Little Triumphs Among the Failures

I had BIG hopes for this summer. I always have big hopes. And that is the triumph of hope over pessimism in me.

My husband always urges me to only project doing what I can actually accomplish. But where is the challenge in that?

This summer I set out with a number of goals for the family. Among them was teaching the older two to make a meal each week. This would take methodical instruction in different cooking methods. I had the book, I had the drive. We would work on breakfast, lunch, desserts, dinner. But while my time became more and more limited, my son took up my passion and sought new instructors. 

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We have also worked for the past several summers on teaching Ben to ride a bike. (I use "we" in the sense of our marital union; we being the other half of me.) He has stubbornly resisted. This year did not start out promisingly with Ben declaring as usual that accidents happen on bikes and there is no need to be able to ride one. But a trip to Mackinac Island in May where bikes are the norm of transportation (the alternative being horses and feet) and a decision to come back in July and bike the island, did the trick. Once he decided it was a worthy reason, he learned in no time, and in our elation, his dad took him to "look" at bikes. And came home with a new one. He biked 8 miles without incident on our trip to the Island.

My last goal, to teach the kids to do more chores, feels like it has stalled. They did work on learning to clean the bathrooms with me early on, and Kyrie took on some of the weeding yesterday to earn a little money. It turns out Evie loves to husk corn. But the basement is still a pit and the girls room is actually starting to smell a little and it has me feeling a little stymied. But still there is the bathroom.

So maybe all my expectations weren't met. I still call this summer:

The Triumph of Hope.

The Proliferation of Stuff and the Raising of Clutter-Free Kids

"Thanks to availability, convenience and ingenious new ways of financing, all of us, including the kids, have a mass of possessions that was unimaginable even in the 1950s or 1960s, let alone in pioneer days." -Don Aslett, "Help! Around the House: A Mother's Guide to Getting the Family to Pitch in and Clean Up"

"Stuff" frustrates me. A neighbor recently cleaned out their kids' junk and sent it home with my kids. And it wasn't the first time. I wanted to march down there with a load of our junk in return. I didn't do it; instead I took to heart that I won't give things to the neighbor kids without first asking their parents and receiving an enthusiastic response. Mere politeness won't do.

When I was a kid I remember receiving gifts on my birthday and Christmas. These two occasions were the times I received new things UNLESS I bought them. With money I earned. That was it. And it was all. I didn't feel particularly deprived.

But my own children are a different story....

In the beginning I was at fault. I sold educational toys for a while and so we had a lot early on. I quit because I despise home parties and selling at them was a form of torture for me. And the toys I gave my kids quickly were put up high and brought down when they asked for them and returned to boxes when they were through and put up again. I also used to garage sale, looking for clothes for kids and also decent furniture that we needed. The toys were cheap and if I had the kids with me, which one of them particularly enjoyed, they would ask for things. And a quarter seemed like a bargain.  I also went through a time where we went through drive-thrus way too often and I bought the Happy Meal (or equivalent) with the junky toys. I'm less exhausted now and that is once again a special occasion, instead of a weekly thing. I have repented of all these things.

I was taught to value and respect the things people sacrificed to give me. I can still tell you who gave me all the wedding gifts we received. That's the way I roll. So throwing out anything that I can identify with a person who gave something to my kids is tough. Even though, I have a suspicion that there is far less sacrifice in the many of the "things" they receive than the gifts I received as a kid. Kids' toys are cheap at this age. And the availability of credit makes them appear cheaper than they really are.

I've spent much of the last couple of years surveying the clutter in their rooms, the basement, and elsewhere with disdain over the supply side of the problem.

My kids hate clutter too. They are exhausted by it. They see their pile of stuff in their rooms and walk away. What they want to play with is the stuff I still keep up high, on the high shelves in their closets and mine that they can't reach. The stuff that has all the pieces because I make them clean up and give it back to me when they are done. And while I wish I could control the supply side, the truth is I can't.  Recently I realized that I had to quit being bothered over all the things they are given and accept that this is the way things are for them.

What I can control is:

1) My feeling that we must keep it forever. Ridiculous. Even though I know it would horrify some of the givers, the truth is, a gift is a gift, and should be released upon giving. Some things we give to others who do really value it. But I'm not so keen on this because it screams "white privilege" to box up goods to go to 3rd world countries and the poor in general, who are now being inundated with our extra leftovers instead of being given quality things they need and want. However, giving it to Goodwill means someone else has to buy it and if they have a hoarding problem, our not donating it isn't going to stop their issues.

