A friend of mine recently wrote a blog about Mom-guilt. She was right on the money, and it got me thinking. Why is it that no matter how hard we try, we're still plagued with it?
Now, I'm not riddled with it over EVERY aspect of parenting. I'm learning to let go of some things, like the fact that I cannot control the decisions my children make in spite of making every effort to discipline consistently, calmly and with Bible-based follow-up discussion. Of course, let me clarify, that is my goal. It does NOT always happen that way. I find myself, more often than I care to admit, raising my voice when they aren't listening, disciplining in the midst of frustration rather than with patience and skipping the Biblical application portion altogether because someone peed on the floor or I'm needed to intervene in another crisis elsewhere in the household. Believe me, at the end of the day, I often experience plenty of guilt over what I consider my failures as a mother. It doesn't help when, in moments of honesty, I let it slip to someone without children or to someone who has one young child (not old enough to rebel, talk back or throw fits) that I raised my voice at my kids recently, and I get a look of almost stiff politeness, but not understanding. Certainly, I never thought I would struggle with these things before I had kids. Then I had them, and the sinful inclinations in my heart have more than enough opportunities to spill out into my every day life. I guess you could say it keeps me humble.
This is what I mean when I say, at least, in this one area, I'm growing. Meaning, I've come to accept that God's mercies ARE new every morning and that His plan for my children does not hinge upon acts of perfection or failures on my part. I am very thankful for the Holy Spirit's working on my heart to help me give over the really significant parts of my children's upbringing to God. Of course, I still need to make every effort to pray for them, give Biblical instruction and discipline well. I'm part of the plan for their lives, definitely, but while His purposes for them include me, I know they cannot be thwarted by me. That's good to hang on to! Because, when I fail, I know God is still sovereign and in control, and He is certainly not surprised by anything I'm going to pull out during the day. It all goes toward humbling me and increasing my dependence on Him and, in some way, building the character of my children. (And, hopefully, all the times I feel like I fail are not nearly as forefront in their thoughts as they are in mine!) Keeping these things in mind helps me feel a little less guilty and little more like a Mom just humbly working through the sanctification process while also striving to love, nurture and teach her kids well.
Improvements there. But, there are some other areas where fresh guilt has reared it's ugly head these days. It's always about petty things too, far less significant than the larger issue of discipline and Biblical teaching. So why do they FEEL so big?
1) Homeschooling. This is a sensitive subject for some, and I offer no judgements whatsoever on those who choose to do it and can do it well. I think it's highly admirable and produces some very well-educated and disciplined teenagers! But, I always feel like I OUGHT to be willing and able to do it, and the fact that I don't (or can't), has always frustrated me. Especially since, for some reason, whenever people find out I have five (almost six) children, they automatically assume I must be a home-schooler! Then, when I politely set them straight, they seem surprised. Why? So then I feel compelled, almost desperate, to justify myself. You have to understand, I say, I have five children ages seven and younger. As close in age as they are, it would be very difficult for me to give everyone the adequate time and attention they need in order to give them the best that they deserve in an education. My academic abilities notwithstanding, I can't change those logistics. Case in point, today I spent two hours trying to get my six year old to write the numbers 1-10 correctly and read ONE book. Two hours! During which time, I could only partially supervise and attend to all the others well. Now half the morning is gone, and I'm left feeling flustered, the house is a mess and the kids are whiny and clamoring for attention. Still, even though I know it's not for us, I come away from those conversations feeling sadly lacking. In my head, I imagine they are thinking, if you REALLY wanted to do it, you would. If you only had more patience, made more of an effort, had better planning skills...yada yada yada. It's not THEIR fault. I feel guilty regardless of what's said, which is usually very agreeable. So why the guilt!!??
2) Organic Food/Meals. My blogger friend mentioned this one, and I was surprised to realize that I DO worry about this! I feel bad whenever I read my friends' posts about all the amazing fresh foods they've discovered at hole-in-the-wall places and the uber-healthy gourmet meals they've whipped up with them. I'd love to say that I bought all organic fruits, vegetables, meat and milk. But, let's be honest, it's expensive. I have a family of seven to feed on a strict grocery budget, and buying organic is just something we sacrifice the majority of the time. I used to assuage my guilt by at least buying organic milk, but we now drink three, sometimes more, gallons of milk a week, and a gallon of milk has shot over $3! That's a lot of moolah to shell out for something that's not even a solid food guaranteed to fill up lots of little tummies 3-5 times a day! Then there are meals in general. For every dinner of frozen chicken nuggets, grilled cheese, pancakes or hot dogs, I feel like I have to balance it with an offering of roast turkey, spaghetti or beef BBQ another day. The reality is, food is not cheap, but sometimes cheap is necessary. So I try to work within our constraints to make food that's healthy and affordable...and at least offer lots of fruits and vegetables from our garden on the side to supplement. Doing the best I can, but why do I still feel guilty?!
3) TV time. We don't have cable. In fact, we don't get any television stations. At all. We basically have a TV plugged into an outlet so that we can view selections from our movie collection when we want. So, I really shouldn't feel guilty about this, right? My kids don't spend mindless hours watching cartoons every day, and my husband and I don't spend hours every night watching sitcoms and reality shows instead of spending time with each other. Yes, I have to admit, this summer I've really needed the TV time I DO allow. I give the excuse that I'm pregnant. It takes SO much more energy and time to accomplish all the normal things. Plus, I have all the kids home from school and, to be honest, I really NEED an hour or so every day where they are all quiet and occupied and I can check off my to-do list for the afternoon. So, at the beginning of the summer, we watched maybe one 75-minute movie every other day. The last few weeks (I AM in the third trimester here) I've digressed to allowing one 75-to 90-minute movie every day during the baby's nap. During this time I do dishes without someone pulling my pants off, fold clothes without constant interruptions and exercise without breaking up fights every other set. It's been super helpful! But I STILL feel guilty, like I should either put up with the interruptions like a gracious June Cleaver or like I am in some way lacking as a mom in general, because I know it is highly unlikely that I could send five children to the playroom for a half hour and expect that my attentions won't be needed. Well, something's gotta give. In this case, I've opted for preserving my energy and sanity, and I'm NOT going to let myself feel TOO guilty about that!
