junk, but not nearly the quantity we had two years ago before using mailstopper.

I sell the kids clothes when no one here can wear them anymore. Okay, this is the one that backfired on me. We got rid of the baby clothes before we decided on adding baby number three. Oh well, no biggie! She gets new ones.

Goodwill, veterans, anyone who wants stuff will get it form us at regular intervals. Ther eis not room in this house to keep it!

So I was interested recently when my friend was talking about this new diet book she got. It is written by one of the women on the show 'The Biggest Loser'. She actually recommends an organic diet, but more importantly she recommends cutting the junk. No not just the junk food, but also the fillers that are found in things that are advertised as 'healthy' - the low fat and fat-free versions of our favorites. My Mom told me years ago (yes, they do get wiser as we get older!) that unless your doctor has prescribed a fat-free/low fat diet for you, it is healthier to eat the regular fat foods and just be sure you eat the proper amounts. Makes sense to me, but the part I never understood that this woman points out in her book is that these artificial fillers (the junk) actually mess with our metabolism and slow it down. Wow! Now it all makes so much more sense. I usually do avoid these things, and knew that the fillers were not good, but now why.

So now we keep on getting rid of that junk.

Would life really be boring if it were simple? Someday I'd like to be able to answer that question.

The Manger

2010-01-12T06:17:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is something that has been on my mind for a long long time and I have not had a proper outlet for sharing my thoughts.

It makes me sad when we sing songs and talk about Mary laying this precious baby in an animal's feeding trough. Very sad. I know that this image is supposed to tell us how humble Christ was at birth, but seriously? Are we supposed to believe that Mary would do something that no one else did at that time? Nobody had cribs! There was no such thing! Co-sleeping was the norm. "In fact, in Luke 11:5-7 tells a story that depicts how families slept in Bible times.

"Suppose one of you has a friend, and he goes to him at midnight and says, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have nothing to set before him.' Then the one inside answers, 'Don't bother me. The door is already locked, and my children are with me in bed. I can't get up and give you anything'." (http://www.unhinderedliving.com/bed.html)

The above site goes on to tell of the bed made for the royal family in England that could sleep 102 people in the 1600s! Clearly co-sleeping was not only practiced by poor peasants, but was the norm for everyone!

So I honestly do not believe that with wild animals around and strangers coming to check out her babe, Mary would wrap up her newborn and lay him down to sleep in a manger. Nay (neigh!), I think the mention of the manger was perhaps referring only to the fact that there was not a real bed for any of them in the barn and maybe when visitors came to see the baby, she may have laid him in there rather than on the floor to allow people to see him while she stood close by. Maybe she even just laid him down there while she tried to figure out how to construct a bed for the family? Or to use it as a changing table? Regardless, there is not a chance that Mary would have left the Baby Jesus to sleep in a feeding trough. Sure she wrapped him in swaddling cloths but then she picked him up and held him close and snuggled into bed with him asleep in her arms, safe, warm and loved.

One More Thing

2010-01-11T20:29:00.000-08:00

Because there just enough enough for me to do these days, I thought I'd start a blog. Maybe it is because I miss 'grown-up' conversation. I just feel the need to write. So here goes.

If you know me, you know I am opinionated and passionate. Blame it on the Norwegian blood but suffice it to say that I do not intend to offend or criticize anyone, I just need a place to get my thoughts down. If you find any of it amusing or helpful, then I am glad.

So in between prepping for teaching Bradley classes at night, going to class at Aurora University for my Masters, driving the kids to swimming, ballet, guitar, choir, tumbling, tumbling again and pretty soon t-bal too, co-leading a Daisy Girl Scout troop, cooking, cleaning, laundering, diapering, dressing, shoveling (what did I forget?) - somewhere in there I will find the time to write things down. Things that bug me, things that I want to do when I am a teacher, things I want to do for the kids, halloween costume ideas, etc... whatever is on my mind.

Thanks for reading!