Goulash and Abandoned Tables

I'm standing in the kitchen, making my Mom's goulash recipe (in the same old pan she made it in) for the first time since she died, and in years actually. 

My husband doesn't care for it, but he is on his second week out of town, supporting search efforts for flood victims. My job is to keep things going here and to be grateful, which I am. And I am.

I realize how "white" this recipe is and cook the noodles in beef broth for an attempt at flavor. The miracle of this recipe is twofold. I remember it as delicious AND it doesn't have the staple of staples - cream of mushroom soup. 

My teenage son swoops in and out, shirtless, farting, and making animal sounds in a newly-empty-paper-towel-tube. 

Over my music playing, he shout-sings random lyrics that accompany a melody only he can hear in his solo earbud. 

I laugh and chase him off, but know I don't need to because he'll be gone soon enough. If he's anything like his big brothers, he'll have a girlfriend making steak on Saturday night or living another dream states away, in no time at all.

Just a few weeks ago, I took their kindergarten artwork down and hung up my Mom's in its place. Seasons are strange, but similar in brevity.

Last month, this same teen and I went kayaking. While he was fishing, I gravitated to our old stomping grounds. 

Once, there were swim diapers, mud fights, and free boats with plywood floors that had an excellent chance of needing to be towed back to shore. But that didn't discourage anyone enough to stay on the shore in the first place. 

It's closed to the public now and as I sat there alone, I remembered how often I wished I were alone when my kids were little. Being alone certainly comes, and my encouragement to all with littles, is try not to wish it away. The picnic table will not always be noisy and crowded.

Marines in my Garage on Memorial Day

My former Marine and my future Marine are working out in our garage.  Doing the “Murph” on Memorial Day.  Some Marine chant/song just finished, situated between a lot of other death metal songs, which supplied all of the motivation I needed to relocate from our front porch to my spot in the living room.  

In a string of events related to enlisting our son in the Marines this past month, I am more aware than ever that there is something in these boys and men that I do not possess and will never understand.

I wore a red shirt, nice jeans, heels and pearl earrings so I could channel strength and red, white, and blue while not feeling the least bit patriotic, entering the recruiting office that Monday morning.  I've seen it coming for a dozen years, but this meeting was only scheduled after a 5-minute conversation with the recruiter the previous Thursday (after a 5-minute heads up with a house full of people).  

I thought we were giving permission for our 17-year-old son to train with the Marines a couple of days a week and to undergo medical testing as a safety and liability measure.  I learned the following week that “that” was called “enlisting”.  Even though he is still free to change his mind for the next year.  Even though he “swore in” during his medical exam.  All which I learned after the fact, in casual conversation with my husband and son, in two separate coversations in the span of a week.

Annnd, I found a threshhold.  

I called the recruiter and told them  there is no WAY it should be possible for a mother to go through this process and be able to miss these very important details.  I’m not dumb, I was paying close attention, and THIS IS HARD ENOUGH WITH GOOD INFORMATION!  

He listened, said he saw me reading the papers we signed, so thought I understood, and put me on the phone with his boss.  I unsuccessfully try not to call him names in my head.

Still at the recruiting office, I thought I was holding it together pretty well until the recruiter said to my son, “In the event you pass away, your beneficiary will receive $500,000, who would you like that to be?”  My husband looked at me, with my wet face growing wetter, turned back around and said, “You should probably just make it me.” Or something like that.

That very question is the reason this whole thing can turn my blood to ice and my dry eyes into wet ones.  I can’t seem to separate Marines, war, and death in my mind.  But, I’m trying.  

I am haunted by unopened letters written by my grandmother to her son during the Vietnam war.  My Uncle was drafted and later killed at age 20.  My brother is named after him.  My Dad, also in the war and privy to the situation surrounding his death in real time, escorted his body home.  

Yesterday, my stepmom and I placed our hand on my Dad’s shoulder as we listened to Taps in church.  She and I were tearful.  He was stoic, standing as straight and strong as ever.

And this is what I am talking about.  I don’t get what these men are made of.

While I was still enjoying the front porch, I heard the familiar clank of the extension ladder being placed against our tree.  My husband, hanging a full-sized American flag  in the Oak tree in our front yard, just like he does every year.  Strong. Faithful.  Proud.  Free.    

I remain proud and in awe of the Marine I married.  He knows what is important, does what needs doing before anyone else notices, asks, or does it themselves.  I am proud, yet angsty about the Marine we’ve raised.  I remind myself that my husband is the product of the institution he is entering, which helps.  A little.  He is still the one I’m trying to let go of, while supporting him in his lifelong dream and tickling his back at night, like his little 4-year-old self.  

I am grateful to those who are serving, will serve, have served, and to those who lost their lives in service of our country, as well as people like my Dad who brought them home.  God bless you all who continue to honor their sacrifice by living your best life and never forgetting.

One Room Away

I’m outlining a pink bunny in red embroidery thread.  It’s part of a quilt top I started making for my niece when she was born.  A year ago.  I hope it doesn’t become her wedding present.  

One room away, Predator vs. Alien is on the TV, and the rest of my household is discussing saliva made out of acid.

Seasons are changing.  In this one, I can no longer count on everyone being at the dinner table and day trips are catch as catch can.  We have work and workouts, band and birthday parties, and school is just around the corner.  Graduation dates are creeping onto real-life calendars and you can’t help but wish you could freeze time.  

But, the time you do have is, well…interesting.  

You eat together, watch highlights of the latest kickboxing video, and get fruit stickers on your arm from the boy eating an apple next to you.  You tickle their backs when they lay on your lap, but they don’t want to sew and you sure don’t want to watch what’s on TV.  

So, you enjoy their presence from a room away, and you think about…

Yesterday’s conversations, the passage of time, and daily tragedies that we survive, but cannot fix - all while trying to make sure your tears don’t fall on your sewing project because water makes the pattern disappear.  

Sometimes, you just plain stumble on a metaphor.

My mind became a gathering place for the people on my heart.  They didn’t seem to mind that they’d never met and the furniture was old.    

A friend suffered another stroke.  Mom is too young for a nursing home.  An aging child cares for an aging parent, both wondering if they can survive the arrangement.  An elderly widower has plenty of money, but no companion nor ability to drive.  No, he’s never heard of Uber.  Who is he?

I feel the weight of each one more than I care to.  Maybe.  But, especially because discomfort always gives way to hunting solutions, and I can’t find any.  It seems I am close enough to feel their pain, but too far away to offer any real comfort.  

Maybe it would be different if you weren’t just one person in one place.  Maybe there is no such thing as lasting comfort.  Maybe comfort only exists when it is fresh and given again and again and again.  And maybe it just feels better to write it all out, and hope that what you’ve written can comfort someone other than yourself. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” 2 Cor:3-4

To All the Moms With Empty Birdfeeders

It’s Mother’s Day.  This day feels a little like Christmas to me, because it is a celebration of one of my most-prized roles and my greatest contribution to the world - my three sons.

But, as is often the case, when my joy surges, I remember that the same causes for my joy are sources of pain and sadness for others.  And I need to acknowledgement that.