Anyway, I could probably go on and on, but those are the main things occupying my thoughts at present. I can safely say, though, that I will happily have myself some Ben & Jerry's ice cream this evening without a single ounce of guilt, something that would have been nearly impossible for me once upon a time. Yay, for progress of any kind!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Great Outdoors
When I was a kid, being outside was an adventure and, in spite of being a girl, I didn't mind getting dirty to have one. I can remember making mud pies in our backyard and arranging them, just so, on the big green electricity box in the back yard. The metal got so hot it would bake the mud in an afternoon. I remember low-crawling through piles of leaves and drawing up imaginary treasure maps leading all around our yard. When I got older, I wasn't that much different. Soccer games played in the rain and the mud were the most fun, in my opinion, and, although Mike loves to tease me now, I loved our camping trips with family friends. Everyone had kids around the same age, and we spent hours hiking or playing soccer or football in the adjoining fields to our sites. At night we sat around the campfire playing cards, and I can't remember ever noticing bugs or dirt or the like...
Now, I'm an adult, and my husband gives me a patronizing sort of smile whenever I insist these tidbits of my younger days actually occurred. I guess I can't blame him for his skepticism. But, here's the thing, now when I go out in the heat and dirt and bug-infested grass, I'm not playing with the freedom and abandon of youth, I'm supervising. Supervising doesn't involve much running around. In fact, it involves a lot of slowly circling the property being always prepared to step in as a referee or medic or whatever the situation calls for. These days, being fairly pregnant, I do more sedentary observing, which means, rather than enjoying the breeze or the sunny day, I'm usually in one place, painfully aware of the heat and the swarms of gnats engulfing me. You never notice when you're running around having an adventure. When you're just sitting there...waiting for the plague of insects to attack, it's not.
Nevertheless, I went outside yesterday to keep an eye on the kids. Not necessarily because I was looking forward to leaving the indoors, but because I'd finished the majority of tasks and chores that would make for a good excuse to avoid going. I sat on one of our big tree stumps, very conscious of the ants that were inexplicably attracted to me, and watched my boys gleefully digging a huge hole in the dirt. They had dirt everywhere and yet were completely unaware. Keller scooped up a huge shovelful of dirt and actually dumped it over his head. Not only was there a visibly heavy layer of soil coating his hair, it was lodged in his ears. He was grinning obliviously. I have NO idea why. My youngest, Kennedy, kept sneaking off to our blackberry bush around the side of the house. She's already knowledgeable about which juicy fruits are ripe for picking, and she helped herself whenever she thought she could beat me there. (My mother asked me later if I washed the ones she picked. I just laughed to myself. As if I had the time to clean them before she expertly plucked them and popped them quickly into her little mouth!) To top it off, I caught her scooping yucky rain water out of the back of a very dirty dump truck. I'm sure it was quite refreshing. Still, I dumped it out after that. Just couldn't bring myself to let that continue, whether it bothered her or not.
But they all had a fantastic time. They were completely unaware of the dirt and the heat and the bugs and all the things I tried so hard, and failed miserably, to ignore. I was happy for them though. Having their own messy adventures in our "great outdoors" of a backyard. Even as I inwardly lamented over the logistically difficult task of getting five dirty children bathed with only one bathroom, I did remember with satisfaction, and a little longing, all those carefree days when I once felt exactly the same way. And who knows, maybe one day not too long from now, when I'm no longer greatly pregnant and all my children have reach an age of moderate self-sufficiency, I will find myself falling in with the hikes and joining in the games of tag and soccer and treasure hunting once more...and enjoying it!
Now, I'm an adult, and my husband gives me a patronizing sort of smile whenever I insist these tidbits of my younger days actually occurred. I guess I can't blame him for his skepticism. But, here's the thing, now when I go out in the heat and dirt and bug-infested grass, I'm not playing with the freedom and abandon of youth, I'm supervising. Supervising doesn't involve much running around. In fact, it involves a lot of slowly circling the property being always prepared to step in as a referee or medic or whatever the situation calls for. These days, being fairly pregnant, I do more sedentary observing, which means, rather than enjoying the breeze or the sunny day, I'm usually in one place, painfully aware of the heat and the swarms of gnats engulfing me. You never notice when you're running around having an adventure. When you're just sitting there...waiting for the plague of insects to attack, it's not.
Nevertheless, I went outside yesterday to keep an eye on the kids. Not necessarily because I was looking forward to leaving the indoors, but because I'd finished the majority of tasks and chores that would make for a good excuse to avoid going. I sat on one of our big tree stumps, very conscious of the ants that were inexplicably attracted to me, and watched my boys gleefully digging a huge hole in the dirt. They had dirt everywhere and yet were completely unaware. Keller scooped up a huge shovelful of dirt and actually dumped it over his head. Not only was there a visibly heavy layer of soil coating his hair, it was lodged in his ears. He was grinning obliviously. I have NO idea why. My youngest, Kennedy, kept sneaking off to our blackberry bush around the side of the house. She's already knowledgeable about which juicy fruits are ripe for picking, and she helped herself whenever she thought she could beat me there. (My mother asked me later if I washed the ones she picked. I just laughed to myself. As if I had the time to clean them before she expertly plucked them and popped them quickly into her little mouth!) To top it off, I caught her scooping yucky rain water out of the back of a very dirty dump truck. I'm sure it was quite refreshing. Still, I dumped it out after that. Just couldn't bring myself to let that continue, whether it bothered her or not.
