Author Archives: Shannah

Little Things

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The opening to an article I read recently referred to the explosion of the Challenger Space Shuttle. He said this:

After months of investigation, here’s what the Rogers Commission…discovered: an o-ring seal in the right solid rocket booster failed at take-off. I won’t bore you with the details, but an o-ring is a small device relative to the size of a space shuttle. Very small. It wasn’t something huge, like a puncture in the rocket booster or a hole in the cabin, that caused this disaster. It was a small, seemingly insignificant, o-ring failure.

The author goes on to make his point, but it was the illustration that was of particular value to me. I was reminded again of the importance of little things. The littlest things. The one, single o-ring that can take down the entire rocket ship. They’re everywhere. And I am not immune to them or their influence. No one is.

A little thing goes wrong. A friend brings up a “concern” about something. Eric and I have an honest conversation about how things are going. One of my kids lets slip a struggle they are having. I wrestle…again…with something in my life, at church, in the news.

They’re little things, all by themselves. But instead of taking them seriously, I often overlook them. Again.

It’s the Bible verse, “Let him who thinks he stands take heed, lest he fall.” That’s the good old KJV version, of course. A more modern version says, “You’re not exempt. You could fall flat on your face as easily as anyone else.”

And there it is: I could fall flat on my face as easily as anyone else.

My plans aren’t foolproof. My marriage isn’t fireproof. My kids aren’t untouchable. Whatever “it” is…I have to admit the truth.

It.could.happen.to.me.

A year or so ago, a family member was taken to the emergency room with chest pains. The doctor told him he’d had a “warning” heart attack and that he was lucky. Most people don’t get a warning.

The same is true in life.

Sometimes we can avoid greater calamity by paying close attention to the little things, the o-rings. Maybe that’s what Paul meant in the very next verse when he said, “God will give you a way out.” There is an escape hatch. And while, in the context of the verse, God is clearly the provider of that escape…how often, honestly, is our escape directly related to the little things?

The small voice nudging me either to act or to be quiet, to hold my temper, to give grace. Choosing not to defend myself and my actions and instead to pray honestly about where I’m on dangerous ground. Acknowledging that my priorities may be off and seriously assessing what I’m prioritizing over my husband, my kids, my reputation. Humbling myself to listen instead of refusing to hear truth when it’s spoken to me, by the Spirit, my husband, my friends, my kids.

The warning signals are there. And it’s up to me to take the escape route.

I can blow it off. I can put the “scheduled maintenance” off for a more opportune moment. Or I can stop and check on the o-rings. I can evaluate, realign my priorities, pray over my kids and my family, deny myself. And take seriously the reality that it can happen to me.

The truth is, the little things are always there. And when all is running smoothly, they’re fine. But when they go bad, it can be catastrophic. So what do I do? I have to stop. And listen. And submit. Before the explosion occurs.

That way, when the crisis moment comes (and I never know when that’s going to be), I will have already addressed the weak points in my armor, my plan, my perspective. And I may just be able to avoid seeing my whole life go down in a ball of flames.

That’s the power of the little things.

Howling

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Everyone else got a piece of mail. Except her (and Timmy, but oddly enough, he didn’t count into her equation). So she was howling. Head tipped back, mouth open, letting loose an ear-splitting, can’t-be-heard-over-it, stream of sound.

Now this is not an unusual sound for my four-year-old to make these days. It typically results from being kicked in the head on the trampoline, and thus, expecting me to punish the one who committed the atrocious crime.

But this time, she really was heartbroken. Alex & Erin got thank-you cards, and we got a card congratulating us on the new house. And she got nothing. She felt left-out, ignored. In her world where, so often, things have to be “fair,” she had run into a situation which was not. And nothing could be done to change it. She didn’t get a card.

Howl. Howl. Howl.

I didn’t really have any answers for her. I hugged her. I didn’t promise it would be okay. It wasn’t okay, and sometimes life isn’t fair. But I told her that I heard her, that I understood, that I was sorry.

And really, isn’t that all we can do?

As we grow up, we discover so much unfairness and the reality that no one is going to ‘fix’ everything for us. We face illness, loss, frustration, other people’s selfishness, our own selfishness, job dissatisfaction, death. And even though it all hurts, most of us learn that throwing our heads back and letting rip an ear-splitting sound does not really help. So we leave that to the children.

