That's It, I Give Up. (Okay, maybe not...)

Um... hey. How's it goin'?

I've been purposely not-prioritizing showing up here because I feel like my last post needed a proper follow-up. When you put your hopes out there on the internet and things go so terribly different, as I see it you have three options:
1) Shut it down and pretend it never happened.
2) Keep up a facade that your character consists only of sugar and spice and everything nice
3) You can tell the ugly truth and move on.

To complicate blogging motivation, I also have this irrational fear that if I put anything sweet and lovely out into the interwebs, that someone will perceive me as ...well, sweet and lovely, perpetuating the "perfect mom" myth. Gross. I want no part in such fallacy. Plus, I am no good at hiding my faults. If I put on make-up, I will have a booger on my face. If I put on a white shirt, I will immediately spill coffee on it. I'm much safer being proudly broken, bathing in grace!

So all I remember about that day-- the one where I was so pumped up to speak words that heal to my children, the one where I even prayed for God to set a guard over my mouth-- was that a couple of hours into it, something gurgled up inside of me, zero-to-sixty from nowhere at all, and flew out of my mouth so fast that I didn't even know it was happening. Are you ready for this? I screamed F----YOU! at my daughter. [Gasp! Shock! Horror!]

That doesn't mean I shouldn't have written that post. It encouraged at least one person, and it's a reminder to me as well. I am better for having written that down, making it more a part of me. But just in case you have ever let swords and daggers and dragon breath fly out of your mouth instead of rainbows, hearts and unicorn farts (that one was for the 10-year old) I want to be the one to tell you that you're not alone...and, it SUCKS! It sucks that I did that, that I get so uptight and furious and stressed out and let #$%^@* fly out of my mouth!

"It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.
I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?" --ro. 7.21-24 the message

So what are we to do? It's discouraging.

But wait; I remember one more thing about that day. An apology. A humiliating admittance of defeat on a day that started off with such good intentions. The healing of relationship between mother and daughter. In the end, the answer to the question is that it is me who has to accept the hand of Jesus, me who has to let grace lift me off the ground, then dust myself off and trudge onward, red-cheeked and humbled.

Even when I don't know where I'm going next...

Readers: Have you experienced grace in Parenting? Care to share in the comments?

Words

It's almost 8am and no one is awake! Except me, of course. Is it because I want everyone to get back on a school-schedule? We would have to be leaving the house by now. Is it because David is taking a personal day to work on the attic dormer, and he's still in bed, too? Even though he sneaks away every morning, the house seems to have an unsettling when he's gone, and the children never sleep in very long after he leaves. I could leave and come back at noon and those beds will still be warm!

My reader seems to be carrying a theme this morning, and when life throws me a theme, I figure I'd better listen up. Today's theme is: WORDS.

Grace words.
Words that heal.
Words that make children feel strong.
Words that give thanks.
Words that give life!

Because words can bring death. I have brought more death than life with my words in my lifetime, I am sure of it.  If you have been the recipient of my death-words, please forgive me. I know I am learning to keep quiet when I am tired and hurt and my tongue wants to barf out all kinds of maladies, but I still have a long way to go!

Today I am printing out (and I mean by hand! We don't have a printer, lol!) Ann Voskamp's Manifesto for Joyful Parenting. What a good thing to move towards as the harried, early school mornings quickly approach!
And today I am praying,

"Set a guard over my mouth, Lord. Keep watch over the door of my lips!"

Speak well, today!

Naked and Unashamed

He starts off, you know, appropriately dressed...(usually). Like this:

He looks really excited for a fun-filled day at the beach, doesn't he?

But before long, one thing leads to another and this happens.

Emancipation!

When he's naked, he feels no shame.

He has not yet tasted of the tree of

the knowledge of

Good and Evil.

Everything is just...Good.

Oh yeah...I am SO not going back to those days!

To have faith like a child.

To be naked and unashamed.

To not have to cater to the knowledge of evil

...constantly struggling with it's presence.

In heaven we will all be clueless naked babies on the beach.

That's right.

Minus the sunburn.
Burns are for hell.

Taking Steps In The Right Direction

Wow, it seems like just a few months ago that I was writing about our last anniversary (oh, that's right, it was) and here we are again at that milestone! This March the First was a Tuesday, so we just spent the day together running the kids around like usual and then we took them to a babysitter and went out to dinner.  It was absolutely perfect for us.  We are in a good place on this here precarious road, and enjoyed reflecting on that while gazing lovingly, --a.k.a. uninterrupted--  into each others' eyes. [gag-me, I know...]