I recently did a “window visit” to a woman in a nursing home, per ongoing COVID-19 visiting restrictions.  She is and has been many things, but is most often identified as a hospice patient and a mother.  As I knelt down by her window A/C unit and her empty bird feeder, we conversed about how we got here, how we didn’t all start out trying to live into the 100’s, how she would gladly give what time she has to someone else, how no one will touch her, and how she has to manage her expectations of her children so she’s not perpetually disappointed, and subsequently heartbroken.

Motherhood.  The source of the greatest joy and greatest pain.

For all mothers whose pain outweighs or comes in equal measure with your joys, this is for you.
 
If Mother’s Day is something to be endured rather than enjoyed, this is for you.
If you always wanted children, but were never able to conceive, this is for you.
If your children lived only long enough to catch a glimpse on an ultrasound, this is for you.
If you carried your child to term, and they went to heaven before you got them home, this is for you.
If your children got a “head start” in the life beyond and left you behind, this is for you.
If your children blame you for everything, this is for you.
If your children struggle with depression or addiction, this is for you.
If you’re a grandmother raising your grandchildren, this is for you.
If you’re waiting for your children to visit and your bird feeder is empty, this is for you.

Mothers are people who make room for others.  Very often within our very own bodies, but very often in other ways, too.  Children can come to us in many ways, and sometimes, it is through the front door.  After all, I am often visiting someone else’s mother while someone else is visiting mine.

Thank you to all of you who have sacrificed your own bodies, preferences, comforts, safety, and living for yourselves, so that others may have life.   Happy Mother’s Day!

My Trampoline Burn

I got a trampoline burn today.  This is worth noticing because you have to be on a trampoline to get a trampoline burn, and well, it's been quite a long time.  I probably would have declined the invitation to jump, as I have so many times before, but over the last couple of days, I've been wading through old photographs and videos.  Man, the videos!  We were all gathered around our tiny laptop computer in awe of days gone by.  The little bodies, the voices, the quirks, the enthusiasm, the batman masks, and spiderman costumes year round.  The kiddie pool turned gravel pit, the hours playing in the sprinkler with light sabers, cushions on the floor and jumping on the couch. 

We have lived in the same house for most of my sons' lives.  We're all the same people, but we're not.  What is more is we don't really even remember those people.  Something happened to time overnight.  We have lived so many moments up 'til now.  Some that have turned into memories jogged with a picture or video, and many more that won't.  But, they all count because they've brought us here and built what we have, although we could never fully explain or describe exactly how that happened because we've forgotten most of it.

Like this morning.  I woke up, had a cup of coffee, and made "apple biscuits" for breakfast.  The boys were thrilled, since I seldom make them and didn't tell them I was.  I got to enjoy each one coming in, figuring it out for themselves, and being the recipient of their spontaneous hugs of gratitude. 

It's sort of hard to believe I will forget these simple moments of joy, but sort of not.  They are surrounded by so many others just like them.  I read once that "there is no treaure in a pile", but in this case, it is a pile of treasure.  The word "gratitude" seems so paltry. 

Living life forward is such a gift.  It may seem like the only way to live, since it is the only way time seems to travel in real life.  But, as for so many, a time will come when the best part of our lives will be reflecting on, revisiting, and enjoying the memories we're making now. 

One day (hopefully 50 years from now), a hospice social worker is going to come to my home and write a narrative.  In a couple of paragraphs, you will know who I've loved, who I've lost, what is/was important to me in my life, and who is responsible for me now.  The remaining details of my life will be in the hearts of those I've loved, and nowhere else.  Apple biscuits and all the rest...     

So, yes, I will jump on the trampoline with you, while I still can.  And I will treasure the trampoline burn, until we all forget it ever happened. 

Thanking the Virtual Bus Driver - A Little Fortnite Reflection

I overheard one of my sons tell his brother, "You need to thank the bus driver!" in a brotherly, motherly, bossy sort of way.  The brother retorted that he always says that and how annoying it is.  I was intrigued, because this taken-for-granted bus driver, is a virtual bus driver that you never see, "driving" a flying bus over an island where people jump out or get kicked off at the last stop, to outrun a storm, build unthinkable shelters, collect guns, shields, and potions from treasure chests that emit a sound apparently only kids can hear, all to help your friends and kill your enemies, driven by lust for Victory Royale - the moniker for bragging rights, which belong to the last man standing.

Welcome to the widely-discussed, highly-addictive, continually-evolving, and infamous video game called Fortnite.  Sadly, I didn't have to do any research to write the above paragraph.  I have three sons.  We have one TV.  They all get their turn(s), and that makes me an expert by association and location (depending on where I decide to sit).  Oh, to be a paid professional in the taking-turns-business!

There are lots of ways to mitigate this, but the most fun is ridiculously hoping that they'll just get tired of it and go old school.  Resort to playing marbles, jacks, or Red Rover, Red Rover, send those three boys right over.  But, no.  The geniuses of Fortnite make some magical and highly-anticipated changes to the game every week.  Tuesday, if you really want to know.

When it comes to my boys, video games are both my friend and enemy, which makes them exactly like every other bit of technology in my life.  As with most things, I think moderation is the key, but unfortunately, most of us are bad at it.  Perhaps a discussion for another day?

If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to the bus driver...One son is demanding that another thank the bus driver.  The third one listens, but doesn't chime in.  Later, one of them had the opportunity to revive a teammate and he didn't do it.  His brothers were incensed, as was I when I learned how easy it was for him to do it and how "cruel" it was not to.  We expressed our concern clearly and with great conviction.  My husband came in wondering what the fuss was all about.  The boys told him and he laughed.  A great reminder that peer pressure starts at home, but even then, sometimes 3 out of 4 is the best you can do...

In the middle of all of this thanking/not thanking, reviving/not reviving and the chastising that came with it, it occurred to me that despite the excessive video game playing in our living room, our values are still the ones being worked out, played by, and fought for (except the one where we don't kill our enemies).  In a world that is increasingly grey and video games are bad, maybe we're getting away with something-- Like finding some good old-fashioned black-and-white where no one is looking for it.

You should thank the bus driver and if you don't, you're going to hear about it.  A bunch of times.

You revive your teammate every time it is within your power to do so.

You take turns.

You answer for poor judgment.

And if any discussion pertaining to the above subject matter does not end with your mother's complete satisfaction, a brother is always available to assist with the power button, especially if it is in the middle of your game.

   

Day After Day, Week After Week, Month After Month, Year After Year...

I finished a book today that I bought four years ago for my husband.  It was recommended by a beloved priest then, and again last week by my spiritual director.  

It reminded me of something I used to know and how it inspired me when I learned of it, and motivated me to practice it consciously, at least for a little while.

The vision of the kingdom, the call of Christ to labor and suffer with him, has overtones of a great and noble crusade - yet we must each of us translate that vision and retain that spirit in the routine, humdrum events of every day...one day at a time, frustrated and perhaps discouraged, each twenty-four hours filled with as many defeats and frustrations as victories, each hour made up of sixty minutes of humdrum things and little people busy and concerned about many other things, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year...

...Each day, every day of our lives, God presents to us the people and opportunities upon which he expects us to act.  He expects no more of us, but he will accept nothing less of us; and we fail in our promise and commitment if we do not see in the situations of every moment of every day as his divine will...