But that’s why we don’t always hear the howls all around us. Our grown-up version of howling often looks very different from Megan’s wails. Grown-up howling might be a deep sigh from the lady next to us on the bus. The quiet sobs of our spouse after all the lights go out at night. The silent, longing look of a husband who wishes his wife would stop and sit and hear him. The angry, wild looting of a frustrated crowd.

It’s all the same thing. A howl. A wail from the soul. A cry from the heart for someone to listen closely enough to hear. Someone who is not too busy to stop, to make eye contact, to smile.

And the thing is, all around us, every day, are the howls of people in need. Some we can hear. Others are totally silent.

But if we pay attention, we can choose, in those odd moments when we lose sight of our own issues long enough to see someone else’s, to listen for the howls. And we can stop and respond. We can’t fix it, of course, and we should never promise that we will. But we can listen. We can offer a hug, a cup of coffee, a few moments of uninterrupted silence. We can tell them that we hear them, we understand, and we are sorry.

In the end, most people just want to hear someone say, “I’m sorry for your loss, your pain.” They need to hear someone say, “I may not understand, but I am sorry.” And when we shut off our own stream of “poor me” long enough to sit with someone under their burden, we discover a sense of community, a compassion that can sometimes heal our own hearts and soothe our own howls.

At least that’s what has often helped me.

 

What Can We Do?

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On the first week of summer (Or was it last Saturday?)

The kids all were moaning and starting to say.

 

To the mom as she worked scrubbing toilets and floor,

“What can we do now? We need something more!”

 

“What can you do?” Said the mother, surprised.

Were the children so soon needing something to try?

 

“How can you be bored? There is much you can do!

Why look all around, the world’s waiting for you!”

 

“There is no room for boredom with the world at your feet.

Let’s look at the choices, ideas, and feats!”

 

“Have you been creative? Have you painted or glued?

Have you danced, changed your pants, drawn a picture all new?”

 

“Have you cut out some pictures? Played a tune? Sung a song?

Have you made up a game where things only go wrong?”

 

“I know!” Mom jumped up. “You could go right outside.

There is room to run races or try new ways to fly.”

 

“Ride bikes all together. Simon Says. Play some tag.

Try jumping or hopscotch, blowing bubbles or flags.”

 

“Have you thrown a ball yet? Swung a bat? Caught a pass?

Have you climbed to the tree top? Played with sand? Made a mess?”

 

“Then again,” said the mom. “Maybe outdoors needs to wait.

But how ’bout adventures of fortune and fate?”

 

“Have you read a good book? Maybe two, maybe three?

Go discover the wonderful worlds left to see!”

 

“Have you driven buses with Pigeon? Helped the Hen bake some bread?

Have you seen the Gruffalo or the Magic Treehouse instead?”

 

“There’s Corduroy, Ramona, and Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.

There’s Laura Ingalls, Cam Jansen, and of course, Owl Moon.”

 

“There are so many favorites you can read if you choose.

Go adventure with books, and trying writing them, too!”

 

“Or maybe try exercise? It’s a great way to have fun.

Take the dog for a walk or just hop and skip and run and all of your boredom will quickly be done.”

 

“Still not working?” said Mom. “Still can’t figure it out?

Well, there’s one other thing that might just make you shout.”

 

“You can help me! I have chores left to do.

Every one of you is welcome to pick one or two.”

 

“You can dust, sweep the floors, pick up toys, wash the plates.

I have laundry to fold, shoes to pair, beds to make.”

 

“Wait, where are you going?” Mom called as kids ran.

Then she smiled to herself as they made their own plans.

 

So whether it’s summer or just Saturday.

There is always a lot of ways kiddos can play.

 

Simply give them their choices and end up with chores.

And they’ll become busier than ever before.

 

The End.

To Whomever You Are

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I don’t know your name yet. Or maybe I do, and I’m still unaware of it. But I’m waiting for you.

You, my friend.

It’s been a long time of just circling, waiting, sometimes (mostly) less than patiently, for you to arrive. My next real friend. I had to move, you see, to set my family up for a new, bigger dream. But it meant leaving people behind. And while they still love me, I know they do, things changed.

And I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a long, long time. And I’m tired. Of wishing someone would call and ask how I am.  Of having no one to tell stuff that I’m thinking about. Of crying alone. Of missing out on the laughter inside me that I need someone else to help draw out of me.

