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.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
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!)
Friday, October 22, 2010
Mercy for Moms
I've been thinking alot lately about the ever-present dichotomies inherent in being a mom, the desire to protect vs. the desire to foster independence, the need to trust vs. the tendency to worry. How, at the end of the day, more often than not, I feel that I've failed my children somehow, that I have not given them enough time or enough of myself, that I have not provided for them something which I thought they needed or deserved. And how do I manage, on a daily basis, when, as a mom, I take so much responsibility on myself...when so much of motherhood is really out of my hands and out of my control? Therein lies the root of the problem, doesn't it?
The struggle welled up in me again yesterday when I was reading the story of baby Moses to my daughter, Brynnley. Normally, we read about that story and concentrate on God's plan in saving Moses. Not only did He save that precious baby during a time when the Hebrew people were, once again, experiencing tremendous suffering at the hand of Pharaoh but, through Moses, He also provided a way to one day save the people themselves. How merciful and miraculous!
No one ever thinks about his mom. Did she ever question God's plan when He led her, somehow, to craft a basket, place her baby in it, and send him off, alone, into the Egyptian waters? Did she experience a moment of fear and anxiety and doubt when she considered how the basket could drift away or turn over and her baby could drown. Or, it could be found by someone not sympathetic to their plight! Even if found by a compassionate Egyptian, he would be adopted into a family that did not share their beliefs or values. How could she still hope that he would grow to be the man she once desired he would be, in spite of all that? What faith and trust she must have had, faith in a God who provides for those He loves over and over again and who always accomplishes His purposes in spite of, or even through, the people who stand in the way.
What about Sarah? Did Abraham tell her God had directed him to take Isaac to the mountain and sacrifice him? Did he tell her, "I am going to be obedient to God, so go say good-bye to your son?" What was her response? And, if she knew, how hard was it to trust that God knew best, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, and willingly let him go?
The Bible contains many passages on marriage and relationships, even on parenting and discipline, but it contains very little explicit direction for mothering. Why is that? Mothering is so hard! And I know, personally, that mothers are so hard on themselves. We are far less gracious with ourselves than God is with us. Why so little direction and encouragement? Yet, if you think about it, God does give us something to hold on to. He gives us examples. He gives us examples of Moms who MUST have struggled, who were not perfect, and yet, who trusted the Lord, or at least, held tightly and fiercely to the belief that God would HELP them to trust and to let go when it was required of them, because God is a God who promises to work all things out for His glory and for our good.
Consider Hannah. She begged and pleaded for a child. Any mother will attest to how life-altering it is when you become a mom. You would do anything and be anything for that child. Hopes and desires for them begin before they are even born. Yet Hannah promised to give her son away for His service, if God would only bless her with the gift of raising him for the briefest of times. She thought she could handle that, that that short time with him would be enough. Did she ever waiver when the appointed time came for her to take Samuel to the priest? Did she wonder if she had done the right thing, if she had made a promise based not on trust in a good God but in desperation? Which one of us has not had a desperate moment as a Mom?
In those desperate moments, do we still hold on to our faith? Do we question the way God answers those prayers for our children? I had a miscarriage many years ago, before the birth of my oldest child, and I remember it to be devastating. I have seen a child endure stitches, go through surgery, endure sicknesses and pain, frustration and sadness and rejection...but I haven't experienced the same kind of losses those women faced. I haven't said good-bye to a child, as Hannah did, and relinquished them from my care, dependent on God to be thier provider and caretaker. I haven't faced the impending death of a child, like Moses' mother or Sarah. But I hope I would respond in faith as they did. When I start to worry over all the things that COULD happen, I try to pray, "Lord, help me to recieve what you give, lack what you withhold, and relinquish what you take." Even then, sometimes I fail and my trust waivers...
Then I remember Rebekah. She made some monumental mistakes as a parent. She showed blatant favoritism for one son over the other, and then she encouraged Jacob to lie and deceive in order to gain the rightful inheritance and blessing of another. She did not trust that God would or could bring about His plan in some other, better way. Certainly, that was God's sovereign plan for the situation, and He used even Rebekah's failures to bring about His purposes for Jacob.