Stepping stones at the Portland

Classical Chinese Gardens

In other news, what is it about February? Is it that spring is right around the corner, and I'm itching to shed the Winter slumber, make some changes, lighten the load?  Because it was also February two years ago when I decided to step away from the Faceborg.  Obviously, the pull was too strong, and I ended up letting another two years slip away into the interwebs.  The reality is that I hadn't really hit bottom so I never really walked away.  This February found my heart stirring in ways it's never felt before, and I'm finding myself more than ready to let go of this thing that binds me.

I wrote a Facebook Note with my contact information and the following message to my "friends":

[editorial note: I think it's HILARIOUS that I thought it was 2 years ago that I started Facebooking.  That just goes to show what a time-sucking-warp it is.  I actually joined up in 2007-- so it's been about FOUR years that I've been thinking in status-updates!  Ay, caramba!]

March first will be 14 years since the day of the wedding.  And since my life revolves around my calling to that endeavor, I think that is a good day to make a change.

I remember, a little over 2 years ago [okay, four] in a friend's living room, surrounded by crawlers and their toys and their mothers, wondering about this "Face-Book" and why on earth you would want to quip about your moments to all your friends, who are no longer communing at your home, who are not on the phone, not at a coffee shop table with you, not in a letter, but who are sitting lonely at their computers, wondering what you are up to...?  Why would you do that?  Who would care?  What exactly would you say?

Being curious and maybe bored and maybe a little more procrastinating, I sign up.  I only remember one friend who said she is on this "Face-Book" and I look her up and "befriend" her all over again, this time a delayed and sightless, soundless friendship.  Soon my email address list connects me to friends and more friends and before long all the friendships I've ever had may now be transferred into a cyber-existence, like transferring the old reel-to-reel home movies to Blu-Ray to be enjoyed anew in hi-def but still not real and still sightless, soundless, touch-less.  Third-grade memories stay third-grade memories, even with the resurrected photos before me, the aged faces.

And for over 2 years I have invested in these so-called friendships, interacting with my keyboard, investing much, much more time into what is not seen, not heard and not felt compared to the time that Facebook has caused a speaking or a touching or a being seen.  Most days I sit down to fill my mind with what is outside of my own walls (I am a trapped and bored mother, I tell myself) and I am slowly filled with a creeping discontent, my life compared to yours.  You are constantly spending money I don't have, you are being loved in a way that I am not, you are making better meals and being more holy.  Or I judge you, a feeling I hate and despise about myself, for your pettiness or criticism or extreme political bias.  Or I practically explode with longing to help you when you are crying out in distress, needy and longing (and I know your whole situation, it's your "status") but I'm STUCK!  If I leave this keyboard I'll be faced with my needy children and laundry that needs to be put away and meals that need to be made and dirt that needs to be eradicated.  Even if I tried, I could not get to you in time, or help you enough.  You don't even live near me.  I don't even have any money.  I'm not even helping my own charge.  As I sit here getting fatter, I'm not even helping myself.

I have 260-something "friends".  I have whittled that down from 400-something!  I don't think I would use up all my digits counting up the ones I actually interact with, not including my husband.  My mom ran into my prom date in my hometown, and she said he told her that he "keeps up with" me on Facebook.  But we never interact.  He may as well be "keeping up with" Justin Bieber.  Except that they probably don't have a 20-year old shared experience--disregarding the fact that BIRTH is not a 20-year old experience for Bieber.  There are a couple of hundred more like him, and I am one of the same.  You might call it cyberstalking.  I'm seeing it as static.  Static that clouds and confuses and wastes my energy and time to where what is real and now is put aside.

Today, as I took more time to Be in the real world, serving little ones food--orange food to be exact-- and thanking God with them for putting the rainbow in food, and today we thank Him for orange!  And as I prayed and played and interacted and didn't ignore....the older one, the one with words, says to me, "I like it when you are here, mama!"

The horrible secret?  I am ALWAYS here.  But I am not HERE enough.  To him, I am not HERE.  You may have been stalking me on Facebook, seeing that I am definitely THERE.  And I am destroying my horrible secret now, this shame of not being HERE.