See, you’ll find out soon enough that I’m too serious. I take every too seriously. And I’m funny. I really am. But I hide it. And hide behind it. So I’m waiting for someone who won’t be afraid of my intensity and my brash humor. And I’m waiting for someone to discover that I don’t do lots of people. I do just a few, really well.

But I’m lonely. I have no one, really, right now who’s in the “few, but deep” category. Eric is great. I wouldn’t have survived without him. But he’s not all there is. I know this. And so I’m waiting. For you.

I don’t know your name, but I hope God crosses our paths soon. I hope you see past my tendency to hide behind doing and see how much I need someone to BE with again. I hope you hear God nudge you towards me, or when He nudges me towards you, and you answer.

Because today, I need a friend. And I can’t wait to meet you.

Because It’s Important

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(Fair warning: This is long and deals with non g-rated topics. But like the title implies…I think it’s important!)

So…okay. I’ve had this one brewing for a few days. And it may not even be necessary what with all the 50 Shades hoopla going on. BUT. Maybe it actually is.

Because, no offense intended, but for me, 50 Shades is just a no. There is nothing redeeming about the movie, its hype, its message. There isn’t a woman on the planet who won’t be better off just pulling a random chick flick out of her DVD collection and watching that, rather than the train-wreck that is 50 Shades.

But, then again, maybe that’s not exactly true. And that’s why I’m still feeling the need to write this post.

Yes, 50 Shades is not worth the money (and honestly, I kind of hope it tanks). But is it really better to deal with something so blatantly problematic by replacing it with something slightly less problematic?

See, the issue is one of messages. We are bombarded by messages, every day, every which way we turn. And we get so numb to them we sort of tune out. Except, we don’t. We really can’t tune out completely, so we really just end up absorbing all that information, all those opinions, all those messages — without ever realizing they’ve taken root.

Unless we’re on our guard, actually stopping to analyze what messages we hear, we end up living out these messages without meaning to. Because we will always act out what we truly believe. Every.time. Not just what we say we believe. But what’s actually inside our hearts.

That’s why this whole topic is so important.

Here’s what I mean. I recently took an editing job on a novel. The book is fiction. No problem. The book is romance. Also, no problem, I thought. I read romance books. No biggie, right?

Except, this one, um, wasn’t the kind of romance I typically read. There were 3-4 scenes that were steamy. And detailed. And um…what-have-I-gotten-myself-into?!? Now clearly, 1) I don’t have a lot of experience with explicit scenes in my romance novels, and 2) I wasn’t expecting, at that moment, to stumble into descriptions of people’s bodies and exactly what they were doing. And the short version (for those who are wondering), is that I was taken aback, debated what to do, and finally decided to finish the project. And I’m glad I did because I learned some things about myself, about absorbing messages, and about some serious issues that we, as women (and especially Christian women), need to really think about.

For example…

1. There is such a thing as “girl porn.”

I’m not an expert on porn (that should be obvious given my reaction to a couple of sex scenes in a single book), but there’s really nobody who thinks porn is good. Right? It’s selfish. It’s objectifying. And it’s completely addictive. In the worst way. Clearly, this is not good. And when we’re talking about men and videos or the SI swimsuit edition or Hustler magazine, we’re all about shutting down the cycle.

But what about us? Sure, some women do videos and magazines. But the vast majority of women need words. So we read our porn. Erotica, for some. But even that’s pretty out there for most of us. No, we stick mostly to romances, love stories filled with descriptions that are designed, intended, to arouse the passions of the readers along with the characters. And this, in effect, serves exactly the same purpose as porn. Some would disagree with me, but I stand by my statement. There is such a thing as ‘girl porn,’ and we must be intentional about guarding our hearts, and our marriages, from the negative effects of such things.

2. Sometimes the effects are emotional, rather than physical.

SO what about those of us who don’t, as a general rule, read books with sex scenes? Where the book gently skips from the kiss to the morning after? Is that really better?

And my answer is…maybe. Remember, the issue is what messages we are letting into our minds. So we cannot limit the issue to the physical. “Oh, I don’t read those books, so I’m okay.” Are you? Or do you read romance books and watch romantic comedies and dream about the day some guy (or your guy) will do (fill-in-the-blank) for you? Or maybe you watch them because you know your guy would never do (fill-in-the-blank) for you. It’s an escape. It’s a substitution. You want the romance, you wish to be loved “like that,” and it makes you feel better to watch (or read) someone else get what you’ve always wanted.

And yeah, that’s a problem.