I simply cannot be reminded of this enough.  Brother Lawrence in the The Practice of the Presence of God and Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade in Abandonment to Divine Providence have been two great teachers for me on the subject.  But, I read them so long ago, and had forgotten, again.  So, thank you, Fr. Walter Ciszek for reminding me, yet again, to celebrate the sacrament of the present moment!  

Wrapping up Memorial weekend and kicking off a summer with boys ushers in a lot of memorable moments...

Like trying to build a hobbit house under a trampoline

Hanging out with friends and explosives

Launching a cardboard paratrooper from a rooftop

Shooting an AR-15

Fishing, again.

And finding a little beauty in a fungus for me, in the middle of all this boy stuff

And these are just from the last two days.  But, I know there are exponentially more unphotographed and unrecognized moments than photographed and fully present ones.  That's okay.  It will always be that way.  But, the gap doesn't have to retain its seismic features.  I can close it, little by little.  Not by taking more pictures, but by being present and remembering, believing that the details are the expressed work of God.  

This is not easy, but for me, very worthwhile.  If I can work to believe that God is at work in my life (because, sometimes it is work), all of the moments that come to us, come with their own sense of peace and joy.  People, places, inconveniences, and drastic changes in the plan can be received with new energy and acceptance when considered as the will of God, hand-delivered.  

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!  

Mark 9:24

   

The Fish, The Calendar, and The Hood - Happy Mother's Day!

Mother's Day is upon us and I have to admit I always feel a little giddy when it rolls around.  I know it's going to be a good day, for sure.  Because, along with my birthday, it is one of two days out of the year I don't cook and I don't feel guilty about not cooking.  Cards?  Probably.  Gifts?  Probably not. Not cooking?  Definitely.  Every time.  Happy Mother's Day to me...

Today, motherhood looked like this.

I caught this catfish.  It bit my bait on my line on my fishing pole and I reeled it in until it was completely out of the water and laying on the sidewalk.  My son told me to text the picture to my husband and tell him he caught it.  I texted the picture, but didn't write anything.  My  husband assumed my son caught it.  I was going to let that ride.  At least until we got home.

But, then.  Then my son, who prides himself on being a fisherman, told a fellow fisherman that he technically caught it, because he saw it first.  Oh, no.  Nope.  This was the biggest fish I've ever caught in my life. So, today, motherhood was a little private conversation in hushed tones about not taking credit for things you don't earn and giving credit where credit was due, and "You're not the only person who can catch a fish around here."

Yet another picture perfect example of feeling like a great parent and a jerk all at the same time.  Say cheese.

Not long ago, there was another conversation.  This one was about basketball and the place it holds in a person's life.  This "game" was soiling attitudes, self-image, brotherhood, motherhood, and annihilating character like no game ever should.  So, this mother painted a pretty good picture of a basketball-less life and closed the conversation with a fiery ceremony burning all of the negativity written down (as an I'll-be-waiting-for-you-to-show-it-to-me-when-you're-finished-assignment), up.  Burned it up.  For real.

Haven't heard one negative comment since.

I heard once, that convincing your kids that you're crazy, can encourage obedience and good behavior.  They don't know what that one thing is, that is going to make you crack.  I think it's working.

Also working, is this...

This is the fruit of my silent retreat this year.  Intentionality.  Each day of the week, every week of the year, one of my guy's names is written down.  That is my cue to make an effort to engage with them for at least 15 minutes, in a way that makes them happy.  

This was going along beautifully, and unannounced, for about a month.  Then, one of the boys saw my calendar.  Hey!  Why is each of our names written down on your calendar?  I explained.  

Word traveled fast.  It's been several months now, and talk about accountability.  Sheesh!  "Mom, whose special day is it today?"  It's 9:00pm.  "Umm, it's yours, but since it's so late, let's do it tomorrow and I'll double your time."  Say cheese.

It's eye-opening to see who always gets their time, on time, and who often gets overlooked.  Gotta be careful about those "easy" ones!  They just don't demand much, and can slip through without a lot of fuss.  Yikes.  Accountability might be just the thing. 

But, kids and husbands aren't the only ones who get overlooked.  I just realized (and we're a couple of months in, here) that my name is not on my calendar.  What was I thinking?!  There's nothing like celebrating Mother's Day to encourage a little self-care.  Next year, for sure.  It's not like anyone else has a calendar with my name on it.  Next year.  Hold me to it, will you?

If you know me, you know I love quotes.  I only have one quote about motherhood, but it is definitely my favorite.  And not just because it was my son who said it.  Or because I know what it means. Even after trying to get him to explain, I'm still not sure.   

Rough, with walls filled with drawings done when no one was looking and difficult to escape?  

If so, I think he nailed it.

"Motherhood is like any other kind of hood."  

Happy Mother's Day from the Hood!

(whatever that means...)

An Unraveled Hem - A Tribute to Mothers Who Have Been Left Behind For Now

Mother's Day.  My children are all alive and live under my roof.  I talk to my mom every Wednesday on the phone, have a stepmom who loves me like her own, and live two doors down from my mother-in-law, whom I adore.  I don't think I've ever been more grateful for these richly layered blessings, and on this Mother's Day, in particular. 

Over the past year and a half, working as a hospital chaplain, I've had a most privileged view of motherhood.   There has been more good than bad, but the good is expected and the bad is really bad.  Really bad, in that it is really hard to make sense of and impossible to forget.  In the world, there are probably more children losing mothers to old age than mothers losing children of all ages, but not in my world.

Only a mother knows that an 11-week old fetus can be born with hands that look like they're folded in prayer, and that this same child who lived secretly within her will largely remain a secret.  Others carry their children into labor along with their dreams for them, only to never hear them cry.  Even once.

Some have their children long enough to see them grow into successful college students, marry, or become parents of young children and then...they're gone.  How can God take them now?  Just when...

As proposed by a meditation whose source I can't recall, I agree that whenever possible "What now?" is a much more fruitful question than "Why?!".  Stack all of the good things that can come from the death of a child (or anyone we love) as high as the stars, and it will likely still be too short to satisfy our why.  So, what now? 

Children are always on the brink of starting something new.  Elementary school, middle school, high school, military service, college, being married, having babies, a new career, retirement, grandchildren...

Every day is a "just when" day when you're a mother.  That's who we are.  We anticipate the good things that lie ahead for our children, as we should.

These women who have lost children, young and old, come home with me.  They show up in my tears when I tuck my children in at night and stand invisibly near our table during mealtime prayer.  Psychological jargon will tell you this has a name.  Transference.  Wikipedia defines it as "a phenomenon characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another."

Yes.  Maybe.  Maybe it is unconscious in the beginning, but not for long.  I carry these mothers with me consciously and intentionally.  They are my heroes.  They make me a better mother and help me to stay present.  They remind me that when I am not overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood, I will grieve the absence of them.  These women are honest (yet, great actresses, too), courageous, generous, and humble.  They know their limitations, which they feel poignantly.  They are the greatest proof that living when you'd rather die is not only possible, but beautiful - and empowers others for whom living may be hard, too - whatever the reasons.

These women do not belong to me, but I want to keep them close and hold on to the hem of their garment.  I want to feel the flow of strength they cannot feel, but that I can see, so vividly.  I'm not sure, but I think everyone can.  You may be one of these women and wondering why strangers keep pulling on your clothes.  If not, you undoubtedly know one.

