Colors! Trying to make our old house ‘new’.

Maybe it is hard to see these colors on the pictures I posted earlier today. The 'Paper Bag’ (Ace) color that we ended up with last week really looks purple when you are in the room. Our lighting is odd, so some corners are darker than others but it is generally well-lit. Most are preferring the Kingsport Grey color. Meditation has a green cast to it that might look ok, but is not jumping out as a favorite for anyone. On these color samples Thunder does look like a shade lighter than the Kingsport Grey, but in the room it looks much more silvery grey, almost too silver to go well with our oak floors. Of course, you know how it is in an old house. Now I am looking at the floors, thinking, “it is probably about time to have them refinished so maybe if we have a darker stain on the floors, the Thunder would look great!” But, back in reality-land, that just is not happening soon. Neither is buying all new furniture, which is also on my mental list for that room (having the large sofa, while lovely for snuggling on for a movie, means that the large floor register is beginning to sag where one of the sofa’s corners is resting on it somewhat precariously). The entertainment cupboard is admittedly too large for the space and the color is a bit reddish/orangish, so I don’t think it will go well with a true grey. So now I am scoping craigslist for an actual corner entertainment unit. Something a little smaller? I’d love to make this room feel new.
Is it because we have lived here for over 6 years? The longest I’ve ever been in one place in my life? Rejuvenation is a must at this point (which reminds me, I have not been on that site in a while… hmm..)! So there is a patch of new color in the downstairs bathroom (shhhh.., Jer has not found that one yet! I’ll just paint it while he is at work, haha!). I have a new color picked out for the kitchen, and in my dreams I have the kitchen remodeled as well (seriously folks, the undulating floor with beat up linoleum and formica countertops is getting to me). Of course, that all means that I need a job. Which I have begun applying for. I applied for a few part time gigs in the Geneva schools but apparently they have about a thousand applicants for each position and I don’t have any strings to pull, so I am not hopeful. There is a maternity leave posted that would start in January - how sweet that would be. If only.
Back to the house. I’ve also gone through and counted switch plates and outlet covers (most of them cracked, all of the cheapest white plastic variety) to tally up what that would cost (you’d be surprised!). I even found a place that sells replacement registers for the old-school vents we have - at $60-70 a piece. Yow! Oh, and then there is the issue of all the broken and missing screens. I am not even sure I want to know what they run.
I’m thinking I’ll keep my focus on the downstairs for a while because if I even think about the upstairs, well there is the issue of our room being so small that we have to stack our dressers and I don’t get a ‘my side of the bed’, just a wall (Jer loves it when I stay awake longer than him to read and he still has to roll over to put my book away and turn out the light - NOT!). And the fact that with five people in our home, including an almost ten year old, having just one shower is not a joy most days.
We did successfully replace the front door handle and lock last weekend - that was a major challenge! The old lock was one of those ancient things that involves a 5”x8”x1” piece that fit INTO the door, plus about three more holes than what the new piece needed - can we say ‘patch job’? Of course, it now looks fabulous and now our old door knocker (wedding gift 13 years ago) is corroded and looks less-than-lovely next to the new door bling.
It sure does feel good to pick up a paint roller and make our space look new, even if we know the truth. So I am leaning strongly in the direction of the Kingsport Grey right now. I will wait to see what the different lighting throughout the day does to the colors before buying another $70+ worth of paint this time, though!
After all that whining, I have to say, I do love our home, I am thankful every day that we live in such a beautiful town with wonderful neighbors who make it fun. For now I don’t mind that the kids sometimes shower together to make it faster (Eli and Evie like to gargle in the shower together, it is pretty funny), or that I have to stand on the end of my bed to see into my sock and underwear drawer. Home IS where your heart is and someday I will find a teaching job that will work for our family and will make all my dreams come true for our humble home.
**Hint: if anyone is thinking of Christmas gifts, might I suggest home-store/hardware store gift cards? LOL