See, emotional porn is about living vicariously through someone else’s story. You feel a lack of romance, of love, of ‘being seen,’ in your own life. So you fill that tank with a movie. Or book. Or story where some guy really knows how to treat a lady, all the while wishing she was you.

And that kind of substitution is always harmful. Maybe you aren’t skipping out on sex with your husband to look at porn. But if you are depending on books or movies to fill up your emotional tank, you’ve still substituted a fake love for a real one. You’ve set your husband aside, drawing emotional sustenance from a different well.

(Now, I obviously am not blaming all women, because yes, some husbands really have ‘checked out,’ but my point here is about messages, remember? If you find your marriage in this state, you need to get help. Talk to your husband. Talk to a pastor or counselor. And above all, keep on guarding your heart.)

But, someone will say, reading these books actually makes me turn towards my husband. So it’s okay, right? Honestly, I doubt it. Yes, he’s probably happy with the attention he gets. But it’s still not a two-way, face-to-face relationship. Really, it’s more like using your husband as an outlet, rather than uniting with him. And that’s not what a real relationship is.

3. We can’t settle for less.

Here’s the thing. As I thought objectively about those scenes in my editing project, I realized a couple of important points.

– They are unnecessary. Really, the are. The deep love a character has for another person is not entirely bound up in their ability to sexually please that person. That’s why the best love stories, the lasting literary works, very rarely give explicit details about ‘romps in the hay.’ They really aren’t necessary to the bigger story.

– They are inaccurate. No two people in the entire world can routinely have the kind of sex described in those books. No man could really do what these guys did, every time. No woman is that kind of pleasured, every time. Of course, as Richard Paul Evans said in a (very good) recent article, “Romance novels (and I’ve written a few) are all about desire and happily-ever-after, but happily-ever-after doesn’t come from desire–at least not the kind portrayed in most pulp romances.” When we get our sense of “what it should be like” about sex from books and movies, we are setting ourselves up for disappointment. They just aren’t real.

– They create unfair expectations. Evans continued, “Real love is not to desire a person, but to truly desire their happiness–sometimes, even, at the expense of our own happiness.” Sure, sometimes, real-life sex is great. But in real life, in a real relationship, it can’t always be uber-highs and Hollywood passion. You have to accept the quickies, the I’m-doing-this-because-I-should phases, the well-that-didn’t-go-as-planned moments. Those are as important as the really great moments. Because those are part of the bond.Yes, I want my marriage to be great. But greatness comes by blending the good and the bad times, the hard and the easy times. It’s the intertwining of two hearts and lives, two entire people, not just our physical bodies (though that is super important, too).

And the truth is, when I’ve absorbed those descriptions of what “great sex” is, then eventually, I’m going to expect my husband to somehow perform that way. But holding him to such impossible standards cannot encourage a bond between us. I’m setting him up for failure and judgment. He cannot possibly keep up with the stuff in those books (most of which he’ll never know I have in mind), and I will never enjoy my intimacy with him the way I’m supposed to if I’m constantly comparing him with those scenes.

4. Or maybe I’m just a prude.

Okay, so I’ve said all this stuff. Maybe you’re high-fiving me right now. Maybe you’re getting ticked that I’ve said some stuff that you didn’t like. Maybe you’ve just blown me off as a prude.

And maybe I am. But here’s the thing. I’d rather be a prude with a healthy, growing marriage than an experienced reader of explicit materials who’s setting herself up for misery and failure. Messages matter. And it’s important that we learn how to call what we see and read to account for the messages they communicate to us.

Ladies, as I edited those scenes, I talked about them a lot. A LOT. To Jesus, first of all. I wasn’t sure if I should feel guilty or not. I wasn’t sure if it was okay to keep reading. I didn’t quite know how to respond. So I spent a lot of time in those weeks “bringing every thought captive” because I didn’t want those scenes to leave a lasting impression on my mind. And  then I trusted God to keep them from negatively impacting me.

And did they? I don’t think so. I finally realized that I am not guilty in this matter. I did nothing “wrong” by reading those scenes. But I do have to be careful about the next time. Wisdom dictates that I have to add that question (“Are there sex scenes?) to my criteria for whether or not to take future jobs. Which may cost me some work. But, I don’t want those messages to have free rein in my heart. So, if it costs me work…so be it.