2) My reaction. Which is to throw it in boxes and store it indefinitely. We have (no joke!) at least a dozen boxes of toys in my house that my kids didn't clean up when asked that I confiscated and they haven't even missed. On a few occasions, they have missed something and I've given them permission to look in a box and earn it back if they find it. They are amazed at how much stuff they had forgotten they owned in the first place. And they find that one thing and hand me back the box. Telling.

3) How I teach my kids to think about giving. I can encourage them to think of creative gifts that will mean more to the giver; for friends buried in stuff (which is nearly all of them), we can offer to take them to the zoo or on a park outing or lunch out instead of throwing more stuff on them. (Note to givers: Time in in far shorter supply than stuff these days. Give the gift of time.)

4) Give them experiences and memories instead of stuff on special occasions. I'm married to a guy who remembers his childhood gifts fondly, and freaks out when I suggest "no gifts for the kids this year." He also hates the mess so he is quickly coming around. And one year we gave Ben the gift of a trip to DC as his Christmas gift - he opened an envelope telling him that - and he reflected on it as his favorite gift. Kyrie is a tougher nut: gifts are her love language and she loves to give and receive. I'm still working through how to love her as she experiences love without contributing to the hoarder part of her personality.

5) Who is responsible. As my children grow older, I am giving them more responsibility for their things. When I hear them whine about how LONG it takes to clean their rooms, I can gently remind them that it would go quicker if they had less stuff. I can guide them as they determine what they no longer need. When "stuff" becomes a burden, it is time to "let it go!"

I want to respect my children and not indiscriminately discard their things. I want to make them part of the process. Which is why my house is still cluttered. I could just toss it. But that would destroy trust; it also would bypass teaching them an essential skill they need to have in life. They need to learn how to prioritize. Time, money, relationships, all those valuable resources that they are going to have to learn to manage. Our success as adults is largely attributable to how well we do this, and they are on that path right now. So we move on, learning to let go.

Parenting with Pete Carroll

I love Football. I love the Seahawks. So I was listening to the press wax on about the turnaround the Seahawks experienced mid-season that took them to the NFC Championship Game this Sunday. News outlets report that after their devastating loss to Kansas City, Coach Pete Carroll called his team leaders together and said, "You have to play for each other." Playing as a "team" something the Hawks were doing, wasn't enough. They had to play for each other.

I started thinking about the parenting issues I'm struggling with right now."That's not mine. That's hers" is a refrain I hear a lot when I complain a storm-devastated bedroom that I cry upon entering. Various things pile around the house because "that's not my job." Sure, I don't want one kid doing all the work for the lazy ones. But, I rethought all that when I heard Pete Carroll's rallying cry. Maybe, they need the chance to develop the character each will gain when they do someone else's "job."

So tonight I gathered my chicks around the dinner table. The Main Man is out of town and so we had coconut-crusted chicken fingers and root vegetable fries (hey, they ate PARSNIPS!) and we had a little team meeting and talked about "playing for each other." Blank stares. The boy engaged at least; as long as we talked in theory. Seahawks. He is, to be fair, the least inclined to scream "It's NOT my fault."

When all was said and done, I'm still not too sure this is going to rock our selfish-dynamic into oblivion. But it is a start. And an hour of TV time, since Daddy is gone and I have to think.

The Introverted Parent

I guard the edges of my day. Guard them. Like a bulldog.

I am blessed to have a husband who helps with the night edges (while guarding his own edges). My children have learned that their mornings can be relatively mama-free if they play their cards right and we are all happy. Usually.

Today Evie woke up and wanted breakfast early. It was the weekend, a time I normally get help. I let her know. Hey, it's Saturday and it's early. You can play quietly for awhile and I will get up in a little bit.

It isn't just about sleep. It is about the quiet and alone time with which I gird myself before...spending time with the people I love most in the world.

Often Kyrie will enter my room tentatively and ask "Mom, have you had your quiet time yet?" Because God forbid, she has learned that I'm a much nicer mama if I have.

A tumultuous couple of days led me to realize how introverted two of my children were. We had three extra kids for five hours and Ben came to me and asked "How much longer will they be here?" They are great kids and my kids love them. But Ben's people minutes were up. Evie is the same and recently I've noted that her conflicts with Kyrie seem to arise when she hasn't been able to be alone for awhile.