But they all had a fantastic time. They were completely unaware of the dirt and the heat and the bugs and all the things I tried so hard, and failed miserably, to ignore. I was happy for them though. Having their own messy adventures in our "great outdoors" of a backyard. Even as I inwardly lamented over the logistically difficult task of getting five dirty children bathed with only one bathroom, I did remember with satisfaction, and a little longing, all those carefree days when I once felt exactly the same way. And who knows, maybe one day not too long from now, when I'm no longer greatly pregnant and all my children have reach an age of moderate self-sufficiency, I will find myself falling in with the hikes and joining in the games of tag and soccer and treasure hunting once more...and enjoying it!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Things I Feel Like I Should NOT Find Myself Saying...
1) Do NOT touch that dead animal, bird, bug, etc.
2) Do NOT run with that pencil, stick, sharp object, etc.
3) Pee IN the potty.
4) Flush the potty!
5) Do NOT rub your greasy hands in your hair, on your body, on your clothes, etc.
6) Do NOT eat crayons, glue, other non-food items, etc.
7) Toothbrushes are for your teeth. Not toes or other body parts, etc.
8) Do NOT spit your beverage on the table or at anyone else. Drink it.
9) Do NOT jump from the furniture onto the wooden floor. It is a hard surface.
10)Do NOT climb on that pile of precariously-stacked items. Ask for help.
11)Get out of that trash can!
12)Do NOT put your hands in the potty!
(Really, this is an endless list. This one in particular could be just one day in our lives. Give me another hour or two, and I could come up with 12 more...!)
2) Do NOT run with that pencil, stick, sharp object, etc.
3) Pee IN the potty.
4) Flush the potty!
5) Do NOT rub your greasy hands in your hair, on your body, on your clothes, etc.
6) Do NOT eat crayons, glue, other non-food items, etc.
7) Toothbrushes are for your teeth. Not toes or other body parts, etc.
8) Do NOT spit your beverage on the table or at anyone else. Drink it.
9) Do NOT jump from the furniture onto the wooden floor. It is a hard surface.
10)Do NOT climb on that pile of precariously-stacked items. Ask for help.
11)Get out of that trash can!
12)Do NOT put your hands in the potty!
(Really, this is an endless list. This one in particular could be just one day in our lives. Give me another hour or two, and I could come up with 12 more...!)
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Dilemma
I just finished reading the book "The Help." It was a fantastic book with vibrant, interesting characters and excellent story-telling. It reminded me of why I love reading, of becoming immersed in another time or place or life and feeling somehow a part of it all. It reminded me of how my teachers used to tell me I would be a writer someday. I wanted to be. I longed to be like the authors of all the books I so loved, to write something more important and timeless than the standard essays and papers that got high marks and critiques. The dilemma was always...what to write about?
I read once that there are very few original plots or storylines, only particularly interesting or unique retellings. I think, for the most part, this is true. And it was always a sticking point for me. How to take a basic idea that has been told and retold again and make it new and exciting? Different. Worth reading. Nothing ever came to me. I tried and tried to think of an angle unexplored or a nuance overlooked, to no avail. So I sort of gave up on the idea and hoped that perhaps, over time, something would come to me...
On the other hand, people say, write about what you know. But this perspective was never very appealing for me. What do I really know? Really. I spent my teens years committed to academia and it's related pursuits and accomplishments. Unlike most twenty-somethings, I spent the last decade married and having babies. Certainly, those might be worthy things to write about, but what would give my perspective value, weight or lasting credibility? I'm one year into my 30s; I've given birth to five, almost six, children; and I have experience with child-rearing up to age 7, which, in the grand scheme of parenting, amounts to very little. In some respects, it's a unique resume, though overall experience is lacking. Breeding ground for a classic? Not so much. Anything based on this aspect of my life would amount to nothing more than yet another book on parenting or become a dreaded self-help book.
Sure, there were the two years or so that I was completely determined to go into the military, was appointed to West Point, encountered the all-too-familiar reality of the passive-aggressive (and sometimes blatantly aggressive) male counterparts to whom my presence was unwelcome, struggled with eating disorders and other health problems and then eventually resigned...only to deal with a few more years of depression, guilt and bitterness. But why, I've always wondered, would anyone care to read about ME? That's an entirely different category of writing. Biography. And there is absolutely nothing that has ever persuaded me of the merit of such an undertaking. Biographies are for statesmen, heroes, celebrities, amazing stories of conflict and survival...not for plain old tales about ordinary lives. Everybody has bumps in the road. Trials here and there. Obstacles to face and overcome. Nothing unique about that. Especially since, in my view, I never actually overcame anything. I let go, which I've come to accept, but I didn't rise above.
So, it's back to the same dilemma I face every time I think about writing. I read books that I love and envy their authors. I have so much to say and yet nothing at all to say. Instead I sit and write about writing. I write about wanting to write. I write about...nothing. Even now, I feel irritated with myself for even recording my thoughts. It sounds like nothing more than a pity party, which it isn't intended to be. It's merely a reflection on the difficulty of writing something real and lasting, of how rare it is to come across a really fantastic, influential and life-changing book and what a triumph that is...not only for the author who wrote it, but also for the reader who has the pleasure of experiencing it over and over again. I suppose I can take solace in the fact that I AM only 31...and, perhaps, that elusive idea or unusual experience will come to me eventually. And, if not, it will not stop me from being an eager consummer of the books I would so like to write myself.
I read once that there are very few original plots or storylines, only particularly interesting or unique retellings. I think, for the most part, this is true. And it was always a sticking point for me. How to take a basic idea that has been told and retold again and make it new and exciting? Different. Worth reading. Nothing ever came to me. I tried and tried to think of an angle unexplored or a nuance overlooked, to no avail. So I sort of gave up on the idea and hoped that perhaps, over time, something would come to me...
On the other hand, people say, write about what you know. But this perspective was never very appealing for me. What do I really know? Really. I spent my teens years committed to academia and it's related pursuits and accomplishments. Unlike most twenty-somethings, I spent the last decade married and having babies. Certainly, those might be worthy things to write about, but what would give my perspective value, weight or lasting credibility? I'm one year into my 30s; I've given birth to five, almost six, children; and I have experience with child-rearing up to age 7, which, in the grand scheme of parenting, amounts to very little. In some respects, it's a unique resume, though overall experience is lacking. Breeding ground for a classic? Not so much. Anything based on this aspect of my life would amount to nothing more than yet another book on parenting or become a dreaded self-help book.