But I also talked to my husband about them. They surprised me. And I needed to process them somewhere outside of my own head. I wasn’t sure if he would care or not. I wasn’t sure what he would think. And you know what. He was so helpful. He listened without judging. He made light of them, which helped me not take them too seriously. I’m the type of soul who would’ve bottled up my concerns and let them fester, always wondering if I was hurting my marriage with what I’d read.

But in talking to my husband about them, they lost a lot of power to affect me. And what could have become something between us (for me) became an opportunity to handle things together. His strengths, my strengths, together.

SO…what’s the point? to be honest, I’m not sure. If you read a lot of romance, I’m not necessarily telling you to quit. Just to be careful. This is important. It is a bigger deal than we tend to give credit that it is. We have to guard our hearts. We have to guard our marriages. We have to read and watch with a critical eye so that we don’t create (intentionally or not) issues for ourselves and our marriages.

It is important. And if you aren’t sure what to do, err on the side of caution and get some wise counsel from other women you trust. And don’t (really, don’t) bother seeing 50 Shades this weekend. I can already tell you the messages in that story will not be worth the price of admission.

 

TGIF

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So the drywall company tried to deliver the drywall yesterday. They drove all the way here from Columbus, a “2 1/2 hour drive” they said (though I happened to see McKinley Ave. on the truck, and I can tell you for certain that it does not take 2 1/2 hours to drive to my house from McKinley Ave. But whatever.)

Anyhoo, they got here and decided they could not drive their truck down our driveway. Could.not.do.it. Our drive was a “sheet of ice” (it isn’t). Their truck is really heavy (that was true, they had like 200 sheets of drywall on it!). They couldn’t drive over the boards covering the electrical wire (it’s currently frozen into the ground…nothing there is moving!). Oh no, they were sure they couldn’t do it.

Sigh.

So, here I was, at home alone with all 4 crazies, at lunchtime, with two city-driver delivery guys who can’t get their job done. Really?!? So…short-version…I finally drove over to find Alan (my farmer brother-in-law), interrupted his chat with his nutritionist, and begged him to come help my with our minor crisis. He graciously did so, bringing over a load of cinders to shake over the driveway and staying to help direct the truck so that the driver could feel “safe” enough to back the truck in. He also brought my van down to me after the driver got in place because the delivery guys had decided to TRY to get down the drive while I was over at the farm, effectively blocking the only way to my house with me on the wrong side of them. SO, I parked the van at the top of the lane and walked down to the house.

Honestly, by the time it was done, I mostly felt pity for the two guys (down from frustration, so that’s good, right?). And they did get all the drywall inside. Which is great because the installers are here RIGHT.THIS.MINUTE!!!! We may actually be able to turn on the furnace by the end of next week and get the finishing work started inside. WooHoo!!

But seriously, that delivery was the most complicated of any that’s come so far. And we’ve had a few so far. Sheesh.

Anyway, all around that whole fiasco, I was managing children, making supper and trying to act like I was a little in charge of the day. I had to run to Wal Mart last night because the twins were supposed to have white t-shirts to school by Monday (we don’t have school on Monday), so I needed to have them for today. I kept checking the delay notices, and nothing appeared. And of course, this morning, we were closed. Well, at least I already have the t-shirts now! And I did get to Wal Mart, without kids even, and had a few minutes to myself.

Which is a good thing because THIS morning was also crazy.

The bigs were up 4 times in the night (once for each twin and twice for Meg), between 1 and 5:30. I had to be up at 6 because Alex and Erin were scheduled for eye exams at 8:00 and 8:30 in Zanesville (a good 30 minute drive in good weather). The original plan was to get them there and back, while missing the bare minimum of school time. Though of course, school was cancelled.

Okay, so that makes the morning simpler, right? I mean, now I could get just the two into the van without all their school stuff. So yay for that! But it was snowy. And cold. And no one was moving fast at 7:30 this morning. And I realized as I was leaving that I never filled out their paperwork. Nor could I find the printout with my insurance information. And I knew the roads were going to be awful. And we were already late.

And…there might have been a minor meltdown.

But I couldn’t help being late. The roads weren’t going to be great, but I CAN drive on snow (unlike the delivery guys yesterday :-P). It would’ve been more hassle to cancel the twins’ appointments than to just go. And all things considered, we were still doing fine. This was the pep talk I was giving myself as we headed out. This was the prayer/find-a-better-perspective attempt I made. And it helped.