What comfort that is! To know that even at my worst moments as a parent, God can and will raise my children up to follow the path He has laid out for them. It is far better for me to be like Moses' mother, to trust and have faith as my children go down that path. But even on the days when I fail miserably, like Rebekah, God is not taken by surprise or thrown off track. My children are still in His hand and on the course He has chosen for them. I can have faith that, as the psalmist says in Psalm 139, "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be!" That means, not only the length of their lives are predetermined by God, but also every trial, event and circumstance of every day that they live is within God's scope and loving care. All ordained for their good. All have a purpose. Every scrape, every tear, every smile, every laugh, every trial, every illness, every heartbreak, every frustration, every triumph, every joy...
Thinking back to a day last summer brings it home for me. I had been consistently sharing the gospel with Declan before and after times of discipline, reminding him of the great grace of God in sending Jesus to die for us and that, because of that, we don't have to be slaves to our sin. One day, shortly after we had moved, on a particularly busy and hectic day, he came to me, seemingly out of the blue, and told me that he had just prayed to ask Jesus to come into his heart and forgive all his sins! I wish I could say that I celebrated and threw a party and treated that day as the pivotal moment that it was...but I didn't. I have regretted it since. I have asked him about it, to gauge his understanding of the event, and he patiently and matter-of-factly replies, as suits his personality, "I know Mom, I already did that!" Maybe I am holding onto that moment and feeling guilty and anxious over it because I had so little to do with it! I would like to think that God graciously used some of my words to direct Declan and guide his heart, but really, it could have been any number of other influences, and it all came down to the working of the Holy Spirit in the end. I didn't lead the prayer; I wasn't part of it at all!
Maybe it is better this way. Hopefully he will grow in grace and understanding and knowing and loving Jesus will become such a part of his daily life that he will never remember it any other way, it will just be part of who he is rather than a date or an experience or just words. The point is, God did it. I didn't. He didn't need me to accomplish what He purposed for my son. Maybe he used me, and I am blessed and honored every day for the privilege of each moment with my children, even the worst ones!, but He's going to accomplish His will in spite of my shortfalls and without my "perfection;" He blesses the faithful and is merciful to us when our faith is weak.
God is so good, and I am still learning these lessons. I have an inkling I'll be learning them every day for the rest of my life and my children's lives. How is it that someone once put it? "Letting go and letting God." I can worry about putting food on the table and keeping them safe from harm and making sure they have the right friends and teaching them good morals and right behavior...but the God who loved us enough to send His son to die, while we were sinners!, also loves us enough to have a hand in all of those "smaller" things, which He knows we need, as well. Just this week I was thinking, with concern, that one of my sons didn't have enough long-sleeved winter shirts, and I was considering when I would find the time to search for some affordable options. The next day I was completely humbled as I dug through a bag of clothes passed along to us by my husband's boss. It was full of shirts and sweatshirts in exactly the right sizes for both of my oldest boys.
Why should I worry? God is in control of the trials that seem insurmountable as well as the smallest challenges of every day life. Praise the Lord that I don't have to do it all. What mercy for Moms, like me, to hold on to that!
The struggle welled up in me again yesterday when I was reading the story of baby Moses to my daughter, Brynnley. Normally, we read about that story and concentrate on God's plan in saving Moses. Not only did He save that precious baby during a time when the Hebrew people were, once again, experiencing tremendous suffering at the hand of Pharaoh but, through Moses, He also provided a way to one day save the people themselves. How merciful and miraculous!
No one ever thinks about his mom. Did she ever question God's plan when He led her, somehow, to craft a basket, place her baby in it, and send him off, alone, into the Egyptian waters? Did she experience a moment of fear and anxiety and doubt when she considered how the basket could drift away or turn over and her baby could drown. Or, it could be found by someone not sympathetic to their plight! Even if found by a compassionate Egyptian, he would be adopted into a family that did not share their beliefs or values. How could she still hope that he would grow to be the man she once desired he would be, in spite of all that? What faith and trust she must have had, faith in a God who provides for those He loves over and over again and who always accomplishes His purposes in spite of, or even through, the people who stand in the way.
What about Sarah? Did Abraham tell her God had directed him to take Isaac to the mountain and sacrifice him? Did he tell her, "I am going to be obedient to God, so go say good-bye to your son?" What was her response? And, if she knew, how hard was it to trust that God knew best, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, and willingly let him go?