I spoke to Kyrie this week as she wept. She was people-needy and had gone from me, to Evie, to Ben and been rejected by all of us. She couldn't get it. She wanted to interact. We all wanted to retreat.  I finally took her aside and explained introverts and extroverts and then broke it to her that she was the only extrovert among us. She was the one who wanted to play with the neighbor kids EVERY day. She typically answers the phone. She can't get enough of outings. She cried harder and said, "What's wrong with me?" And I explained to her that it was RIGHT. That I needed one person who was happy when the doorbell rang and cared that the phone was ringing. I thanked her for helping me handle these things that are so difficult for me.

A few days later I'm wondering why I couldn't have had this conversation with her much earlier. She has approached me differently since then, respecting my space and asking if she could be with me. I have also noted that she hates to be alone when she is working on something. I've put her next to me while she does her math, an activity that I preferred to work alone on. She does much better with me right there even if I'm doing something else and just checking on her and touching her from time to time.

Today Everleigh was near hysteria and I quietly said, "Kyrie, she needs to be alone. Give her some space." Kyrie backed off and was amazed at the result. A little time alone and Ev was ready to be with her sister again and re-engage with the world.

There is so much navigating to do here. Introverts have to learn to live outside their comfort zones and extroverts need to learn to be alone. And introverted mamas have to get up with infants and toddlers in the brand-new morning and they have to put them to bed at night too. I'm grateful to be in a season where there is the option to say "You must wait." I wish I had known this day would come when I thought I couldn't survive those all-consuming years.

But right now I'm thankful for a child, so very different than me, and for the understanding that has happened for both us recently that have made us both appreciate the other in whole new ways.

When I Am Not in Control

After a long stretch of good health, we had a round of sick kids this past month. I started things off with a flu thing and passed it to them.

The signs were there for Ben and I was in denial a little bit. He always has trouble with his windpipe when he gets sick; it inflames and causes croup. Which exacerbates his asthma. But the medical books tell you that should be over by age 7. Not so for him.

So we were watching "Fellowship of the Ring" with him. He had a box of tissues, but seemed fine.

And then in 10 minutes, he went in to a slide. One minute we were watching a movie, the next he flicked off the TV and said he had to stop and took his first croupy cough. The nebulizer treatment didn't work; the steamy shower didn't work. We tried each twice. Vomiting.

I checked on him just after midnight and there was terror in his eyes. He can't really talk when he can't breathe so he had written us a few notes early on. I asked: "Do you want to go to the hospital?" Yes, he nodded.

I despise hospitals, I get asked questions, I wash my hands and use hand sanitizer constantly. But we went. He was terrified. I was terrified.

In these moments, I pray and wonder if....

We went. The night air helped, even though it was warm and humid air. We got to the ER and I asked: "Are you better? Do you want to go in?" In response, he vomited again. We went in.

And it feels dirty and diseased and the surroundings are uncomfortable and the staff never displays much urgency. I hate hospitals. But the doctor is wonderful; tells me his 9-year old just did this and Ben will eventually outgrow it. His pulse oxygen is good; he isn't wheezing. The worst has passed. He gets a dose of steroids. We can talk. He tells me, "Mom, I wasn't sure I was going to make it this time." Yeah. We wait. We are finally handed discharge papers only to have him throw up all his medicine as we left the room and have to stay, take anti-nausea medication, wait for that to take effect, take more steroids, wait. And finally go home to rest and recover.

In these times, I reflect on friends whose children are fighting deadly diseases, some who have lifelong challenges that they will not outgrow. I pray for them. I long to help ease their burdens.

In the first world, it is so easy to believe we are in control. That our destiny is ours. In these times with Ben, I am confronted with the lie of control. I can't save him. I can't save myself. I am at the mercy of God. My friends with ill children know this, they know they cannot fix their kids and their problems. They have stared it in the face and come out with the truth that eludes so many. They are better for it. But tired. And so I pray that they will find rest. And that I will find rest in the reality that I'm not in control. And that is okay.

Control Freaks Anonymous

Recently I took in a Tigers game with my family and friends visiting from Washington. I was taking Kyrie to the bathroom when we encountered women in various stages of drunkenness. She handled it fine; my reaction was to feel sadness, disgust, and also to realize that I am too much of a control freak to ever be a drunk.

Applaud me for natural childbirth. Yes, I'm tough. But no, actually, I hate losing control.

I've repeatedly dismissed having someone clean my house because I couldn't bear to have a stranger come in to my mess and do it their way.

I'm a piece of work.