The roads were not good. But I had clear pavement when I needed to brake quickly to make sure the deer standing on the side of the road ran away from me and not toward me. The curves were not fun and the blowing/drifting snow was less so. But we made it. In one piece. A little late. But no worse for the wear.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy. But life pretty much is messy. At least mine is. And at almost-38, I’m finally learning to let go of the drive for perfect and allow for, even accept, the messy. I’m not a failure when we’re late on a snowy, bad-roads day. I braved the roads and my fears and actually arrived to the destination only a little behind schedule. This is a success, Woman! Treat it as one!!

Anyway, the exams went great. They are right where they should be; no need for glasses. We got home just fine, right one time. Eric headed for work as soon as we returned. And all of us feel like it should already be 4:00 or 5:00 because the day started so early and so full-bore.

But God is good. He shows up. And I’m learning to let Him. Even on Fridays.

Winter Wonderings

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So here I am on a cold, snowy afternoon characterized by the unusual reality that I don’t have much pressing for my time right now. I’m between writing jobs. Two of the crazies are at school, the other two are napping. I’m almost caught up on laundry. I should do some house-keeping. But instead, I’m going to recap a few things from the last few…well, from the recent past!

The holidays were busy, but good. I accidentally overbooked myself on writing projects (feast or famine, feast or famine), so that did complicate things. But overall, we had a good time. Lots of family. The kids seemed to enjoy themselves. Eric had his first real break in months and made the most of his 10 days off with work on the new house, hanging with us, and generally relaxing. It was nice. And now we’re working to get back into the swing of things and of normal life again. And that is good, too.

_________________

So…I don’t do rodents. Do.not.do.rodents. Gross! I’m pretty sure my kids will be more than hard-pressed to talk me into even the fluffiest of rodent pets. Just…shudder! Anyway, not surprisingly, we have lots of mice (not pet ones) in the doublewide (in, under, above, throughout…), but more surprisingly, I have not had much trouble with them getting on my counter. Until this winter. Suddenly, there were traces of mice on my counter. Mouse poop…YUCK! Also, he hauled an entire still-wrapped Hershey’s kiss from inside a cup of candy on the far side of the stove back across the stove to the sink area, stripped its wrapper and ate (or disappeared with) the entire piece of candy. Leaving nothing but the wrapper. What kind of mouse does that?!? (By the way the upside of the whole thing is that I’ve actually been cleaning up my kitchen all.the.way before I go to bed at night. I mean, I can’t always control the amount of food crumbs scattered about on the carpets, but if I leave those and clean my counters, maybe the mice will stay on the floor, right?)

Anyway, since I don’t do rodents, Eric is responsible for all mouse traps: baiting, setting, finding, removing with dead things in tow. Seriously, I’ve been known to leave a dead mouse in the trap in the corner for a whole day until Eric is home to take it out. I don’t do rodents. So anyway, Eric remembered, after a few days, to set the trap one night before we went to bed. That night, I woke up to the oddest sound. I could NOT figure out what the kids were doing. Out into the living room at 1 a.m. to realize the sound was coming from the kitchen, not the bedrooms. Realizing what it likely was…I went back to bed. I heard that mousetrap being smacked around more than once that night, and when Eric got up he found a “big guy” of a mouse (Eric’s words), head in the trap, clear on the other side of the kitchen from where the trap had been set. Apparently, it hadn’t snapped his neck when it released, and he flailed around my kitchen floor all night until he ended up by the back door too strangled to move any more or whatever. Eric took him outside to freeze the rest of the way to his demise. And I haven’t had any more signs of mice on my counters since then.

Me: 1, Mouse: dead. Yay!

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In happier news, my sweet little Timmy guy turned 2 just after Christmas. He is just the happiest, fun little guy, and we love him to pieces. I should do a whole post about him, but for the sake of “who-knows-when-I’ll-blog-again” reality, I’ll just give you a quick update here.