Heaven on Earth

Heaven on earth. It was referenced in the sermon we heard this past weekend and I just could not get it out of my mind. As we enter the over-heated political season, where religion plays a key role (go ahead, try denying that), I have to wonder: how often do we really think about God’s vision for his creation? Call me naive, but I’m pretty sure that the best signal we have as to God’s plan for this creation of his was his Son. You know, the peace-loving, sinner befriending, “if you have two, give one away”, hippie dude. The one with the long hair (in the pictures we saw in Sunday school anyway). That guy. He was our model. So when I see fellow Christians standing up for gun ownership and discrimination against fellow humans for any reason, I have to wonder: what Jesus stories did you hear in Sunday school? Clearly we heard different stories. It pains me to see Christianity held up and represented by those who would have us all armed and ready to kill, those who would have us deny the rights and privileges of others just because they do something that we think is icky (go ahead, check your Bible, Jesus never spoke about homosexuality), who would have us let the wealthiest keep the two (million) coats they have and not make an attempt to spread wealth more equitably. As a liberal Christian is hurts my soul every time I see obvious slander, blatant lies being leveled at leaders who are doing things that display at the very least a sense of equality and justice. I cringe when I see and hear stories of “religious” leaders condemning government actions that seek to make life easier for those who have a much harder time than most of us. The new healthcare laws have made a significant difference that I have already witnessed for some of my students who will now have a better chance of breastfeeding their babies longer because they can get the supplies and help they need. Sure, nothing is perfect, but I sometimes feel like people who identify themselves as being conservatives slam things like this just for the mere satisfaction of putting down the liberals, not because they actually know the costs and benefits of these laws.
Oh yes, I’m going to go there with guns too. I know that this is a heated one. “But it is our constitutional right!”. Sure, whatever. Back then when there were no automatic/semiautomatic weapons and it was a militia being armed to protect the union, not individuals going on ignorant killing sprees. You’ve got to be kidding me. These guns are made to kill people. Have your hunting rifles, I’m fine with that. I would never choose to use one, but that is my personal choice. The facts are there, in countries like England where firearms are banned, yes, some crazy people still get ahold of them and they had a total of 43 deaths in a year. Compared with our tens of thousands. This one is a no-brainer. And am I wrong here, how many ‘crazy left-wing liberals’ have been responsible for mass-murders? Just sayin’. I know, that sounds like I’m saying that conservative people are violent. No, not all, but there is something in that conservative hype that breeds violence. All it takes is a lack of knowledge and you end up with someone killing the most innocent and peace-loving people in their own place of worship.
I do not think that politicians or people who call themselves conservative are bad/evil/mean/etc. I tend to agree with Anne Frank - that all people are good at heart. It is the actions, the words that are spoken, the choices made that reflect the idea of what a person’s priorities are, who or what is important to them and how decisions will be made that give an idea as to whether they are working toward something that resembles heaven on earth.
So my quandary then is this - how is it that the right, the conservatives, get to ‘claim’ God for their side?
And why do we have to come to this? The lies, the meanness of it all. If we are Christ-followers, shouldn’t we be loving our brothers and sisters* and doing what we can to provide for their safety and their needs? Isn’t there a beautiful logic in that?
Yes, politics is an ugly business and there is nothing worse than mixing politics and family or friends when people disagree. I both love and hate the political season. I love that we get a choice and we get to be involved. I like being involved. So I will post political stuff. I try to discriminate and be tasteful. I know that I have many family and friends who stand on the other side. I will never stop trying to persuade people to join me on the liberal side. Sometimes I feel like the zebra in Madagascar, trying to bring people to my side, the fun side, the side where we have cute little umbrellas in our drinks. It is a challenge, a competition, a game, but in the end, it affects our lives and the lives of all Americans, so we should really look deep within, and if ours is a life modeled after Christ, we should ask ourselves, "what would Jesus do?” What would heaven on earth look like?

*and by loving, I don’t mean paying lip service and turning around and working to make sure they don’t share the same rights, privileges and quality of life as the rest of us.

Readiness

The question arose again recently about what we are going to do with Evie about kindergarten. She is a September birthday, which if we make no effort would mean that she would have two more years before entering kindergarten, shortly before turning 6. She has already completed one year of preschool, so if we were to do that, she would have had three years of preschool before starting kindergarten. 

For some reason, having this discussion always means that everyone present feels they should have a say in what we decide is best for our child. Never mind that we are the ones who spend every hours of every day with her (and seriously, folks, we have degrees and experience in psychology and education between us). People are highly opinionated about what the ‘right’ thing is to do. I completely understand that feeling. I feel the same way about birth - but most of the time I find a way to bite my tongue when I know that my input is not desired. So what are the issues here? And is there a right answer??

More than anything, I find it ridiculous that a child who had a due date very close to our own but was forcibly induced for non-medical reasons (a whole different story) - and therefore suffers all the known delays of babies brought out too early - will be starting kindergarten with no questions asked. Besides those children who were premature, whether by choice or necessity, if we evaluated every child on entry to kindergarten, how many would actually meet the criteria that someone with a September birthday will be asked to meet in order to enter? Every class will ALWAYS have a youngest child. There will ALWAYS be kids who are not emotionally ready for kindergarten, yet they go anyway and no one asks their parents for any evidence or puts those children through any amount of testing in order to start.

If we desire to go forward and attempt to have her admitted a year early (really only a few weeks early), we will be required to pay $600-800 for private testing; we will have to present these scores to the building principal, who then gets to make the decision regardless of the outcomes of the evaluation.