And Lent is always a time when I get smacked upside-the-head with my issues. If I try to give something up or do something different, I falter. I like my routines. I like my way.

So this year, I've spent the better part of Lent sick or in pain. I've had two bouts of some kind of virus, the most recent being a debilitating sinus infection that requires medication to function. (Oh, I hate medication...did I mention that?) Throw in some bizarre shoulder injury that feels like I threw one too many fastpitch balls; only I did absolutely nothing of the sort. I cannot lift with my left side, I can barely dress, and I shriek in pain if I'm touched. This is not the preferred form of me.

This morning, my husband gently asked if I was any better. I didn't want to answer...No, not really. He left and I faced the morning. I wanted to cry. And then this thought came to me (probably, a God-thing): "At least you don't have to lift your babies today." Thank you God that my children are old enough to not be carried today.

I looked at all that needed to be done. Breakfast. Kyrie made sure Everleigh was fed. Laundry. Ben picked up the piles and put a load in the washer, taking great delight in pushing the buttons and adding the soap. Lunch. I guided but they did the heavy lifting.

I'm not cured. I'm still in control of this operation. I hope I get to be a functioning human being again. But today, perhaps, it was time to remember that I'm not really in control. And I need a little help. Or a lot.

"Can I Bring My Teddy Bear?"

My mom brought this piece of old mail by the other day. She had hung on to it for awhile, rightly saying that it looked like Kyrie and me and that the message was so true.

I've looked at it time and time again. I own those pants; even the feet look like mine. And that could most certainly be my girl. It is a little eerie.

We were all walking somewhere this week, Ben two steps ahead of me with Kyrie whispering some secret to him. And suddenly I got a flash of a tall man walking in front of me, with a shorter woman. And my walk a little slower, no longer hurrying them to get to our destination on time.

These days, I'm slightly embarrassed when we must take a doll or stuffed bunny into church, restaurants, and stores. But how I will miss it when I'm hoping to have a few moments alone with my kid on Christmas vacation and they've brought a friend home and want to visit all the other people they miss.

So we travel a little too much. We save and grab the deal and go. Right now in this brief moment in time they are all out of diapers, nobody needs a stroller and they love being with us and their siblings. Years from now, we will try to find a chance to get a weekend away and someone will have to work, or have a midterm, or have a friend who they absolutely must visit over Thanksgiving this year. And we will wonder why it used to be so easy.

Those times will be wonderful too. We will find ways to be together. But right now, today. These are the moments we will never forget. And we are seizing them. 

Art Galleries and Math Problems

Yesterday I sat with Kyrie repeatedly trying to explain a math concept. "You're not the best teacher," she finally said. "But you aren't terrible." Fortunately, I am not her only teacher and I ran through other prospective teachers: Dad, Grandpa, Grammy, Ben? The last time we were stuck, I had to take a trip and when I came back I was told Grandpa had made a break through. Whew.

There are these days when I just push through and wonder how much more. And then we hit the highlights. The light bulb goes on, the a-ha breaks forth.

Ben started an art gallery in our basement. It was all his idea and his sisters are both willing curators and contributors, proud of their walls. I stand back in amazement. They are all three thinking more about art than I did until college.

I'm not a great teacher. Teaching someone to read this year has been hard. Hard. I do not want to teach your kids to read. I am not going to agonize over math problems with the neighbor kids. I don't have those gifts. I never wanted to read and understand the difference between whole to parts or parts to whole, and I could have lived a full life without knowing what the spiral method involves.

These are my kids. I want the best for them. I've been intensely studying these children since they were born (and before). At least once a year, I consider how my life would be simpler if I put one or two of them into school. So far, I keep coming back to this: The education we can give them here at home (using some outside resources) is still superior to anything we could afford elsewhere. We can maximize their academic gains while still allowing them time to play and be children better than any of the other options available to us.

So there are some tough days. I am not always the best teacher. But when I hear Everleigh say, "Ben, will do you my school?" I have to relax. Education is a shared load around here. And I have some great help.

Oh the Precious Ones

I have been working a lot lately. A lot at least for the expectations I place on myself and my home life.

I think all women are subject to giant invasions of guilt no matter what they do. No matter if they have to work, choose to work, or don't work outside the home.

I know the difference between being with my kids (which I am) and being present with my kids (not so much). And trying to find some kind of balance since we can't be "present" with them ALL the time. Any of us.

The last two weeks I have lost sleep wondering if I was a horrible mother.