Sure, there were the two years or so that I was completely determined to go into the military, was appointed to West Point, encountered the all-too-familiar reality of the passive-aggressive (and sometimes blatantly aggressive) male counterparts to whom my presence was unwelcome, struggled with eating disorders and other health problems and then eventually resigned...only to deal with a few more years of depression, guilt and bitterness. But why, I've always wondered, would anyone care to read about ME? That's an entirely different category of writing. Biography. And there is absolutely nothing that has ever persuaded me of the merit of such an undertaking. Biographies are for statesmen, heroes, celebrities, amazing stories of conflict and survival...not for plain old tales about ordinary lives. Everybody has bumps in the road. Trials here and there. Obstacles to face and overcome. Nothing unique about that. Especially since, in my view, I never actually overcame anything. I let go, which I've come to accept, but I didn't rise above.
So, it's back to the same dilemma I face every time I think about writing. I read books that I love and envy their authors. I have so much to say and yet nothing at all to say. Instead I sit and write about writing. I write about wanting to write. I write about...nothing. Even now, I feel irritated with myself for even recording my thoughts. It sounds like nothing more than a pity party, which it isn't intended to be. It's merely a reflection on the difficulty of writing something real and lasting, of how rare it is to come across a really fantastic, influential and life-changing book and what a triumph that is...not only for the author who wrote it, but also for the reader who has the pleasure of experiencing it over and over again. I suppose I can take solace in the fact that I AM only 31...and, perhaps, that elusive idea or unusual experience will come to me eventually. And, if not, it will not stop me from being an eager consummer of the books I would so like to write myself.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Joy of Home Ownership
I have to say that I love our home and am thankful for it. It was built in 1921, which should tell you something. It has a lot of what Realtors like to call "character." Truly it seems to have a story all it's own in ways that contemporary houses rarely do. On the positive side, it has a beautiful front porch with a swing which, with the perpetual mountain breeze, unfailingly takes me back to the similarly constructed porch of my grandparents' beach house in Groton, Connecticut and all the younger days I spent there. Of course, the porch is by no means level but, again, that's character! I love all of the woodwork and moldings, the hardwood floors and the beautiful large windows. I love the sliding doors and the old grate in the entryway. I love the large rooms and our amazing, well-landscaped yard. I've even learned to live with having only one bathroom and no dishwasher. We've been here almost two years and, though I wasn't sure I would survive at first, I have miraculously done just that!
Now, with all that being said, as with ANY home, regular maintenance and upkeep is required. It just seems like our dear old home has needed an awful lot of it lately, and in spite of my adoration for it, there are some days where the irritation just MUST be vented!
It all started with the discovery that my oven had acquired a mind of it's own, and it's a very unpredictable and fickle one at that! It's quite frustrating to bake something or prepare a meal and have no idea if it's going to be overdone or undercooked, regardless of how often you check it or how often you adjust the temperature. With a new internal thermometer in hand, I decided to test just how inaccurate the infernal thing was recently and was surprised, or rather, NOT so surprised, to find out that any given time it can range from 25 to 75 degrees OFF from the desired temperature, and it's almost impossible to predict by how much at what time and adjust accordingly. But, it still cooks. And, I still manage to get relatively satisfactory meals on the table. So, that is one replacement that, in light of all the other things that we've also dealt with, has been put to the back burner (no pun intended!)
As much of a joy as that's been, it's moderate functionality has redeemed it's place in the household for the time being. However, I did not feel nearly so...understanding...when I no longer had a washer and dryer. Again. You see, the laundry room, for some reason, was never insulated. It's along the exterior wall of the house and yet, no insulation whatsoever. Nothing between you and the cold wintry chill except a pretty thin sheet of drywall and some old windows. Needless to say, doing laundry in the winter always required a nice heavy coat and a pair of shoes. But that was really beside the point. The more frustrating repercussion of this anomaly was the tendency of the water pipes accessing this room to freeze. Now, we were assured upon purchase that the homeowner had taken measures to guard against such occurrences by wrapping the pipes with electrical heating tape. So it came as quite a surprise to me when, the first winter, I discovered, about seven months pregnant and with Mike out of town for work, that water and steam were pouring from the room! (Believe me, climbing behind those appliances at that stage was an acrobatic feat!) Thankfully, Mike is a very handy guy and was able to replace the busted pipes, staving off further disaster for the rest of that winter. Now, with new pipes in place, we didn't expect much of a problem this winter. Mike even put a small space heater in the room for extra measure. And yet, disaster struck yet again. This time it wasn't an "easily" replaceable pipe. The freeze blew out an actual part of the washing machine. So...Mike, again, being handy, was able to work it out so that we could manage to do laundry, manually. Meaning, he had to turn the water on, fill up the machine with a hose and then run the cycle. (And, yes, there were a few occasions when we just didn't keep a close enough eye on the process and an overflow resulted. Joy.) Considering the technicalities of it's limited operation, I really required Mike's assistance with the laundering, thereby restricting the time and frequency of my ability to do the wash. I tried very hard not to complain about this, but I will admit to the situation being quite inconvenient! So, Mike decided it was probably a good idea to invest in a new washer and dryer. (Yay me!) However, like any smart investor, he wanted to ensure that we wouldn't run into these problems in the future and ruin the new products...
Thus began the remodeling of the laundry room. He has torn out all the drywall, installed insulation, installed new drywall and, last weekend, painted the room. Now, this process has taken...months. In the span of that time, all of the cleaning products, towels, sheets and other bedding and all other manner of miscellanea have been piled in our bedroom, all over the floor, and in the kitchen. Thankfully, the only obstacle we now have to a completely restored laundry room is the installation of cabinets and shelves!