Apparently I get texted once in a while.  I guess.  I don't answer because I don't have texting and I never got the text.  We can't afford that extra expense.  And even if we could, being forced to be on this side of it causes me to wonder if I want even more of my interactions to be characterized by touchless, sense-less brevity and convenience.  Are we so busy?  So packed-full?  We cannot take the time for even brief conversations where I hear the comforting sound of your voice in my ear?  Where I can feel touched by a friend, another adult?  Are we so busy that sitting down to make 6 phone calls is too much?  I don't want to be that busy.  So busy that the majority of my interactions with people need to be so brief they must be electronic, lest we get (gasp!) talking and relating with one another!  Is this really why we do this?  Is it more than just video-game-esque fun, this texting?  I don't want texts from my children, I want to hear their voices.  I want them physically in my life for as long as possible.  I don't want cyber-children!  I know a lot from their voices, their eyes.  I need to see and hear.

So a little over 2 years later [actually FOUR], I am back to wondering why would anyone care about my "status"?  But I really don't care about the answer to that question anyway.  Even stronger is the desire to live in the moment.  I want to be HERE with my kids before they leave to struggle on their own for identity in a cyber-centric world.  I want to see your face over our steaming cups of coffee and read your pain through your "I've got everything under control" statements, and give your arm a squeeze (because you haven't been touched by anyone but needy children in a while) and tell you the words that no one would have the inclination to tell you if they never saw your expression, heard the tremor in your voice.  I am taking all this wasted time back, and I hope to GOD that I can live it better than I am now.

So write down my contact information, just in case you want to look me up when you are in Portland, and we can reminisce about Prom, or the third grade.  Or just in case you want to ask for my address.  Or just in case you want to tell me about the funny thing my kid did when they were at your house.  Or just in case you want to call and say Hi or make a coffee date or confirm our plans for Saturday.

On March 1st, I am exiting the world of Facebook.  I'm sure I will go through withdrawals, but I have a calling right before me that is HUGE and dare I admit it, neglected, and I am stretched too thin trying to waste time and live it at the same time.  I can really only handle what is physically before me, and if that is you, I will give you my full attention....and you will see it with your own eyes! :)

I am writing this in part to convince myself I have good reason to let Facebook go (a sure sign of a problem?) and partially to convince you to interact with me in real life.  I'm not making a case for everyone to quit Facebook; not everyone-- scratch that-- NO ONE is me.  I have problems that Facebook is exacerbating.  And I KNOW that my relationships "IRL" will be deeper as a result of letting go of good 'ole FB.

Thank you for being my friend...or my "friend" as the case may be.  Good times, good times.  :D

And you know what?  I haven't missed it at all.  I still feel this inclination, when I am feeling particularly emotional, to run and update my status with things like, "So help me, if there is one more spill today...!" but without that outlet, I've had to move that thought from this private internet part of my brain to the forefront, and actually deal with it.  I can actually feel my eyes change from glassed-over to focused, and it's like I'm snapping out of a trance.  And out of that trance, I can interact better with the real world.  And there are no more awkward run-ins with people as I try to put together what our complicated history is.  Because: there's our actual history, and there's what we know about each other from what we may or may not have read/put on Facebook.  It's very weird.

And by the way, deleting Facebook is tricky.  At first I only managed to "disable" Facebook.  A few days later a friend clued me in and I had to open it back up to properly delete it.  So in case you are wondering how to work it (because they really don't want you to go away), here's what you do:

• Log in
• At the bottom right of the page, click on the tiny blue letters that say "Help"
• I don't know if this will stay here forever, but in the right-hand sidebar under "Top Questions" the very top question is "How do I permanently delete my account?"
• Carefully read the page and click on the link to "submit your request here"
• Then don't touch it for 14 days or it will be reactivated

Now if you are like me and actually have information on Facebook that is somewhat valuable (for instance, so far that was the only place I had chronicled Noble's birth with photos and captions, little details I will have possibly forgotten when I finally make his baby book a decade from now), you can copy everything you've ever done on Facebook onto your hard drive.  Photos, comments, everything (as far as I know).  It's pretty cool.  So I did that.

Again, I am not writing all this to try to convince you that technology is the devil and that you should get off Facebook, Twitter, texting, etc...  All I know is that I needed to detach from the machine...and it feels like vacation!

Motherdynamics

Ann Voskamp said it true this morning: 

"Science may call it entropy, the second law of thermodynamics — nature slipping from order to disorder. But really, it’s this: the first law of motherdynamics — the clean always slips to chaos."