If you can, please join me in saying,

"Thank you, Moms, for letting us remain near you and for your example.  Sorry about the hem.  You should probably find a good seamstress, 'cause we're not turning loose any time soon..

For you, we eagerly await the day that you are with your children who have gone before you, and all will be well in your world once again.  May God continue to grant you grace sufficient for the moment, as we continually and unfailingly see Him doing, in you.  Happy Mother's Day."




 

Mother's Day Ramblings

Waking up to the dream of motherhood yesterday morning:

"Mom, the cat threw up on Bman's jacket."
(I'm still in bed)  "Where is it?"
"On the couch."
"Ok, Don't touch it."

While I was lying in bed feeling grateful that the cat threw up on something that could just be picked up, and nothing needed to be wiped down, a parade of boys started coming in my room with "Happy Mother's Day" wishes, and throwing stuff on me.  Stuff I couldn't see because my glasses were still on my bedside table.  But, when I put my glasses on, I saw the stuff.  The stuff included big and little "Happy Mother's Day!" messages with hearts on poster board, a handmade pan flute made from bamboo (which they cut down at the park and normally use for making spears), and 12 cents that my youngest happened to be holding in his hand when he came in.  Awesome.

It reminded me of something I read on Facebook yesterday that was something like, "When a child gives you something, receive it with a tremendous amount of gratitude.  It might be the only thing they have to give and they're giving it to you."   Amen. 

Normally, I'm not much into "things" and have the grace to accept "what is".  But yesterday, I hosted a table at the most beautiful brunch you can imagine.  I've hosted tables before, but I always used someone else's stuff because I'm not good at decorating, I don't have nice stuff, blah, blah, blah.  But, this year, I dug out all of my Mom's china to see if I could pull it off.  With the exception of the glasses and the silverware and the flowers and the statue, I did.


And I was caught off-guard by the sudden memories of myself as a little girl, eating cherry cheesecake on those pretty little plates.  Added to my surprise, I found myself misty-eyed, missing my Mom.  Not because I never miss her, but because she was miss-ing.  She belonged around that table with her china that she hasn't seen in over 20 years, that her Mom bought at the grocery store, a little at a time.  But, wishing she was there is a lot easier than actually getting her there.  She has to have a caregiver to travel anywhere, and that caregiver has a family of her own, so a 10-hour drive for a weekend getaway is a little tricky to pull off.  However, next year we need to make it happen.  She belongs there with her china.  And with me. 

Just like I belong with my boys.  But, not like I used to.  Not all close and snuggly like days gone by.  I used to play with them and chase them around the house, but now I mostly chase them off of video games and TV screens.  They would rather do a lot of things than do something with me.  Maybe because my something is going to the grocery store or folding laundry.  They don't want to play board games, and I don't want to play guns.  I will jump on the trampoline, but it seems like they usually ask me when I'm making dinner, so I end up feeling like the "No" queen.

It's at these times, I find myself wanting to love them better by spending more time with them, but it seems I'm too busy taking care of them.  Sometimes, it's hard that love has to give what is needed, which is not necessarily what it wants to give.  Jesus says in Matthew 25:34-35 "...Come, you who are blessed by my Father.  Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me."  These things matter because these are ways we love well.  As mothers, fortunately for us (by God's design), we love this way every. single. day. 

However, of all the things I do for my boys, I think the most important thing is something that no one sees.  And that something is prayer.  Prayer for them.  I cut this prayer from our church bulletin awhile back and pray it every morning.  It seems to touch on all of the things that matter.  I want to share it with you, in case you'd like to pray it, too:

Pope Francis:

A Parent's Prayer for

Their Children 

 

O Heavenly Father,

I commend my children

unto Thee.

 

Be Thou their God and

Father; and mercifully

supply whatever is wanting

in me through frailty

or negligence.

 

Strengthen them to

overcome the corruptions of

the world, to resist all

solicitations to evil, whether

from within or without; and

deliver them from the secret

snares of the enemy.

 

Pour Thy grace into their

hearts, and confirm and

multiply in them the gifts of

Thy Holy Spirit, that they

may daily grow in grace and

in the knowledge of our

Lord Jesus Christ; and so,

faithfully serving Thee here,

may come to rejoice in Thy

presence hereafter.

Amen.

As I'm starting my seventh week of my hospital chaplain internship, I am more-aware-than-ever of the gifts of life, love, health, and family.  If we have even one of these things, we are blessed.  If we  could live in the reality of how blessed we are, our gratitude would demand that we spend every bit of ourselves trying to pay it forward or pay it back.


Dear Creator, Redeemer, Savior, and Friend,

Thank you for the gift of motherhood, the gift of life, the gift of love, the gift of health, and the gift of family.  Please continue to guide us and lead us in this sublime role of parenting.  It is the best way  out of ourselves and into You.  Please bless all who are missing their children this day, whether they've gone ahead to meet you or are just far away.  Please grant us the continuous grace to remain in the knowledge that the children you entrust to us are never really "ours".  They have been Yours and will always be Yours.  Help us do well by them, and lead them back to You.  Amen.

Four Motherless Children

Disclaimer:  I am not a perfect mother.  I am not even an excellent mother; I know a lot of moms who are better at motherhood than I am.  But, by the grace of God, I love being a Mom (most of the time), and I am either with or available to my boys.  Once disorder sets in, there are a lot of circumstances that cannot be helped.  Addiction and divorce are two of them.  I am not criticizing the mothers below.  I could easily be where they are, if my circumstances were the same.  I simply pray for them, and grieve for their children. 

I spent three and a half hours at the skate park with my two older boys yesterday afternoon.  The skate park is almost always a win-win because they're doing what they want to do, and I get to be outside, sitting.  Two of my favorite things.  But, if you've read some of my other posts, you already know that sometimes I leave with a heavy heart.  Yesterday was one of those days.

The first heartbreak (and joy) was spending the afternoon with my little four-year-old buddy.  He was there before we arrived and stayed until who-knows-when after we left.  His 7th grade brother was also there, and everybody knows them, but the just-turned-four-year-old is still pretty much on his own.  At some point, his older sister showed up to bring him lunch.  A sandwich, chips, and a Capri Sun.  She left right afterwards.  His brother "stole" his chips, and they were ultimately spilled on the ground.  It was the first time I ever saw him cry.  I was getting ready to head home to supplement his lunch when one of the girls hanging around offered to buy him another bag, which was the first act of kindness I've seen there (that part was refreshing).    

I asked the boys if their Mom ever came to watch them.  The little one said, "No".  The older one said, "Sometimes."  While I was thinking about my four-year-old at home napping, and seeing my little friend's  "thousand yard stare", I was struck by such a feeling of helplessness.  After sitting with him the whole afternoon, I had to tell him it was time for us to leave because I had to make dinner.  The helplessness struck again.  He can't cross the street by himself and he can't come home with me... 

His mother is alive, and lives right across the street.  I can't blame her because I don't know her, and justice is not mine to meter out.  But, I know what I see (and have seen many, many times), and that, for whatever reason, is a motherless child.