The Bible contains many passages on marriage and relationships, even on parenting and discipline, but it contains very little explicit direction for mothering. Why is that? Mothering is so hard! And I know, personally, that mothers are so hard on themselves. We are far less gracious with ourselves than God is with us. Why so little direction and encouragement? Yet, if you think about it, God does give us something to hold on to. He gives us examples. He gives us examples of Moms who MUST have struggled, who were not perfect, and yet, who trusted the Lord, or at least, held tightly and fiercely to the belief that God would HELP them to trust and to let go when it was required of them, because God is a God who promises to work all things out for His glory and for our good.
Consider Hannah. She begged and pleaded for a child. Any mother will attest to how life-altering it is when you become a mom. You would do anything and be anything for that child. Hopes and desires for them begin before they are even born. Yet Hannah promised to give her son away for His service, if God would only bless her with the gift of raising him for the briefest of times. She thought she could handle that, that that short time with him would be enough. Did she ever waiver when the appointed time came for her to take Samuel to the priest? Did she wonder if she had done the right thing, if she had made a promise based not on trust in a good God but in desperation? Which one of us has not had a desperate moment as a Mom?
In those desperate moments, do we still hold on to our faith? Do we question the way God answers those prayers for our children? I had a miscarriage many years ago, before the birth of my oldest child, and I remember it to be devastating. I have seen a child endure stitches, go through surgery, endure sicknesses and pain, frustration and sadness and rejection...but I haven't experienced the same kind of losses those women faced. I haven't said good-bye to a child, as Hannah did, and relinquished them from my care, dependent on God to be thier provider and caretaker. I haven't faced the impending death of a child, like Moses' mother or Sarah. But I hope I would respond in faith as they did. When I start to worry over all the things that COULD happen, I try to pray, "Lord, help me to recieve what you give, lack what you withhold, and relinquish what you take." Even then, sometimes I fail and my trust waivers...
Then I remember Rebekah. She made some monumental mistakes as a parent. She showed blatant favoritism for one son over the other, and then she encouraged Jacob to lie and deceive in order to gain the rightful inheritance and blessing of another. She did not trust that God would or could bring about His plan in some other, better way. Certainly, that was God's sovereign plan for the situation, and He used even Rebekah's failures to bring about His purposes for Jacob.
What comfort that is! To know that even at my worst moments as a parent, God can and will raise my children up to follow the path He has laid out for them. It is far better for me to be like Moses' mother, to trust and have faith as my children go down that path. But even on the days when I fail miserably, like Rebekah, God is not taken by surprise or thrown off track. My children are still in His hand and on the course He has chosen for them. I can have faith that, as the psalmist says in Psalm 139, "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be!" That means, not only the length of their lives are predetermined by God, but also every trial, event and circumstance of every day that they live is within God's scope and loving care. All ordained for their good. All have a purpose. Every scrape, every tear, every smile, every laugh, every trial, every illness, every heartbreak, every frustration, every triumph, every joy...
Thinking back to a day last summer brings it home for me. I had been consistently sharing the gospel with Declan before and after times of discipline, reminding him of the great grace of God in sending Jesus to die for us and that, because of that, we don't have to be slaves to our sin. One day, shortly after we had moved, on a particularly busy and hectic day, he came to me, seemingly out of the blue, and told me that he had just prayed to ask Jesus to come into his heart and forgive all his sins! I wish I could say that I celebrated and threw a party and treated that day as the pivotal moment that it was...but I didn't. I have regretted it since. I have asked him about it, to gauge his understanding of the event, and he patiently and matter-of-factly replies, as suits his personality, "I know Mom, I already did that!" Maybe I am holding onto that moment and feeling guilty and anxious over it because I had so little to do with it! I would like to think that God graciously used some of my words to direct Declan and guide his heart, but really, it could have been any number of other influences, and it all came down to the working of the Holy Spirit in the end. I didn't lead the prayer; I wasn't part of it at all!
Maybe it is better this way. Hopefully he will grow in grace and understanding and knowing and loving Jesus will become such a part of his daily life that he will never remember it any other way, it will just be part of who he is rather than a date or an experience or just words. The point is, God did it. I didn't. He didn't need me to accomplish what He purposed for my son. Maybe he used me, and I am blessed and honored every day for the privilege of each moment with my children, even the worst ones!, but He's going to accomplish His will in spite of my shortfalls and without my "perfection;" He blesses the faithful and is merciful to us when our faith is weak.