  • Timmy hates peanut butter. He will not eat it. Refuses anything with PB on it. Crazy!
  • In the last three weeks, he has suddenly grown a ton. Not necessarily taller as much as he just suddenly looks and acts like a bigger kid instead of a baby. Thankfully, the amount of snuggling has actually gone up with this recent spurt, but he’s quickly becoming a preschooler, instead of my baby-toddler!
  • Also in the last three weeks, Tim’s verbal skills have taken off like a rocket. Suddenly, what had been, until now, mostly grunts and pointing has turned into actual words and syllables and phrases. He says the numbers 1-9 (I didn’t know this). He can do some colors (I didn’t know this). He actually names some people, some toys, and some of his food (I didn’t know he could do that either). I think that, by my birthday, he’ll be predominantly verbal. How fun!!
  • Also, I have to give most of the credit for his new verbal skills to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I really need to start working with him more. 🙂
  • And because, he’s just adorable…here’s my sweet little guy:

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Yesterday, we had a snow day. At one point, Erin tattled that Megan was coloring lipstick on herself with marker (and on her teeth and such). I announced that no one should be drawing on themselves with markers – or others, for that matter. No markers on skin. A few minutes later, I walked out of a bedroom and realized the bathroom door was ajar. I pushed on it to see Alex, on the stool, shirtless, a purple marker in one hand. His other hand was already purple and he was on his way up the arm. He looked up at me, eyes wide. I said, “What are you doing? I just said not to… – wait, are you turning yourself into a purple minion?”  Yes. Yes, he was.

Needless to say, I burst out laughing. If I’d been a few minutes later, he’d have been half-purple before I caught him. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d been planning either. He was truly bummed I wouldn’t let him color himself purple. Thankfully, he doesn’t have access to body paint!

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I’m knitting a hat. First one ever. I might actually finish it before the end of winter! This would be a first for me (finishing a knitting project within the season I started it, I mean)!

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On a less happy note, my grandfather passed away on Tuesday, January 6. He would have been 92 this Saturday. It was a good week, emotional of course, but good. His life was well lived. He loved Jesus. He was getting tired. And he passed easily and painlessly at home. Eric and I drove to Buffalo (5.5 hours each way) in a day to make the calling hours, but getting the chance to say goodbye was worth it (and 10 hours alone in a quiet car with Eric was nice, too!). Of course, we will all miss him. Very, very much. But we are rejoicing that he is finally home.

Actually, though, of all the things that filled 2014 for us, grief had one of the largest places. My uncle and grandfather passed away. Eric lost his grandfather and two great-uncles. The local church we attend lost a couple more older saints. The town’s community was rocked by a hunting death on a Monday. The nearby Amish community lost a bishop most tragically in a farming accident the following day. It has been a hard, hard year. And honestly, I’ll be okay if 2015 is much less sad.

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Looking ahead, our house is coming along. We have a full roof (it took almost 2 weeks after the shingles were complete to have the ridge vent installed, and it rained regularly during that time). We have a furnace. The stone work is finished. The electrical is roughed-in. The insulation is being installed this week, with the dry wall to follow soon. The siding guy was out measuring yesterday. So we are definitely making progress. Of course, the sheer number of details that have to be decided once the walls are done – yikes! But hey, we’ll get it all done, one piece at a time. And then you are all invited to come see it!

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And I think that’s about all that was floating around in my head for right now. I’m sure there’s more. I’m sure I need to start blogging every day or two again. Maybe that will be a good goal to set for 2015 for myself. We shall see, though. We shall see.

Happy Wednesday!

You are a Brave Mom

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Did you know that?

You are. Really.

It may not feel like it sometimes. I don’t feel like it’s true very much. But honestly, the very nature of parenthood means staring the unknown, potentially heart-wrenching future in the face and doing.it.anyway.

For us, brave looks like the start of Kindergarten. My twins got on that big yellow bus for the first time this fall and entered a big new world. It was a huge leap forward for our family (going from four preschoolers to only the 2 littles at my side was just WOW!), and they have thrived in their new environment. But it isn’t always easy. I have learned so much about who they are. I’ve gotten to watch them deal with people, try new things, find out they can do so much more than they ever realized. So much more than I ever realized! I’ve been stumped more than once about how to help them, correct them, encourage them. It’s hard not to compare. But every day, we get up. I make lunches. We attempt to make it to the bus stop on time. We are brave.

My oldest niece is almost in middle school. My brother and sister-in-law are braving the crazy new world of Junior High. How much to hold her back (which is easier). How much freedom to grant as she tries new things (which is much harder). How to answer bigger questions, handle harder tests. They are brave.

The moms I know are dealing with other issues: terminal illnesses, job loss, a major move. They are wondering about car seats and SATs. They are trying to balance life and work and kids and husbands. They are wondering if they are good enough, if they are ruining their children, if something really, really horrible is right around the next corner. They face fears every day. They handle tantrums and crises and broken toys and broken hearts. Every day. Because they are brave.