I do plan on pointing out that she is a third child, and therefore has been working hard to ‘keep up’ with her siblings, surpassing milestones at a faster pace than other children might. Not only that, but they have the school records for our older two children. Records that show that their parents are involved and care about their success, or at least that they are hard-working and intelligent kids. Sure, siblings could be different, but for some odd reason, our three are very similar when it comes to their drive to achieve. That is something that we as parents know that outsiders may not understand. 

It did occur to me that the building principal has other interests when making this kind of decision. Namely that in our current educational climate, she has to consider how this would affect the testing scores that now effect the passing or failing of her school. In light of this, I can see how it has become such an ordeal to bend the guidelines. Given another year, perhaps she would raise the test scores even more. And that is a decision that the principal gets to make. Not that I begrudge this position at all, but knowing where they are coming from when making a decision that ultimately effects my child more than the school as a whole, I do not think this is a justifiable reason.

People love to point out that she would not be driving when her friends are and other social issues. I know we are pretty far away form this time but like I said earlier, there will ALWAYS be kids who are last to get their driving license. Oh, and we live across the street from the high school, so I really don’t think her friends will be teasing her because she does not drive to school. I have heard that being on the other end can be just as tough when your younger peers are demanding rides form you and asking you to buy them cigarettes just because you are old enough to and they aren’t. For girls, there is the whole bodily development issue, a big issue to be sure. Having myself been 11 years old when I got my period, I would rather my daughter be in middle school than elementary school when dealing with this time of change. Girls who get 'held back’ or end up as the oldest in their grade have to face the awkwardness of developing well ahead of their classmates which can have just as much (if not more) of a negative impact on their emotional state as the opposite would have.

So really, you can’t win and it is ridiculous to say that anyone other than a group of people with an interest in one child’s future (parents, preschool teachers, and the building principal) should be making this decision.

Or we could just move to Michigan and start her there since their cut-off is December.

Oh, the Clutter!

I was not a tidy child. In fact, my older sister got so frustrated with my messes that she would clean up after me! But then I grew up. I went to boarding school where our drawers were inspected every Saturday morning and if our underwear was not neatly folded, we were not allowed to leave for the two hours of freedom given us each week. And then I was on my own and had no one to clean up after me. Maybe I had become accustomed to having clean spaces, having never known anything else. Whatever the reason, I became a tidy adult. I often recall Jeremy’s uncle Doug laughing at my organization of my junk drawer (I still reorganize it sometimes, thinking of him laughing from heaven).
So it bothers me that childhood involves so much clutter. And I don’t mean the toys. I love the toys, sometimes more than the kids do. What I am talking about is the unnecessary STUFF. The birthday party favors that are bought because ‘you HAVE to have favors’; the endless papers that come home from school; the weekly deluge of stuff made in Sunday School. THEY DON’T NEED IT!!! Any kids would be happy enough to just be at a party and walk away with happy memories, a belly full of cake and an awesome sugar high. There are favors that are not just junk - my sister just gave the kids at her son’s party a little canvas bag full of up-cycled crayons and notepads with an applesauce crusher - she’s a genius  (and a pediatric nurse practitioner). One party my son went to, all the kids got one of those cool bubble wands. Loved it! But the plastic made-in-china garbage stuff has got to end. It makes me nuts!
Then there is all the school clutter. The endless papers and crafts. I want the to keep some memories of their childhood but when they can make a foot-high pile of paper at the end of each week, it is out of control!!! Thankfully Hannah and Eli have become pretty good at pitching papers into recycling (often times now without me even seeing it, so hopefully I don’t miss something important). That is just the worksheets. Then there is the stuff that is supposed to be meaningful, the craft projects, the Sunday School projects. I know that learning requires some hands-on activity but when I have every surface of my house covered in ‘meaningful’ crafts, something has got to go! I don’t think it is enough to say that parents ought to just make up their own minds about what to keep and what to pitch. That is not fair. I worry that someone will come to me with a crumpled piece of art one day and tears in their eyes because their work was not valued. Can’t we please find other ways to make meaning? I mean think about it - someone, some organization spent their money buying the supplies to make whatever this is. Often times, someone has put in hours of work cutting out pieces of the finished article for each child in the class. Then the kids spend ten minutes throwing it together and they bring it home. It may sit on a counter for a few days but eventually someone has to ask, ‘is it okay to throw this out now?’. And that person feels like a jerk, knowing how much time and effort (and a bit of money too) went into making it.
So please, please, can we stop this ridiculous trend? Can we let kids have lessons that don’t involve making STUFF? I think they’d learn every bit as much and even more.

Paper Airplanes and the Holy Spirit

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?

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

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.