Now, all this I have really striven to handle graciously. Sometimes I have been successful in this...other times a little less so...although I really am grateful for a husband who is able to do all of this work himself and make a point to tell him so! But, last week, we had another problem, the straw that broke my proverbial back of patience and restraint. The bathroom. Yes. The ONE bathroom. We've had bathroom issues before. With small kids, it's bound to happen at some point. A car accidentally dropped down the potty. Half a roll of toilet paper tossed in. Something indistinguishable. You name it. Not a horrific ordeal if you have a bevy of bathrooms in the house to choose from. When you have ONE, you need it functioning. When you have a house full of seven people, you NEED it functioning! So, to discover last week that it was stopped up by who knows what...well, I cannot even express the height of pregnant emotions that I felt! The last time this happened in this house it literally took weeks before the toilet was working properly again. In spite of all Mike's best efforts last time, multiple plungings and snakings, taking it apart and putting it back together, it was all to no avail. No, we had to wait until the offending item, a toothbrush, became dislodged on it's own, and floated up to the surface as if something so innocent couldn't possibly have inflicted so much grief and angst! To reflect on the possibility of WEEKS in this situation, again...there are just no words!
It was so bad that the first Friday evening, the day that Mike and the older boys don't get home until 7:30 pm, I actually put all the kids in the car and drove them up to Walmart so that we could all use the restrooms there. Yes, I actually PREFERRED those bathrooms to ours! When you can't flush...well, use your imagination! Plunge you say? I wish! With every attempt I only managed to make the problem worse, if that were even possible! On Monday I was so dreading the prospect of taking the boys home after school that I, knowing their "routines" and after-school habits, took them to Mike's office and told them both they needed to go to the bathroom and that we weren't going home until they (TMI alert) had pooped! We were making it through the week with sanity hanging by a thread until Thursday when, in the midst of another attempt on my part at plunging, McCrea sauntered into the bathroom and for no reason whatsoever tossed a Hotwheel into the swirling toilet! I literally flipped out! I was sure that the whirlpool before me would suck that Hotwheel straight down and simply compound the current problem. So, it was a relief to me, small though it was, to see that car through the murky water at the bottom of the toilet. My next thought was to fish it out as quickly as possible before one of my children accidentally flushed the potty again. Simple enough...IF I had been able to find a pair of cleaning gloves, which were buried or lost somewhere amongst the piles of laundry room paraphernalia spread around my house. I may have owned a pair at one time, but they were nowhere to be found on that day. And thus, the maintenance problems collided! I had to call my dear neighbor to borrow a pair, and she sent her poor husband over on his day off to deliver them. When I inquired whether he would like to me try and clean and return them, he just kindly smiled and said, "No thanks, you feel free to keep those." I can't blame him!
To make my long story...short-er...I called my husband to vent, which resulted in him coming home from work in the middle of the day and spending over two hours taking the toilet apart! As before, it is not completely 100 percent, but is functioning, moderately, for the time being. I'm sure in a few weeks we'll discover a bath toy or action figure floating in there...and I'll have the inclination to pulverize it.
So, for all of you prospective homeowners out there, just be aware...and be prepared!
(Why, you may ask, do you not just buy a new toilet and replace the old thing? Because, it is bolted into the floor at the base and the wall at the tank, through the tile. Therefore, replacing the toilet would also require...re-tiling the bathroom. And that's one project neither of us are ready to tackle! One thing at a time...PLEASE!)
Now, with all that being said, as with ANY home, regular maintenance and upkeep is required. It just seems like our dear old home has needed an awful lot of it lately, and in spite of my adoration for it, there are some days where the irritation just MUST be vented!
It all started with the discovery that my oven had acquired a mind of it's own, and it's a very unpredictable and fickle one at that! It's quite frustrating to bake something or prepare a meal and have no idea if it's going to be overdone or undercooked, regardless of how often you check it or how often you adjust the temperature. With a new internal thermometer in hand, I decided to test just how inaccurate the infernal thing was recently and was surprised, or rather, NOT so surprised, to find out that any given time it can range from 25 to 75 degrees OFF from the desired temperature, and it's almost impossible to predict by how much at what time and adjust accordingly. But, it still cooks. And, I still manage to get relatively satisfactory meals on the table. So, that is one replacement that, in light of all the other things that we've also dealt with, has been put to the back burner (no pun intended!)
As much of a joy as that's been, it's moderate functionality has redeemed it's place in the household for the time being. However, I did not feel nearly so...understanding...when I no longer had a washer and dryer. Again. You see, the laundry room, for some reason, was never insulated. It's along the exterior wall of the house and yet, no insulation whatsoever. Nothing between you and the cold wintry chill except a pretty thin sheet of drywall and some old windows. Needless to say, doing laundry in the winter always required a nice heavy coat and a pair of shoes. But that was really beside the point. The more frustrating repercussion of this anomaly was the tendency of the water pipes accessing this room to freeze. Now, we were assured upon purchase that the homeowner had taken measures to guard against such occurrences by wrapping the pipes with electrical heating tape. So it came as quite a surprise to me when, the first winter, I discovered, about seven months pregnant and with Mike out of town for work, that water and steam were pouring from the room! (Believe me, climbing behind those appliances at that stage was an acrobatic feat!) Thankfully, Mike is a very handy guy and was able to replace the busted pipes, staving off further disaster for the rest of that winter. Now, with new pipes in place, we didn't expect much of a problem this winter. Mike even put a small space heater in the room for extra measure. And yet, disaster struck yet again. This time it wasn't an "easily" replaceable pipe. The freeze blew out an actual part of the washing machine. So...Mike, again, being handy, was able to work it out so that we could manage to do laundry, manually. Meaning, he had to turn the water on, fill up the machine with a hose and then run the cycle. (And, yes, there were a few occasions when we just didn't keep a close enough eye on the process and an overflow resulted. Joy.) Considering the technicalities of it's limited operation, I really required Mike's assistance with the laundering, thereby restricting the time and frequency of my ability to do the wash. I tried very hard not to complain about this, but I will admit to the situation being quite inconvenient! So, Mike decided it was probably a good idea to invest in a new washer and dryer. (Yay me!) However, like any smart investor, he wanted to ensure that we wouldn't run into these problems in the future and ruin the new products...