The second heartbreak was running into an old friend who told me "Things aren't so good at home right now."  I pressed a little, and he told me that his wife (and mother of his only son) is strung out on prescription drugs and alcohol.  She was recently arrested for public intoxication after she lost her son at the store.  She just went through a drug rehab program, and according to him, things look the same as before.  I overheard one of their friends say, "I hate seeing her like that.  She wouldn't even talk to us."  Her son is the same age as mine.  And right now, he is a motherless child.

The third heartbreak was when my friend told me that a mutual friend moved several states away, to live closer to her daughter.  The closer-to-her-daughter part was good, but she had to leave her two boys behind with her husband.  Again, they're about the same age as my guys.  Until they rendezvous for the summer or holidays, it seems to me, they are motherless children.   

I have to admit, my boys don't seem like they need me most of the time.  But, I cannot imagine being separated from them for much more than a week.  Anything less than that, I fantasize about.  But anything more, I cannot fathom.  I can't imagine saying goodbye, or leaving them in my rearview mirror, or not being "there", for whatever. 

I ache for these mothers, for I know their love is no less than mine.  I ache for these children, for I know their love is as boundless as any child's love.  I am powerless to reunite them or swoop in to fix what's been rent.  But, I can pray for them, and love more intensely, because the thought of living in any one of their shoes, unable or unwilling to guide the children God entrusted to me, leaves me numb. 

And to the parents in my community, who lost their 4-year-old son last week when he was accidentally killed in their driveway, please keep loving.  The kids in this world need your love.  We all do.

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for Your Mother, who was present throughout Your Life, and most especially at the foot of the cross, when very few were left.  Thank you for a mother's heart.  Help us to intercede for those children, mothers, and families where something has gone awry.  Please comfort those who need more love than what they receive.  Please help us to take our responsibility as parents seriously, for it is the greatest work on earth, and we will have to give an account of how we've done.  Please be with parents of older children who have to make them live somewhere other than home, to keep them safe.  Please hear the cries of those parents who have lost their children.  The pain of trying to imagine it is unbearable.  There can be no words for the pain of living it.  Please give us the grace to love well while we can, since we do not know how long we get to try.    Amen.

A Case For Kids

My boys are coming home from my friend's house today.  They have been gone for 4 1/2 days.  I am eager to see them, hug them, and hear all about their adventures, but I also have thoughts like: 

1.  More noise
2.  More chaos.
3.  More mess.

I am ashamed that these thoughts precede all of the other good things about them being home, which are eternally greater in value, and exponentially greater in number:

1.  More love.
2.  More laughter. 
3.  More joy.
4.  Stories at bedtime.
5.  Seeing them sleepy-eyed in the mornings.
6.  Child-led prayer at mealtimes.
7.  Bike rides to the park.
8.  Having people to swim with in the deep end.
9.  Never have to jump on the trampoline alone.
10.  Never bored.
11.  More generosity.  Less selfishness.
12.  Having a reason for driving 45 minutes to the nearest skating rink.
13.  Unbridled enthusiasm over something seen or imagined.
14.  Always having a date for Happy Hour at Sonic.
15.  More humility.  They do not care who I think I am.

List B is the substance of my vocation.  List A are merely the accidental effects of my vocation, and every vocation has some.

This week proved it is possible for a house to be cleaned and stay clean.  I will not be stuck in the hamster wheel of cleaning for the rest of my life.  Good to know!

Where there are no oxen, the manger is empty, but from the strength of an ox comes an abundant harvest.  Proverbs 14:4, NIV Student Bible

Translation for parents:  Where there are no children, the house is clean, but from the lives and love of children come an abundant harvest.

Just as the farmer has to guide the ox for an abundant harvest, we have to guide our children for the same.  How do we do that?!  By asking the perfect question!

My friend, Janet, texted me the other day about something she was reflecting on.  Her text read, "My reflection for this afternoon:  if my love for my children is a reflection of the way God loves us...me...I wonder if I had a day with God in person, would I feel happy if he interacted with me the same way I interact with my kids?"

I told her I was "stealing" this idea (with her permission, of course), because it really is the true test of what we're doing as parents!  If we were on the receiving end of our parenting, as administered by God, how would we fare?  I love how she used the word "happy".  Would I be happy if God engaged me (or not), fed me, played with me, prayed with me, and disciplined me, the way I do these things with mine?

Dear Lord,

Thank you for keeping my children safe while they were away.  Thank you for my friend who kept them.  Thank you for Janet, and her wisdom.  Thank you for canoe trips down the Brazos River, and finding a perfect arrowhead on that sandbar.  Lord, please forgive my negative thoughts about motherhood, and all that it entails.  Thank you for time to reflect on many (but not all) of the irreplaceable gifts that my children bring into my life.  Thank you for the substance of my vocation.  Please help me to keep List B in front of me at all times, and to tuck List A away under the bed to gather dust.  You are an awesome God!  In every piece of tree that has turned into rock, fossils from animals that lived who-knows-when, and clusters of shells from an old ocean floor, I think of Your Majesty, Your Timelessness, and Your Fidelity to Your creatures.  Thank You. 

Running Away From Home

I have an incredible friend who offered to keep my boys for five days.  (No, I will not email you her contact information :)).  Today is Day 3.  I talked to them last night and 2/3 wanted to come home.  This morning I texted with a friend who I am planning to sit with during her chemo treatment this afternoon.  She is the mother of ten.  Incredibly beautiful, holy, and wise.  When I told her that I would be there unless I had to pick up my kiddos, she said, "I never talk to my kids when they are away in the evening.  Things always look brighter in the morning."  Lesson learned.

Anyway, the past two days have been incredibly quiet, extremely productive, very relaxing, and awesome, in general. However, considering my time may end shortly, I've been thinking about what I enjoy most about being "free". 

*I like waking up early and not having to be quiet, for fear of waking someone up.
*I like choosing what to do next.  Filling up the hours of the day is fun, when you're not dragging a string of little people behind you.
*I like being able to run away from home.  Somewhere other than on my street, because I don't want to be out of earshot when my kids are home. 
*I like eating lunch out of town, just because I can.

In a word, I like the ability to "Go".  I never feel more free than when I'm heading out to cover some great distance.  Over the years (and prior to children), this has been on horseback, on foot, in a canoe, on a bicycle, or in a car.  On horseback, I competed in endurance riding.  Riding 25, 50, or 100 miles in a day.  My first experience with the sport was driving a truck and trailer for a lady (in a group) who did this across the Pony Express trail.  We were gone for two months, and they rode 2,000 miles.  Prior to that, I biked across Kansas the long way (which is about 400 miles), with a guy who pushed his way in a wheelchair.  After kids, almost every summer, my husband and I drive a long way, to hike a long way, in some part this incredible country.

One day, I'd like to walk across England (an article in a magazine that gave me that idea), the Appalachian trail, or the Continental Divide. 

I've never really thought about why these things appeal to me so much, but if I had to guess, it would probably be because I like to feel free.  I find God most easily in the quiet and in His Creation.  And when I spend a prolonged period of time in the quiet and in Creation, I find Him most profoundly.  There is also something planted deep within me that tells me I am made for a journey.  And when I perceive with all of my senses that I am covering distance with my Creator, that something rings true. 