Yes, you are brave. But for the moments when you aren’t so sure, it’s good to be reminded that you are not alone. Such is the beauty of friendships, of moms groups, of playdates, and of good books. Books like Brave Mom by Sherry Surratt, President of MOPS International and a mom like us. It’s a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of many of the most difficult fears and concerns that everyday moms face every day. She gives helpful, practical advice for dealing with our fears. She reminds us that God has provided answers for our crises and concerns. She includes stories of moms like us, moms who’ve been there and survived. Brave Mom reminds us that we are not alone. It reminds us that we are brave.

Of course, it may not feel that way today. It may feel like you are drowning, neck-deep in something way beyond yourself. But keep your head up, find a mom friend to chat with, go get yourself a coffee, read a book that will encourage you and then…just keep going. Because, you are, indeed, brave.

 

*I received a free copy of Brave Mom to review.

Always Behind

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I just went to the kitchen to get the glass of water I always keep beside the bed so I can drink it first thing in the morning. There is a sink-full of dishes there, with more on the counter. They are dirty. But they wouldn’t fit into the dishwasher, which is currently, loudly, rumbling through its wash cycle. I have almost a whole second load there. I should have washed them by hand. But I didn’t. There were still children calling me for some little something (nothing) long after “bedtime” was declared. There was some work I was hoping to get done, but now I’m too tired. There’s the ironing draped over the back of the couch…still waiting after days. Laundry unfolded. Clutter still stacked. Floors still unswept.

Those dishes are a too-real symbol of my days. No matter how much I fit into the “got-it-done” file, there is still more to do. And not just more. A whole sink full of more. And some on the counter, too.

It’s not overwhelmed I’m feeling tonight. Just tired. Tired of the mess. Tired of always feeling behind. Tired of fielding a hundred messages every day from my crazies of all the things I forgot, missed, didn’t get done, or got done late. The son who melted down because I couldn’t stop to snuggle with him right.that.second because his sisters were still needing to get in the bath and his baby brother was already there, needing to be washed. Alex was loud in expressing my neglect. The dishes do it silently.

And I long for affirmation. That these moments matter. That I am loved, despite my constant failures. That my inability to maintain a budget or get dinner on the table on time or keep up with the laundry doesn’t define me. I need words. From someone. From Someone. I need hope. And grace. And help. And kindnesses. And fun. I used to be fun. I wish I was fun again. I need friends. I wish I didn’t feel like I was fighting so many things alone.

And I doubt that I am alone. I am certain I am not. It’s just not something we much talk about with “people.” It’s not something I talk about much, which probably doesn’t help much.

Still, the dishes are there. And somewhere in the crazy, I’m waiting, hoping to see God show up. With joy. With comfort. With affirmation. Thank you, Jesus, for always showing up, even if I still have dirty dishes in the sink.

Day 28: Life…Today

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Today was crazy. And interesting. And I’m just gonna list some stuff because I want to (so much for focus, right?):

My children eat Frosted Mini Wheats dry. Like a snack. Straight out of the box. I think that’s weird.

Megan asked to play a game this morning. I told her I would play after getting a couple of things done. A bit later, she asked me, “Mom, now can we play the game I referred?” Referred?

The i-beams were installed in our basement this morning. Eric also picked up the doors today (I think one of them is not what we ordered), and then we bought our bathtubs, got a title for the double-wide (long story), and got some samples/pricing for exterior rock trim. Then I went grocery shopping before supper (I brought home pizza). Busy day!

Both of the littles thought the crane they used to move the steel beams was pretty amazing.

Because we ran errands through nap time, Meg and Timmy didn’t get naps. Well, Meg finally fell asleep while we were in the parent pick-up line after school. Got a good 25-30 minute nap. But Timmy…not so much. And by supper time he was DONE. I’ve never seen him that upset. EVER. My happy, jolly boy finally reached his limit. He literally screamed himself to sleep on the living room floor (one minute he was screaming, the next he was asleep), slept for about 30 minutes, and started crying again when he woke up, just picked up where he left off. He cried continuously. He wanted held, but as soon as you picked him up, he didn’t want held. He wanted me, he wanted Eric. He hated his bath. His eyes were red and puffy, and he ended up just lying on the ground, with his legs tucked up under him, nearly comatose. He finally let me carry him into his room, read him a book and lay him in bed. He fell asleep instantly (and he’s going to be starving by breakfast). Poor kid!