Thus began the remodeling of the laundry room. He has torn out all the drywall, installed insulation, installed new drywall and, last weekend, painted the room. Now, this process has taken...months. In the span of that time, all of the cleaning products, towels, sheets and other bedding and all other manner of miscellanea have been piled in our bedroom, all over the floor, and in the kitchen. Thankfully, the only obstacle we now have to a completely restored laundry room is the installation of cabinets and shelves!
Now, all this I have really striven to handle graciously. Sometimes I have been successful in this...other times a little less so...although I really am grateful for a husband who is able to do all of this work himself and make a point to tell him so! But, last week, we had another problem, the straw that broke my proverbial back of patience and restraint. The bathroom. Yes. The ONE bathroom. We've had bathroom issues before. With small kids, it's bound to happen at some point. A car accidentally dropped down the potty. Half a roll of toilet paper tossed in. Something indistinguishable. You name it. Not a horrific ordeal if you have a bevy of bathrooms in the house to choose from. When you have ONE, you need it functioning. When you have a house full of seven people, you NEED it functioning! So, to discover last week that it was stopped up by who knows what...well, I cannot even express the height of pregnant emotions that I felt! The last time this happened in this house it literally took weeks before the toilet was working properly again. In spite of all Mike's best efforts last time, multiple plungings and snakings, taking it apart and putting it back together, it was all to no avail. No, we had to wait until the offending item, a toothbrush, became dislodged on it's own, and floated up to the surface as if something so innocent couldn't possibly have inflicted so much grief and angst! To reflect on the possibility of WEEKS in this situation, again...there are just no words!
It was so bad that the first Friday evening, the day that Mike and the older boys don't get home until 7:30 pm, I actually put all the kids in the car and drove them up to Walmart so that we could all use the restrooms there. Yes, I actually PREFERRED those bathrooms to ours! When you can't flush...well, use your imagination! Plunge you say? I wish! With every attempt I only managed to make the problem worse, if that were even possible! On Monday I was so dreading the prospect of taking the boys home after school that I, knowing their "routines" and after-school habits, took them to Mike's office and told them both they needed to go to the bathroom and that we weren't going home until they (TMI alert) had pooped! We were making it through the week with sanity hanging by a thread until Thursday when, in the midst of another attempt on my part at plunging, McCrea sauntered into the bathroom and for no reason whatsoever tossed a Hotwheel into the swirling toilet! I literally flipped out! I was sure that the whirlpool before me would suck that Hotwheel straight down and simply compound the current problem. So, it was a relief to me, small though it was, to see that car through the murky water at the bottom of the toilet. My next thought was to fish it out as quickly as possible before one of my children accidentally flushed the potty again. Simple enough...IF I had been able to find a pair of cleaning gloves, which were buried or lost somewhere amongst the piles of laundry room paraphernalia spread around my house. I may have owned a pair at one time, but they were nowhere to be found on that day. And thus, the maintenance problems collided! I had to call my dear neighbor to borrow a pair, and she sent her poor husband over on his day off to deliver them. When I inquired whether he would like to me try and clean and return them, he just kindly smiled and said, "No thanks, you feel free to keep those." I can't blame him!
To make my long story...short-er...I called my husband to vent, which resulted in him coming home from work in the middle of the day and spending over two hours taking the toilet apart! As before, it is not completely 100 percent, but is functioning, moderately, for the time being. I'm sure in a few weeks we'll discover a bath toy or action figure floating in there...and I'll have the inclination to pulverize it.
So, for all of you prospective homeowners out there, just be aware...and be prepared!
(Why, you may ask, do you not just buy a new toilet and replace the old thing? Because, it is bolted into the floor at the base and the wall at the tank, through the tile. Therefore, replacing the toilet would also require...re-tiling the bathroom. And that's one project neither of us are ready to tackle! One thing at a time...PLEASE!)
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Trouble with Denial
So, sometimes denial can be a good thing. Not in the ascetic, Monkish way, but in the manner of self-discipline and self-control. Sometimes it IS better to say no to that slice of chocolate cake or bag of pretzel M&Ms. But, I'm pregnant, and I'm not sure that I'm completely pleased with the results of my financial and caloric frugality.
During the first trimester, when I could hardly stomach the thought of eating anything, there was always a nebulous list of food items which, if I could only procure, would DEFINITELY be THE thing that was SO appetizing it would most certainly be immune to my nauseous state. I indulged as many of these whims as was possible. Meaning, as many as I could find when planning my weekly shopping.
This was a hit or miss situation though. In some cases it backfired. For instance, just because I wanted almonds while at the store did not guarantee that I would want them when I got home (or any other time for that matter. I'm now six months pregnant and still have that bag of almonds in my cupboard!) In other cases, this plan-ahead-for-the-craving strategy was successful, either because they were generally reliable choices or because I developed a genuine appreciation for that item. For example, I've always had success with cherry pop tarts during my pregnancies. No-brainer there. I also had great success with homemade chocolate milkshakes. How could you go wrong? Other new cravings, such as salt and vinegar chips, have stuck with me, and I'm LOVING them. (I wish I had a bag right now, actually.)
The hard part was satisfying the cravings that were more transient in nature. In these cases I had to rely on the willingness of my husband to head out at random times in the evenings. (I know he loved that!) Mostly this centered around baked potatoes or junior bacon cheeseburgers from Wendy's. Go figure. For some reason, however nauseous, I could still enjoy these, at least for that moment, when the mood struck.