We were not created to lead drab, narrow, or constricted lives, but to live in the wide-open spaces.  We find confinement unbearable, simply because we were created in the image of God, and we have within us an unquenchable need for the absolute and the infinite.

Interior Freedom, Jacques Phillipe

However, as much as these first thoughts are noble and true, there is also part of it that rewards my selfishness - the shedding of responsibility.  The escape.  Which just goes to prove that all godly things don't have to feel bad.  They can be good for God, and me.  And they usually are.  But, it doesn't really put life (especially a very blessed one like mine) in a very nice light - to talk about it as something that needs to be escaped from.  It is not a prison, or a plantation before the Civil War. 

Monotony, stress, exhaustion, etc... are only some of the accidental effects of any given vocation.  What you need to get hold of, and examine, and pray about, and give thanks to God for, and not allow to go to waste is the substance.  It is the vocation itself about which you must be sure:  when you have got the cause right...You will begin to see a pattern about your life.  It will not be a muddle of dreary duties that are mercifully interrupted every now and then by pleasures:  it will be a related whole; it will have unity.

The greatest pleasures in life are not those that are superimposed - any more than they are those that represent escapes.  The greatest and most lasting pleasures are those that emerge out of life itself.  They are these that come in virtue of the vocation, not in spite of it.  The taste of the fruit is not the sugar you put on it...As a rule, it is not that the fruit is bitter, but that we have a wrong idea of sweetness.

Holiness for Housewives (and other working women), Dom Hubert Van Zeller

*Note:  A vocation is a strong inclination to follow a particular course of action; a divine call to God's service or to the Christian life.

Back to unity and reality...I have three kids who have zero interest in riding their bikes beyond the park that's only two blocks away.  So, how do I create unity between these critical parts of who I am to them and what I want/need for me? 

For now, I will work it out in little ways.  Take the dog to Lick Creek park and "disappear" for a couple of hours.  Go swimming at the local pool until I can't pause long enough on the end to catch my breath.  Drive an hour to the National Forest and hike until I'm ready to stop.  Canoe the Brazos.  And of course, continually take my kids with me, as far as they're willing and able to go.

Which reminds me -  I am at home.  Alone.  And the day is stretched out before me.  Catch you later.

Dear Heavenly Father and Author of All That is Good,

Thank you for time to reflect on all of the good things You have given.  Thank you for the phone call while I was writing this that said "All is well. Everyone wants to stay."  Thank you for being available to me every second, of every minute of my lifetime.  Thank you for the wisdom of mothers who have raised ten children or any one child, well.  Thank you for a husband who I love to soak up the time with.  Thank you for the beauty and wonder of Your Creation, and the way it draws us to You.  Thank you for all of the opportunities in my life to set out on a journey.  Thank you for the journey I'm on now, and for those to come.  Please forgive my selfishness and help me always to recognize the substance of the work You have blessed me with.  Please bless all parents!  Especially those who are at home with little ones, who take two naps a day.  Please bless those on the other end of life who are dying from loneliness - The ones who would give anything to spend a day with a child.  Especially, Ms. Eva.  Thank you for this day, and all days.  Thank you for a home to be comfortable in. A home that I'm happy to leave and even happier to come home to.  I love You.  Amen.

 
     

Living In the Kitchen

My niece moved here a few weeks ago.  She sleeps at my mother-in-law's house (2 doors down), but spends a lot of her time here.  She's learning what life looks like at the Dixon residence.  As she walked in last night, she said, "Every time I come over here, you are standing in the kitchen."  I agreed, and we sat down to dinner.  After dinner, I was back in the kitchen, and she asked on her way out, "Is your life fulfilling?"

I said "Yes" (after making a mental note of the magnitude of this question, and the cynicism dripping from her voice), rattled off something about how important it is, and then toyed with her question through the night and most of today.

Do I find my life to be fulfilling?

What is fulfilling about "living" in the kitchen?   Preparing and cleaning up after meals three times a day, 341 (365 -24 if you eat out twice a month) days of the year.  1023 times if you're really into Math...There are definitely other areas of my life that don't involve the kitchen, but it really is the biggest part of what I do.  Biggest in terms of time, and biggest in terms of mental energy!

Some people might find it fulfilling because they're really good at it, or maybe it is a form of artistic expression for them.  Others may love it, simply because they love food.

Three strikes, here.  I don't find "living" in the kitchen to be fulfilling for any of these reasons.

As time has passed, I have come to realize it is necessary for people to eat.  It is one of the few legitimate activities we engage in, as human beings.  If left to my own devices, I would graze throughout the day (almonds, cheese, apples, etc...), and quite possibly, never so much as warm something up.  Needless to say, I  LOVE eating out because it takes me out of the whole eating process!!  One of God's greatest gifts, really.  I digress...

Back to finding fulfillment in the very-necessary, food preparation responsibilities that come with being a wife and mother:

I think the highest calling in this life (and therefore, the most fulfilling) is to love our neighbor for love of God.  The people God has entrusted to me are my most important neighbors.  When I cook and clean for them, or whatever else I do to meet/ exceed their needs, I am engaged in the most important activity on the face of the earth.  Further proof that these actions are approved by God, is that they demand humility!  Most often, the only reward I receive for my efforts (besides generous praise and gratitude from my husband) are words of disapproval regarding the menu, or complaints about how long it took to put it on the table. 

There are so many things we can do in this life.  Many look fulfilling, but are not.  And just as many look unfulfilling, but are.

So, yes, my life is fulfilling.  But, that does not mean it is always comfortable or without its doubts.

Just today, I had to have an "affirmation" lunch with my husband because I'm back to feeling like I can't please anyone for very long, which always makes me think I must be doing something wrong.  However, he assured me that the fruits of my labor are to come.  In the future.  The very distant future.  At the end of our meal, he handed me a fortune cookie, and jokingly said, "Maybe your answer is in here."  It read, "Ships are safe in the harbor, but that's not what they are built for." 

My I-can-relate-anything-to-anything interpretation of that was "We can't use comfort as a sign that we are doing what we were made to do".  A ship isn't battered by waves until it is doing its job.  Just because I lack the comfort of being surrounded by people who are happy and grateful all the time, doesn't mean I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  I am.   Therefore, I am fulfilled.  Fulfillment is only possible when you know you are "the-best-version-of-yourself" and doing what you were made to do.

Yes, my life is fulfilling.  And, I am tremendously grateful to my niece for asking the question to begin with.

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for Dallas and her question.  Thank you for having such confidence in me that you continue to place people in my life to love and serve.  Please forgive me when I stop communicating the joy that always comes with doing Your will.  Thank you for my husband, his words of encouragement, and his belief in me.  Thank for a kitchen to work in, and a home to welcome and love those You send.  Please remain with me and all of those who struggle with their vocation, especially when it appears to be of little value to the world!  Thank you for pithy little statements in the middle of a cookie.  Thank you for all.  I love You.  Amen.

Spring Break Revelation

It is humbling to be a parent. 

Generally speaking, everyone in our family gets along well-enough most of the time, that there is no real reason to take a hard look at the family dynamic.  Until we were halfway between Natural Bridge Caverns and Enchanted Rock. 

Something was plaguing my middle son.  I don't know if his black cloud was brought on by the flu he had at the beginning of the week or what.  All I know is that whatever it was, was very ill-timed. 