 

Sometimes we go around taking pictures of the mess, when we are feeling brave, and ready to conquer.  When we want to be able to look back and compare, and breath gratefulness at the results of our efforts, remembering the ugliness of the past, feeling proud that we made things new.

Sometimes I forget about that old picture, the ugly one; I don't really want to dwell on that anyway.  So I don't look back and see how bad it really was, where we started from.  And sometimes I get so caught up living in the new that I forget to take a picture of that, and all I have is half a record.... an album full of messiness.  I sometimes wonder, if I were to die and my survivors were to see my records, would they see how I immortalized the mess, or celebrated the newness, the redemption, the results of all the hard work?

We did this together, as a family, and I led the way,with encouragement.  My demeanor meant everything to this.  I got up and walked, with a little elbow grease and a lot of coffee and I loved on them and we worked as a team.  As much as I'd like everything to be equal and really, easier for me, I am their leader and that is my calling.

And there was another.  Those are steam-cleaned beige dining room carpets (the decorating flaw that is my homemaker's affliction!)  That only happened because of the kindness of a friend.  We don't come to this alone.  It is good to remember.

Today I am inspired greatly by Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience.  ALL MAMAS,  YOU MUST READ THIS!  These are good, redemptive words...

"Simple acts of cleaning are my humble, conquering efforts in the quotidian struggle between chaos and order, creation and disintegration, God and Death."

"True saints don't seek God only in still cells, but commune with Him in the clatter and the kids calling -- this is their calling."

I am thankful today for how far we have come, that we haven't come here alone, and that there is cleanliness and order to show for it.  I am thankful that this is my calling.

Karma Bites Back And It Tastes Like Chocolate

The backstory:

Last night I went grocery shopping after the kids went to bed.  I got home late and tired so I threw the cold stuff in the fridge and went to sleep.  This morning, I had to drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn to take the dog to get neutered.  Then I meet Dave at school, we switch cars, he goes to work and I go home...

I'm in one of those snobby-mom moods (you probably don't know what I'm talking about because I'm the only one who has these, I'm sure) and I'm realizing I had some helpers putting away the rest of the groceries this morning while I was away, and they obviously weren't aware of my brilliant master plans on how such things are done to maximize efficiency, stewardship and space conservation!  The Control Freak Locomotive has leaped the tracks!

And this is the thought that grumbles out of my mouth:

"No one does my job right."

Since my thoughts are synonymous with Facebook status updates I immediately drop what I'm doing and head to the computer to immortalize my bitter narcissism.  Facebook, my computer, or maybe God himself thinks this is a bad idea and saves me from myself; it won't post.  So I get up, turn around and take 3 steps to the kitchen to find this:

And then he started to rub his eyes... as I type this, it's still oozing out of his nose and tear ducts...

It looks like I don't do my job that well, either!

Keepin' it real,
Wendy

Perspectives From the Esplanade

Now before I tell you this and you think I'm some kind of wonderful, I have to tell you that every single day someone says to me, "I don't know how you do it with five kids!"  And I think to myself, "it depends on what you mean by 'doing it'," as I have shameful flashbacks of knee-jerk parenting moments.  You and I, we are both 'doing it', with our happy times and our hard times and our lives stuffed full, and we ebb and flow.  If I blogged more and wasn't so newly birthed out of crisis and survival, this blog would probably be a little more well-rounded.  Sheesh-- I don't know how bloggers do it!  Anyway...

Today, I don't know what came over me, maybe the lovely weather, maybe knowing David wouldn't be home until late...but I felt like after school we needed to go down to the Eastbank Esplanade and paint together instead of rushing home to do chores.  Korah still chose to do homework, and Noble was parked in the stroller with an apple, but the rest of us got a little rectangle of paper and "15 minutes" (it was more) to make some art.

Morgen painted a bug she had seen and showed me on the walk out, Noble's apple core, and (of course) a rainbow.  Micah painted some beautiful colors before he accidentally dropped his painting over the railing and it floated down onto the bank of the Willamette.  I told him some guy will probably pick it up and use it to make his home beautiful, so without even meaning to, he's probably going to make someone really happy!

Taylor took his card and went a ways off to draw, then came back to use the watercolors.  It turns out he and I painted the same thing:

Steamboat, by Taylor

Str. Portland, by Mommy

 He, of course, thinks mine is better.  I, of course, disagree entirely.  I love his color saturation.  I love how he did the whole thing without hesitation.  He works with confidence, sees what he sees and lays it down.  I love that we did this together.