Indulging at this point wasn't a problem, because I gained nothing during that trimester. I would not say there was anything blissful about it, because I don't care to relive the all-day-long sickly feeling, but I can't say it wasn't nice to prolong the scale-tipping days ahead. However, no sooner had my nausea subsided, than I started gaining 5 lbs per month. In an effort to maintain a healthy pregnancy and not double our grocery bill by buying every little thing I'd really like to have, I've taken to denying myself more often than not. I pass by the bags of Twizzlers, chips, Combos and dried cherries, Diet Root Beer and donuts, jars of sweet gherkins and maraschino cherries. I talk myself out of mozzarella cheese sticks and cinnamon rolls. I practically put on blinders through the cookie aisle. Oh, and who can forget the ingenious goodness of Ben & Jerry's or the European sensation, Magnum Bars? Can you imagine the toll to the pocketbook and the waistline if I filled my cart with all that stuff?! Sigh...and yet...
The sad, sad side effect of this (it's really borderline tragic) is that I rarely actually crave anything anymore! There are things I would like, of course, but not many things I NEED. I'm not sure if this is just my fate for the next three months because I've gone and, horror, maintained decent eating habits, thereby overriding the physiological inclinations I'd otherwise have, or if it's purely psychological. Either way, I'm not sure I like it. While I might not ALWAYS indulge myself, for good reasons, what's the point of enjoying being pregnant if you don't have an excuse to have that random item that is absolutely NECESSARY because you can't be satisfied without it!? (And, I have to admit, there's also something satisfying about watching my husband trek out into the night to fetch these things for me. It's like a journey of love, right?) What makes it all the more irritating is that, regardless of my attempts to be good, I'm STILL gaining that monthly five (sometimes six)! So that's the trouble...has my denial negated my ability to crave? Oh, I hope not! Now I'm off to eat a junior bacon cheeseburger. Maybe all I need is a little inspiration!
During the first trimester, when I could hardly stomach the thought of eating anything, there was always a nebulous list of food items which, if I could only procure, would DEFINITELY be THE thing that was SO appetizing it would most certainly be immune to my nauseous state. I indulged as many of these whims as was possible. Meaning, as many as I could find when planning my weekly shopping.
This was a hit or miss situation though. In some cases it backfired. For instance, just because I wanted almonds while at the store did not guarantee that I would want them when I got home (or any other time for that matter. I'm now six months pregnant and still have that bag of almonds in my cupboard!) In other cases, this plan-ahead-for-the-craving strategy was successful, either because they were generally reliable choices or because I developed a genuine appreciation for that item. For example, I've always had success with cherry pop tarts during my pregnancies. No-brainer there. I also had great success with homemade chocolate milkshakes. How could you go wrong? Other new cravings, such as salt and vinegar chips, have stuck with me, and I'm LOVING them. (I wish I had a bag right now, actually.)
The hard part was satisfying the cravings that were more transient in nature. In these cases I had to rely on the willingness of my husband to head out at random times in the evenings. (I know he loved that!) Mostly this centered around baked potatoes or junior bacon cheeseburgers from Wendy's. Go figure. For some reason, however nauseous, I could still enjoy these, at least for that moment, when the mood struck.
Indulging at this point wasn't a problem, because I gained nothing during that trimester. I would not say there was anything blissful about it, because I don't care to relive the all-day-long sickly feeling, but I can't say it wasn't nice to prolong the scale-tipping days ahead. However, no sooner had my nausea subsided, than I started gaining 5 lbs per month. In an effort to maintain a healthy pregnancy and not double our grocery bill by buying every little thing I'd really like to have, I've taken to denying myself more often than not. I pass by the bags of Twizzlers, chips, Combos and dried cherries, Diet Root Beer and donuts, jars of sweet gherkins and maraschino cherries. I talk myself out of mozzarella cheese sticks and cinnamon rolls. I practically put on blinders through the cookie aisle. Oh, and who can forget the ingenious goodness of Ben & Jerry's or the European sensation, Magnum Bars? Can you imagine the toll to the pocketbook and the waistline if I filled my cart with all that stuff?! Sigh...and yet...
The sad, sad side effect of this (it's really borderline tragic) is that I rarely actually crave anything anymore! There are things I would like, of course, but not many things I NEED. I'm not sure if this is just my fate for the next three months because I've gone and, horror, maintained decent eating habits, thereby overriding the physiological inclinations I'd otherwise have, or if it's purely psychological. Either way, I'm not sure I like it. While I might not ALWAYS indulge myself, for good reasons, what's the point of enjoying being pregnant if you don't have an excuse to have that random item that is absolutely NECESSARY because you can't be satisfied without it!? (And, I have to admit, there's also something satisfying about watching my husband trek out into the night to fetch these things for me. It's like a journey of love, right?) What makes it all the more irritating is that, regardless of my attempts to be good, I'm STILL gaining that monthly five (sometimes six)! So that's the trouble...has my denial negated my ability to crave? Oh, I hope not! Now I'm off to eat a junior bacon cheeseburger. Maybe all I need is a little inspiration!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Off the Grid...and Finding My Way Back
Well, what could possibly explain a seven-month hiatus from the blogosphere? In a word, gestation. (If you don't know what it means, look it up!) Seriously though, we found out December 13 that we were expecting again, our sixth (yes, you read that correctly!) Almost immediately I began to experience nausea and extreme fatigue which lasted until about 13 weeks, at which time I happened to get very sick, which lasted for another two!
Granted, that doesn't account for the subsequent two and a half months I was off the grid. Would it be believable to simply say I was busy? And then, although there was certainly NO LACK of bloggable happenings, time continued to slip by, day piling upon day piling upon day, and the prospect of being able to adequately catch up seemed...monumental!
Since Christmas and the beginning of my horizontal expansion, we have also celebrated three birthdays. Brynnley turned four in January, Declan turned seven in March and Kennedy celebrated her very first birthday only a few days prior. Oddly enough, the child didn't like her cake! Now, allow me to explain. She was served a perfectly delectable yellow cake. I mean, I enjoyed it. (Although, I am, admittedly, NOT picky right now.) Apparently, she simply suffers from an ingrained affinity for chocolate, which we have now discovered. Takes after her Daddy in that respect!