The day before, we spent the morning walking through the first real cave my boys have been in, and it was magnificent besides.  We spent the afternoon playing in the spring water at a New Braunfels park, had a great dinner, and spent the night at a hotel, which was a major highlight in its own right.  The negativity ebbed and flowed from my middle son, and was checked by us at its peaks.

The negativity started ramping up again the following morning, and came to a head in route to Enchanted Rock, (where after we camped last Spring Break, vowed to spend every Spring Break thereafter).  He was talking about what a boring life he had and I'm pretty sure there was something about wishing he lived with a different family.

My husband pulled the car over and they had a conversation which didn't require any words.  We decided that if he wasn't able to pull his bad attitude out of the gutter between where we were and where we were going, he could stay in the car with me, and the rest of the family would spend the day hiking as planned.  His choice. 

He got it turned around.  But, just as he did, my oldest took cover under that same black cloud.  I would have loved to have seen (and squished) that little black crab, hiding in that black cloud, jumping from one to the other.  Damn thing.  On our ascent of Enchanted Rock (the same rock they climbed and conquered and have been talking about for a year), my oldest decided we were his enemies, and he wasn't going to climb all the way up because his legs were too tired.  Oh, boy. 

I'm thinking, "This is fun!  Now, I'm pretty sure I have some of the most spoiled kids in this park, which makes me one of the worst parents in this park, etc..."

We finished climbing, and once we got to the top, all was well.  It ended up being a great day and the black crab must have hopped families.  Interestingly, I saw a father gripping his son by his arm on top of that same rock, giving him the "attitude" talk.  I'm just saying... 

But, I was not unscathed.  On the way home, all the kiddos were sacked out from a full day of climbing and sun.  I asked my husband, "Do I need to be doing something differently?"  If my kids can be so ungrateful and negative in such great moments, I feel like I must be doing something wrong.  He said something like "Kids only have kid's perspectives.  They can't really appreciate anything because they've never known anything else."  They have everything they need and a lot of what they want.  Don't get me wrong.  Our kids only get gifts for Christmas and birthdays.  Otherwise, they buy what they want with their own money, saved from special occasions or earned from chores.   But, they are "spoiled" because of the lack of balance in their life.

Basically, they have more than they need coming in (free time, attention, pleasures, stuff), and less of what we need going out (gratitude, respect, work, positive attitude).  So, I changed our current protocol to produce different and satisfactory results - Decrease what is coming in, and increase what is going out. 

Feeling very pleased with this assessment, I sat down and made a list of daily jobs for each boy, in conjunction with a handy "three-strikes-and-you're-out" check mark system for all the behaviors and attitudes we don't want to see.  I covered it with the boys over dinner and relished briefly in the feeling of regaining a sense of balance, control, and peace.  But, then I realized... I've done all this before.  There is nothing new here.  Just a re-commitment to doing what I've already committed to do - Raise children who Love.  Appreciate.  Respect.  Serve.   

It is humbling to be a parent.

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for the beauty of Your Creation and time to enjoy it.  Thank you for Spring Break as a time to recover from the flu and see something new.  Thank you for the humility demanded in parenthood.  Thank you for new inspirations and moments of clarity.  Please grant us wisdom, as we raise our children in this wealthy country, where we want for nothing.  Lord, help me to be the mother you intended me to be, before you granted me the gift of motherhood.  Help me to talk less and act more. Thank you for the gift of a partner in the difficult journey of raising children.  Please sustain those who have to do it on their own.  Thank you for so many chances to get it right and help us extend Your Mercy to those who live under our own roof.  Please bless our children with hearts like Yours.  Help them to be meek and humble of heart, so that they may enjoy Your Presence for eternity.  Amen. 

It's Hard to be Holy When You're Sleep-Deprived

A blast from the past for a friend who has been sleep-deprived for far longer than anyone I know, and for all who have been there (or are there)...

September 9, 2009

11:10am – Wednesday 

The car is all packed up to go to Lake Bryan.  It’s raining outside and I’m waiting for the baby to wake up.  I’m tired and don’t feel like going, but I think it will help me “chill out” some, and Brett is out there w/ his guys today running the boats.  I feel like I’m being pecked to death by my baby chickens (Brayton and Walker)…fix this knot, my train track is broken, where are my logs?, Brayton pushed me, Walker called me stupid, find me in my fort – no not through that hole, this hole…The baby is still getting up twice a night and it doesn’t seem to have any relationship to hunger, as he sometimes wakes up earlier after he eats a big meal before bed.  I can’t figure it out and it is really starting to affect my patience level during the day. 

I have been reading about being resigned to God’s will for my life.  Is God’s will for my life for me to be sleep deprived?  I vacillate between wanting to wean the baby entirely (not that I could do it quickly – I’ve been trying to get him to take a bottle for months) and giving him God’s best by breastfeeding him – as much and as often as he wants. 

I am beginning to wonder if it would be easier to suffer pain/sickness, as the suffering is coming from within rather than without.  I am always at the mercy of other people.  I am trying to give thanks in all circumstances, as written in Thessalonians.  However, as my sleep deprivation grows and my patience shortens, it becomes more difficult with each interruption/demand.  I thank God for my three healthy, beautiful children.  I thank God my legs work, so I can tend to them.  I thank God I don’t have to work and entrust my kids to someone else’s care (even if it would be better than what I can offer some days).  I thank God I am able to breastfeed (as this was my fervent prayer when pregnant with Wyatt).  I thank God Brett has a good job.  I thank God we can pay our bills without receiving utility disconnect notices or foreclosure notices.  I thank God I have parents who love me.  I thank God He loves me.  I thank God for Jesus – I am believing more and more all the time my own weakness and incapability to do much on my own.  I thank God for the consolations of Wyatt’s smiles, and him reaching out to touch my face, and the boys’ laughter.  I thank God for “Mom, you’re my best.”  I am reading Teresa of Avila’s biography.  I can relate to her about so many things.  It took 40 years for her to develop/recognize her holiness.  I hope it doesn’t take that long for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 13, 2009

Sunday – 1:29pm 

I just wanted to write before I forget how great it feels to be well-rested.  We started to wean Wyatt from his night feedings a few days ago.  The first night he cried for 32 minutes.  The next night about 35.  The following night for about 10 minutes (according to Brett – I was so desperate for sleep and couldn’t bear listening to him cry again for so long, so I slept on the couch with ear plugs in and the fan going).  It was probably the best night’s sleep I’ve had since Wyatt was born.  Last night he only woke up once around 3am and cried for a minute or so, and didn’t wake up until almost 7:30am.  Thanks be to God!  The sleep deprivation was really starting to get to me.  I’ve been extremely crabby and impatient.  You know something needs to change when Brayton says, “Mommy, why are you so crabby all the time?” and Walker says one morning, “Mommy, did you not wake up crabby this morning?” (That was the first morning after I got decent sleep).  I pray I don’t forget what a blessing it is to sleep without interruption.  I want to be at my best for my kids and my husband. 

Note:  Please see my next post for a more objective view of how sleep-deprivation and all other emotionally and physically painful things might fit into a much bigger picture, and the best way to endure. 