God is so good, and I am still learning these lessons. I have an inkling I'll be learning them every day for the rest of my life and my children's lives. How is it that someone once put it? "Letting go and letting God." I can worry about putting food on the table and keeping them safe from harm and making sure they have the right friends and teaching them good morals and right behavior...but the God who loved us enough to send His son to die, while we were sinners!, also loves us enough to have a hand in all of those "smaller" things, which He knows we need, as well. Just this week I was thinking, with concern, that one of my sons didn't have enough long-sleeved winter shirts, and I was considering when I would find the time to search for some affordable options. The next day I was completely humbled as I dug through a bag of clothes passed along to us by my husband's boss. It was full of shirts and sweatshirts in exactly the right sizes for both of my oldest boys.
Why should I worry? God is in control of the trials that seem insurmountable as well as the smallest challenges of every day life. Praise the Lord that I don't have to do it all. What mercy for Moms, like me, to hold on to that!
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Gifts that Keep on Giving?
My two year old comes looking for me, because he has something he wants to give me. I'm thinking, "Oh, how sweet! This is going to make my morning!" What does he have for me? A booger. Yes. Specially selected for me, I'm sure. And one of a kind. But, still, a booger.
Anyway, it got me thinking about all the gifts I gave to my parents as a child, and how I feel really badly about some of them. Almost mortified. Ought to apologize, actually. I specifically remember the first Christmas I had saved enough pocket change to buy something for each member of the family all by myself. I chose all the items from one store (why not go for convenience and efficiency?). How I selected the store, I can't recall. It probably had the most colorful flier on Sunday or the most sales (way to go advertising department!). But whatever my motivation, I remember being super excited as I planned out my purchases, and we headed off to Michael's (yes, Michael's, of all places. I guess Walmart had yet to assert it's dominance...)
I don't remember what I purchased for my sisters. They probably didn't even pretend to like the stuff, and it's long since been tossed. =) But I do remember all the things I made for my mother. I bought a small undecorated wooden wreath and tied bells to it with green string. It was too small to hang anywhere but a doorknob. I have no idea what I thought she was going to do with it! If that weren't enough, I also made her an ornament. I made a green paper cup into a bell by running string through the bottom and attaching a collection of staples inside. (Her favorite color is green, you see.) It did NOT actually jingle. Finally, I made her a mixed tape. Oh, not just any mixed tape. A recording of myself, singing all the songs I knew...and many that I didn't. Where I knew the words but not the melody, I made it up. It's really horrifying to think about it.
And what do you do with gifts like that? I'm sure she accepted them with inordinate graciousness. Is that part of some unspoken "Mom code?" Do I really have to accept dead bugs, even when presented by children with bright shining eyes? (Let me go ahead and answer that rhetorical question for you. No, no I do not.) Do I have to keep EVERY paper ever scribbled on "just for me?" There's got to be a compromise, because I have one child who is, at best, destined to become a pack rat and, at worst, demonstrating tendencies of a hoarder! He would claim every bit of free wall space in the house if there were enough sticky tack on earth, and that which I don't display is kept in a box that becomes fuller by the day!
I guess it comes down to what you value and why. Some things are valuable because of what they are. It's intrinsic. Some things are valuable because of WHO gives them. It's transferred. It's sentimental. I can't promise I'll keep every piece of paper. It's just inconceivable. (Anybody want a peanut?) But I can understand how something seemingly worthless to almost everyone else, might become priceless to me, simply because it was given by someone I love...who loves me too.
But not boogers. Never boogers.
Anyway, it got me thinking about all the gifts I gave to my parents as a child, and how I feel really badly about some of them. Almost mortified. Ought to apologize, actually. I specifically remember the first Christmas I had saved enough pocket change to buy something for each member of the family all by myself. I chose all the items from one store (why not go for convenience and efficiency?). How I selected the store, I can't recall. It probably had the most colorful flier on Sunday or the most sales (way to go advertising department!). But whatever my motivation, I remember being super excited as I planned out my purchases, and we headed off to Michael's (yes, Michael's, of all places. I guess Walmart had yet to assert it's dominance...)