On the way back, Micah pointed out the water reflecting wavy on the concrete wall under the bridge.  He said, "the sun and the water make that!"  I stopped to look, and it was beautiful!  A thing architects might try to imitate.  And I thought about how glad I was to be taking this time to intentionally see the world through my kids' eyes.  I came home and found this quote, and I couldn't agree more...

"Arguably, no artist grows up: If he sheds the perceptions of childhood, he ceases being an artist."  

--Ned Rorem, American Composer

Happy Mother's Day Kiddos!

 

Did I give birth to all these children? This is not my beautiful life!  How did I get here?

 

"You are like a garden of beautiful flowers, blooming to reveal new beauty every day."

 

"You are like a silly tadpole, always changing, jumping higher, swimming faster...with a camera because I love the way you see the world!"

 

You are like a beautiful crown of flowers, which makes me want to twirl and dance and be happy!"

  

"You are like a Rocket Ship!  Fast!  Full of Fire!  And off to explore new things, always eager to learn and excited about your discoveries."

  

"You are like a squishy, apple-munching little chunka love!"

(noble didn't actually get a card, but I didn't want to leave him out!)

Book Review: This Little Prayer of Mine

This Little Prayer of Mine starts off, "I know you're up in heaven, God, and can hear my voice from there. I'm just a little child. Will you answer my short prayer?" And thus begins my ambivalence.

When it comes to spiritual matters, I'm very careful what language I use with my children, admittedly, sometimes to a fault. I don't want them to misunderstand God as someone who causes earthquakes and hurricanes and can be summoned down whenever we decide we need a little extra help. So when this book starts off with God far away and the child reduced to "just" a little child, I'm immediately put off. The Bible says that God is with us and will be with us always, not "up in heaven" where we obviously are not. And I always want my children to feel significant as the people that they are at that moment. Never should they be waiting for another time of life to consider themselves significant to God and capable of being in relationship with Him.

As I read on, I note that the themes addressed in this book are relevant to our lives and to the life of a child at some point. And most of the answers to those themes were agreeable. For instance:

• When we have a choice to make, we can ask God to show us the right path and to help us follow Him
• When we do bad things that we know we shouldn't do, it's appropriate to ask God to forgive us and help us to act better
• When we are feeling lonely, it is completely appropriate to cry out to God for him to let us know he's "here with me and everything's alright"
• And, it is wonderful to ask God to help us be like Him, to love.
  

But some of the prayers left something to be desired:

• "If you give me riches...I promise to be generous..." That is nice, but the qualification of "if" coupled with the implausible illustration of a mountain of gold coins reminds me that we should be willing to give generously all the time, no matter what we have. I also don't want my children holding out for overabundant material wealth. I just think that could have been presented differently.

I felt like there was a little bit of inconsistency in the story layout, which made it feel choppy to me. The pages about possible future careers felt a little random and distracting. But the rhyming, language and the many illustrations are good for beginning readers.

As for the illustrations, they are beautifully painted and expressive. I love the double-page spread of all the seasons being merged together. And the dad snoring on the couch makes me laugh! However sometimes I felt like the pictures portrayed a scene I couldn't relate to with my own children. I wish that sharing God's love was more relational and not represented by dropping your old clothes at a charity.

There is much praise on the cover for this book encouraging the imperative teaching of prayer to children. While I may not agree with the way everything in this book is presented, I am encouraged to put the book down and to pray with my kids. To pour out my heart to God before them, showing them how to ask for help, believe, hope, trust and wait on God. I know my kids will learn more from my example than they will from a book anyway.

This book was provided for review from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing

Wonka Wisdom

"The most important thing we've learned

So far as children are concerned

Is never, never, never let

Them near your television set

Or better still, just don't install

The idiotic thing at all. . .

They sit and stare and stare and sit

Until they're hypnotized by it,

Until they're absolutely drunk

With all that shocking ghastly junk. . .

'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,

'But if we take the set away,

What shall we do to entertain

Our darling children? Please explain!'

We'll answer this by asking you,

'What used the darling ones to do?

'How used they keep themselves contented

Before this monster was invented?'

Have you forgotten?

Don't you know?

We'll say it very loud and slow:

They used to read.

They'd read and read and read and read and then proceed

To read some more."

- Roald Dahl

'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'