Declan and Keller have also participated in the spring soccer season for NRUSA in Blacksburg, so we've been busy with practices and games. I've been traveling to and fro to Charlotte on a regular basis in an effort to stay as involved as possible in the planning of and showers for my sister Pam's upcoming nuptuals later this month. In April we had a high-tech look at our little peanut, around the 19-week mark, and discovered we clearly have yet another boy! Keller adamantly insisted that he was privy to this information all along, he just chose to keep us in the dark about it. Maintain the suspense and all that, I suppose. ;) We HAVE selected another good Irish name for this little lad, which I do not yet feel compelled to reveal to the masses. However, suffice it to say that his future initials will be R.E.J.!
The boys continue to do well at Dayspring Christian Academy, Brynnley is enjoying preschool and McCrea's conversational skills improve by the day! In addition, my sweet little Kennedy, who can bring out the drama queen to rival her big sister, began to walk before her first birthday and has since been into everything. Literally. I spend the majority of my days chasing her around to keep her out of trouble or evading her in my fleeting attempts to accomplish a minimal number of tasks that cannot be done with a baby on the hip or latched around the ankles. (Honestly, I can do most things, including going to the bathroom, dressing children, making dinner, etc., one-handed, but sometimes two are just preferred.) So, I pass the days attempting to educate, play or just (who am I kidding?) survive the hours until Kennedy naps so that in the ensuing span of a couple hours I can squeeze in exercising, bed-making, dishwashing, clothes-folding and the like in a mad flurry of activity. Is it obvious to anyone why I've not had much time for blogging? ;)
In addition to regular day-to-day life, we've also had an inordinate number of house maintenance issues in the last few months, mostly involving the breakdown of appliances, which I will have to detail in another blog, because a small paragraph here would not do either the descriptions of the circumstances nor my frustrations justice! Sigh...
So, that's where I've been for the first half of 2011. Here, in Dublin, continuing to hang in there and love and mother my children as best I can, praying for God to graciously work out His will in the midst of the mess I inevitably make of things.
And why, you may be tempted yet too polite to ask, would we add a sixth addition to the mix? Well, we consider ourselves to be amazingly blessed to parent all these incredible, amazing, beautiful(and, yes, sometimes infuriating) children and would not change any aspect of the life God has allotted to us in the least. However, I will say, as I admitted to someone recently, this will be the last. Because, honestly, I'm finally starting to get tired! (It was only a matter of time really...did I forget to mention, in April I turned 31 and, oh, how my pregnant self is feeling it!)
Granted, that doesn't account for the subsequent two and a half months I was off the grid. Would it be believable to simply say I was busy? And then, although there was certainly NO LACK of bloggable happenings, time continued to slip by, day piling upon day piling upon day, and the prospect of being able to adequately catch up seemed...monumental!
Since Christmas and the beginning of my horizontal expansion, we have also celebrated three birthdays. Brynnley turned four in January, Declan turned seven in March and Kennedy celebrated her very first birthday only a few days prior. Oddly enough, the child didn't like her cake! Now, allow me to explain. She was served a perfectly delectable yellow cake. I mean, I enjoyed it. (Although, I am, admittedly, NOT picky right now.) Apparently, she simply suffers from an ingrained affinity for chocolate, which we have now discovered. Takes after her Daddy in that respect!
Declan and Keller have also participated in the spring soccer season for NRUSA in Blacksburg, so we've been busy with practices and games. I've been traveling to and fro to Charlotte on a regular basis in an effort to stay as involved as possible in the planning of and showers for my sister Pam's upcoming nuptuals later this month. In April we had a high-tech look at our little peanut, around the 19-week mark, and discovered we clearly have yet another boy! Keller adamantly insisted that he was privy to this information all along, he just chose to keep us in the dark about it. Maintain the suspense and all that, I suppose. ;) We HAVE selected another good Irish name for this little lad, which I do not yet feel compelled to reveal to the masses. However, suffice it to say that his future initials will be R.E.J.!
The boys continue to do well at Dayspring Christian Academy, Brynnley is enjoying preschool and McCrea's conversational skills improve by the day! In addition, my sweet little Kennedy, who can bring out the drama queen to rival her big sister, began to walk before her first birthday and has since been into everything. Literally. I spend the majority of my days chasing her around to keep her out of trouble or evading her in my fleeting attempts to accomplish a minimal number of tasks that cannot be done with a baby on the hip or latched around the ankles. (Honestly, I can do most things, including going to the bathroom, dressing children, making dinner, etc., one-handed, but sometimes two are just preferred.) So, I pass the days attempting to educate, play or just (who am I kidding?) survive the hours until Kennedy naps so that in the ensuing span of a couple hours I can squeeze in exercising, bed-making, dishwashing, clothes-folding and the like in a mad flurry of activity. Is it obvious to anyone why I've not had much time for blogging? ;)
In addition to regular day-to-day life, we've also had an inordinate number of house maintenance issues in the last few months, mostly involving the breakdown of appliances, which I will have to detail in another blog, because a small paragraph here would not do either the descriptions of the circumstances nor my frustrations justice! Sigh...
So, that's where I've been for the first half of 2011. Here, in Dublin, continuing to hang in there and love and mother my children as best I can, praying for God to graciously work out His will in the midst of the mess I inevitably make of things.
And why, you may be tempted yet too polite to ask, would we add a sixth addition to the mix? Well, we consider ourselves to be amazingly blessed to parent all these incredible, amazing, beautiful(and, yes, sometimes infuriating) children and would not change any aspect of the life God has allotted to us in the least. However, I will say, as I admitted to someone recently, this will be the last. Because, honestly, I'm finally starting to get tired! (It was only a matter of time really...did I forget to mention, in April I turned 31 and, oh, how my pregnant self is feeling it!)
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