I don't remember what I purchased for my sisters. They probably didn't even pretend to like the stuff, and it's long since been tossed. =) But I do remember all the things I made for my mother. I bought a small undecorated wooden wreath and tied bells to it with green string. It was too small to hang anywhere but a doorknob. I have no idea what I thought she was going to do with it! If that weren't enough, I also made her an ornament. I made a green paper cup into a bell by running string through the bottom and attaching a collection of staples inside. (Her favorite color is green, you see.) It did NOT actually jingle. Finally, I made her a mixed tape. Oh, not just any mixed tape. A recording of myself, singing all the songs I knew...and many that I didn't. Where I knew the words but not the melody, I made it up. It's really horrifying to think about it.
And what do you do with gifts like that? I'm sure she accepted them with inordinate graciousness. Is that part of some unspoken "Mom code?" Do I really have to accept dead bugs, even when presented by children with bright shining eyes? (Let me go ahead and answer that rhetorical question for you. No, no I do not.) Do I have to keep EVERY paper ever scribbled on "just for me?" There's got to be a compromise, because I have one child who is, at best, destined to become a pack rat and, at worst, demonstrating tendencies of a hoarder! He would claim every bit of free wall space in the house if there were enough sticky tack on earth, and that which I don't display is kept in a box that becomes fuller by the day!
I guess it comes down to what you value and why. Some things are valuable because of what they are. It's intrinsic. Some things are valuable because of WHO gives them. It's transferred. It's sentimental. I can't promise I'll keep every piece of paper. It's just inconceivable. (Anybody want a peanut?) But I can understand how something seemingly worthless to almost everyone else, might become priceless to me, simply because it was given by someone I love...who loves me too.
But not boogers. Never boogers.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Raising Little Men
When I first found out that Declan (my oldest) was a boy, I was pretty overwhelmed. Coming from a family of girls, I really had no idea what to expect, and what I'd heard from my husband about his experiences with his brother only left me feeling all the more unprepared! Tales of pranks and resulting broken arms, fireworks, fireballs (yes, engulfing flame), decimated hot wheel collections, fighting with golf clubs...(and the list goes on and on). I had no idea how to raise a boy, and now I've been blessed with three! And if that weren't enough, considering how to raise a boy to be a strong young man: firm but gentle, determined but humble, protective but kind, assertive but wise...
These issues come up early. The simple "don't hit your brother" statement turns into a discussion about how to treat others and how to properly stand up for yourself without being hurtful or vindictive. Boys are naturally aggressive, I think. Most people would think it's just fine to hand them each a pair of boxing gloves or pugile sticks and pull up a chair for the show. But, the task is to guide those natural tendencies so that when they are angry, they are not overwhelmed. When they are frustrated, they don't act out in ways that are harmful. That, oh horror, they CAN use words to express themselves (carefully chosen words, at that) and that it's not a cop out to do so. God says "vengeance is mine," and He means it. God tells us, "so long as it depends upon YOU, live at peace with one another."
But, oh, sometimes it's so hard to get that message across! And when do you just let them have fun?! When is it good to just get out that boyish energy? Wack a tree or something. Wrestling free for all anyone? So long as it is playful and not intentionally hurtful? Sometimes when boys play it seems they artfully dance around that line (yes, dance, and probably the only time they'll enjoy it!). Especially now that they have been introduced to Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, they have become intensely interested in weapons, attacks, strategy and fighting. On the one hand, I know it's natural and also a good thing, and sometimes their antics do just make me laugh!
Declan has become very interested in sword fighting, and a number of our recent conversations have revolved around it. The other day he and Mike talked about war. Declan, very seriously, said, "Dad, if I had to go to war, I'd probably be the first to die, because I'm so young." Mike replied, "Well, Declan, they train you before you go to war. Besides, in our country, you have to be older before you are allowed to fight." Declan's response? "Well, they wouldn't have to train me TOO much, because I'm already good at sword fighting." (Apparently Mike neglected to inform Declan that sword fighting is not so much a part of modern warfare. If he had, I would surely have met with a disappointed little boy that afternoon!)