Dear Heavenly Father,  Thank you for sleep and for sleep-deprivation, if it drives us closer to You.  Thank you for children who grow up and no longer need us in the middle of the night.  Thank you for notes kept that bring it all right back, when it is helpful for another.  Thank you for You.  Please draw near to all those who are suffering from insomnia, those who tend to others in the middle of the night, and all others who are simply tired from the pressures of daily living.  If it is not outside Your Will, please restore restful sleep to those who are most in need.  Amen. 

 

Chopped Liver and Boy-Packed Lunches

I read something today that explains a lot. 

In New Guinea, "Children were considered babies until they lost their front teeth.  When this happened, the little boys of the tribe left their mothers and went to live with the men in the village.  Fathers then took over the nurturing of their sons and the mothers raised the girls." - A Mother's Touch by Elise Arndt

Ohhhhhhh.  My middle son just lost both of his front teeth and not so coincidentally, I am chopped liver at my house.  No, I am not exaggerating.  Every night the two older boys fight over who gets to sit by Daddy at the dinner table.  The one who loses (who has to sit by me) is usually close to tears.

Just this afternoon, the youngest was down for a nap, the middle one was gone with Daddy, and my oldest was watching a movie.  Before, I sat down with a book and a cup of coffee, I asked him, "Are you happy watching the movie, or would you like to do something with me?"  He asked, "Why?"  I said "because if you don't want to do something together, I'm going to sit down and read."  He said, "You can do whatever you want to do."  So, I happily plopped down with my book, after being dismissed by my second-grader.

Just thought I'd share in case you are also experiencing being "phased out".  It's normal.

On a different note, I visited a friend last week and was able to see her "Kids Contribution" poster hanging up in her kitchen.  A gold mine in plain view for my plundering!  However, after laying my eyes on the "Pack your lunch" item, I had everything I needed.  Thank you, Julia!  Thank you, Amy for suggesting it to her!  Thank you, Elizabeth for pairing them up in your Titus mentor Mom program!  (Have you read Spiritual Mothering by Susan Hunt?  I never finished it, but would love to donate it to your cause, if you should want it.)

So, this last week, my boys started packing their own lunch.  This is coming at the perfect time, because just the week before, my husband was (unusually) home during our get-ready-for-school routine.  He was very unimpressed with my boys lack of respect and appreciation when fielding my questions about what to put in their lunch box.  Problem solved.

Another unforeseen benefit, is that one of my kiddos is a slow mover in the mornings.  In order for him to have time to pack his lunch, he has to keep moving.  If he doesn't, there is a natural consequence waiting for him - he has to eat school lunch.  Hee hee.  I just love natural consequences.

Oh, I almost forgot --in fact, I did forget, and came back to add this in-- Not having to make my sons' lunches returns time to my schedule, which allows me to sit with them at the breakfast table and read The Lives of the Saints.  Major bonus.

Another thing Julia mentioned (and which also came up this weekend in conversation with another), was encouraging our children to ask the question, "Is there anything I can do to help?"  We need to encourage the spirit of service.  This is my next quest.  Thank you, friends.

Dear Heavenly Father,  Thank you for last night's Confession with a new priest and the gift of Yourself in the Eucharist this morning!  Thank you for lessons from New Guinea.  Thank you for the gift of friendship and writing on the wall.  Thank you for loaning my boys to me.  Please "help me to do all I can to prepare them for the day when You will call them home. Thank you for the humility gained in motherhood.  I love You and can palpably feel Your love for me.  Thank you.  Amen.

Zero Desire to Please My Children

I woke up with the same feeling I went to bed with last night - I'm frustrated with my kids.  We were given free tickets for the hayride at Santa's Wonderland (A Christmas light display with "over a million lights").  I've been wanting to go for years and haven't because my husband is vehemently opposed.  So, last night, we went with Grandma and a friend of hers.

The lights were awesome and worth the money we would have paid for the tickets.  No doubt about it.  But, a few things along the way crept in and insidiously stole my joy.

Walking the football field-length gravel parking lot, in the dark, carrying a 3-year-old, and trying to get the older two to STOP throwing rocks and playing tag between all of the pedestrians and parked cars, was #1.  It might not have been so bad, if I didn't have to grab my boys by their coats before they heeded my voice.

The gravel-lined path for the hayride waiting line also proved too much temptation for little boys.  They HAD to pick up the rocks and fill the one hood between them, in between trying to kick them a reasonable distance.  No problem, except the aforementioned line is full of people in close proximity.  Fun.  #2.

After a reasonable wait, we happily climbed aboard the hayride on the second trailer, the farthest away from the diesel fumes.  The moment we've all been waiting for...  We were getting ready to go under the first tunnel of lights, but I had to cajole my 3-year-old to look at it, as he was looking at the ground move underneath the back tire.  He was cold, but refused the jackets I brought, and was that "I'm ready to go home" kid about 1/3 of the way through.  #3.

We completed the light tour with many oohs and awes, some musical chairs on the hayride, lots of "I'm ready to go home, now's", and overwhelming appreciation that the entire light display ended with Jesus rising from the tomb (a resurrection/ascension combo, if you will).  Jesus Christ got the most important "spot" and for this I was uplifted.  At least, The reason for the whole production had been remembered, and honored.  I was happy for Jesus.

To make the night complete, we agreed by consensus, that we would drink some hot chocolate by the blazing bonfire, and listen to some live music.  I volunteered to stand in the hot chocolate line and everyone else settled in by the fire.  15 minutes later, I rejoined the group, looking forward to melting away the remnants of the early accumulation of trivial irritations. 

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Oldest is pouting because he needs a straw (#4), youngest is sad because it's too hot to drink (#5), and I can't really relax because I'm holding two cups of hot chocolate (#6).  As comforting as holding one warm drink is, holding two screams, "You cannot relax because things are not as they should be!"  I was officially in my 3-year-old's camp, "I'm ready to go home, now!"  On the way out, my middle son begged for kettle corn because he was so hungry (#7).  Sorry, I just spent $13.50 on hot chocolate.

~After writing the first paragraph, I recognized the problem.  I have been wanting to go to Santa's Wonderland for years.  My expectations were simply to high, from the get-go.  I wish I could have recognized and released myself from those ugly, little things!  That doesn't mean that my kids shouldn't have been better behaved and more appreciative - these are things parents should expect from their children!  But, the fact that they fell short highlights the areas where I've fallen short.  Maybe that's another reason I wasn't able to let go of all the little stuff, like I supposed I should.

I don't ever remember being ungrateful as a child.  Wait.  Would I remember that?  . 

Anyway, I'm sitting here this morning, with zero desire to please my children.  My efforts yesterday proved that they can't be satisfied.  So today, for now, they're on their own.  Maybe I'll feel differently after I offer my prayer...

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for the awesome light display at Santa's Wonderland and for the finale, Your Son, Who lives and reigns, forever and ever.  Lord, I am frustrated with my children's lack of obedience and gratitude.  Every morning, I offer you my life, including my boys and my parenting.  I have already done that today, but I am doing it again, now.  Lord, please guide me.  Help me to practice Your mercy and love.  Please give me the wisdom to know when and how to discipline them, so they may be pleasing to You (and to us).  Please forgive my impatience, ingratitude, and failures in charity.  I love you.  Amen.