Instead, it came up again yesterday. As we were traveling home from school, Declan saw a dachshund, very similar in appearance to Peanut, in some one's yard. He very worriedly wondered aloud whether bandits might possibly have broken into our house and stolen her! I told him it was very unlikely, and then he confidently assured me, "Well, if we ever DO run into bandits, it's OK, because I'm good at sword fighting." I was pretty amused until he started deconstructing the battle that would ensue, which involved incapacitation using a heavy object and then decapitation...which brought me back to my original worry. He was using his imagination but, nevertheless, I felt the need to throw in a little disclaimer that we shouldn't physically hurt someone else unless it was absolutely necessary for self defense. We should always walk away when possible. With exasperation at my over-seriousness, he replied, "But Mom, they're BANDITS!"
Ah well, for every conversation where I feel like I just don't know how to say the right thing (Lord, grant me wisdom!!), there is usually a situation that makes me laugh! For instance, the other night the boys were in the bathroom together, and they both ran out, Declan yelling, "Keller peed on me!!!" When I asked what happened, Declan replied, "He was using his pee as a light saber!" And those are the moments of levity (because I could NOT help laughing out loud) that remind me of how much fun little boys are. And, while I will always be mindful of the fact that I have the awesome responsibility of helping them grow into men, for now I can also take every opportunity to enjoy the moments where they are just my precious little boys!
These issues come up early. The simple "don't hit your brother" statement turns into a discussion about how to treat others and how to properly stand up for yourself without being hurtful or vindictive. Boys are naturally aggressive, I think. Most people would think it's just fine to hand them each a pair of boxing gloves or pugile sticks and pull up a chair for the show. But, the task is to guide those natural tendencies so that when they are angry, they are not overwhelmed. When they are frustrated, they don't act out in ways that are harmful. That, oh horror, they CAN use words to express themselves (carefully chosen words, at that) and that it's not a cop out to do so. God says "vengeance is mine," and He means it. God tells us, "so long as it depends upon YOU, live at peace with one another."
But, oh, sometimes it's so hard to get that message across! And when do you just let them have fun?! When is it good to just get out that boyish energy? Wack a tree or something. Wrestling free for all anyone? So long as it is playful and not intentionally hurtful? Sometimes when boys play it seems they artfully dance around that line (yes, dance, and probably the only time they'll enjoy it!). Especially now that they have been introduced to Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, they have become intensely interested in weapons, attacks, strategy and fighting. On the one hand, I know it's natural and also a good thing, and sometimes their antics do just make me laugh!
Declan has become very interested in sword fighting, and a number of our recent conversations have revolved around it. The other day he and Mike talked about war. Declan, very seriously, said, "Dad, if I had to go to war, I'd probably be the first to die, because I'm so young." Mike replied, "Well, Declan, they train you before you go to war. Besides, in our country, you have to be older before you are allowed to fight." Declan's response? "Well, they wouldn't have to train me TOO much, because I'm already good at sword fighting." (Apparently Mike neglected to inform Declan that sword fighting is not so much a part of modern warfare. If he had, I would surely have met with a disappointed little boy that afternoon!)
Instead, it came up again yesterday. As we were traveling home from school, Declan saw a dachshund, very similar in appearance to Peanut, in some one's yard. He very worriedly wondered aloud whether bandits might possibly have broken into our house and stolen her! I told him it was very unlikely, and then he confidently assured me, "Well, if we ever DO run into bandits, it's OK, because I'm good at sword fighting." I was pretty amused until he started deconstructing the battle that would ensue, which involved incapacitation using a heavy object and then decapitation...which brought me back to my original worry. He was using his imagination but, nevertheless, I felt the need to throw in a little disclaimer that we shouldn't physically hurt someone else unless it was absolutely necessary for self defense. We should always walk away when possible. With exasperation at my over-seriousness, he replied, "But Mom, they're BANDITS!"
Ah well, for every conversation where I feel like I just don't know how to say the right thing (Lord, grant me wisdom!!), there is usually a situation that makes me laugh! For instance, the other night the boys were in the bathroom together, and they both ran out, Declan yelling, "Keller peed on me!!!" When I asked what happened, Declan replied, "He was using his pee as a light saber!" And those are the moments of levity (because I could NOT help laughing out loud) that remind me of how much fun little boys are. And, while I will always be mindful of the fact that I have the awesome responsibility of helping them grow into men, for now I can also take every opportunity to enjoy the moments where they are just my precious little boys!
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