Fortunately, during this time my parents have been around. They lived with us for a while after a cross-country move this summer and now they are a couple of miles away and available. One day this week I went in to panic and cancelled school in the morning and told my dad I was behind and a little freaked out. (He knows. I am my father's daughter, though lately, he seems pretty relaxed.) They stepped in, my dad taking Ben to meet Kasey Kahne (NASCAR), and my mom taking the girls out on their bikes and playing with them for most of the day. I am incredibly grateful.

But I have been entirely fearful that I was doing mortal damage to my poor sweet precious amazing children because I am doing this job (and I don't turn off easily).

So tonight we read together and then I broached the subject.

I started off with a heartfelt apology about doing so much work to which Ben replied, "But Mom it is good for us kids to have time to just play Legos and be on the computer."  And Kyrie said she really appreciated that she has been able to ride her bike in the driveway so much lately.

There were so many great comments and they were quite honest. Everleigh and Kyrie both told me they just wanted me to be here and "not go away for more than a day" which cuts because I'm leaving next week for four. But they assured me it would be ok "this time" if they can call me. Just "don't do it a lot."

I know that children need their parents love so much that sometimes they will hold back. But what I saw beyond their comments was a truth about them. They are team players. Each of them has started to pitch in and help in new ways. Ben, especially, has grown so much more helpful around the house. He also has stepped up to the plate to help with his sisters. He is an awesome preschool teacher and he helps Kyrie with her math.

I am still looking forward to going to the park with them without my phone, and to staying for the potluck after their art class, and going on a weekend trip with them next month. And they are too. But tonight was a good reminder of something I already knew. Talk to your kids before you make assumptions. Because they don't seem to think they have been suffering all that much. Whew.

American Girl - And my girls

I despise trendiness. Hate it. Never watched Star Wars, haven't read Harry Potter, won't allow Barbie in my house. And I've tried my best to keep Disney princesses out.

This goes back to a little anti-establishment sentiment from being part of a upper-middleclass youth group where certain brands were all the rage while standing decisively outside of it and realizing that you weren't a more complete person because you had a Swatch watch. I went off to my southern California campus with not one, but two pairs of decisively not "in" purple corduroys from Goodwill. I'm quite certain I was known to some as "the girl with the purple pants."

I thoroughly and completely hope that my kids will all stand independently above the need to acquire things simply to achieve a certain status.

And so now we come to it. American Girl. Thoroughly the rage among my friends and their girls. And thus, I have been utterly resistant. First, the trendiness, as stated above. Second, the costliness. I am a big believer in not giving kids expensive things. Because kids just ruin things. Our furniture stands as a prime example. Third, I am not a big fan of dolls. I had a few in my day. I primarily liked naming them and then changed their clothes a few times and then they sat. So I haven't been big on the idea of American Girl.

But over the course of the last year, a few things have influenced my thinking. First, we have read several American Girl books (beyond the stories, historical supplemental material is available as well) as part of our history curriculum. They are well-written, accurate, respectful, and engaging. Even Ben loves these stories Second, I have come to recognize that quality in ideas and workmanship should be rewarded. Quality and trendy often go together but not always. In this instance, I've come to recognize the benefits of high quality toys for my children, just as I recognize them in footwear and jeans for myself. And my girls love dolls. Particularly Kyrie, who though she is spotty with consistent care (as she should be at 6), will go for hours rocking, feeding, changing, and having "conversations" with her dolls.

Lastly, I want to both encourage that nurturing instinct and put it into a context where she sees a doll not just as a "baby" and herself as its "mother" but she sees the doll as a friend, a person, with a story. These dolls have history; they were "born" into a certain time and place and their lives intersect with great happenings all around them. They represent real people, real girls, who within the framework of their culture, achieved all they could. It is a delicate balance, to uphold motherhood as something real and good and to be desired, while at the same time, teaching our daughters that they are women who can live full and productive lives, with or without bearing a child. American Girl gives them the opportunity to be little girls who dress, talk to, feed and play with dolls, while not having to be the mommy to that doll. They will always have the opportunity to be a friend, to nurture and help another. We want them to develop their skillfulness in that and find the joy in it.

So, while we haven't yet made this big purchase, it is coming. We are preparing. And I have come to terms with being part of the American Girl trend. Sometimes, the culture gets it right.

Bye-Bye Superwoman

This post by my wonderful friend Lindsay triggered many thoughts. I loved what she said and how she said it.

And it made me think of the difference between picking up a cross or putting on a cape. I far prefer capes to crosses and this often results in me attempting the difficult thing that gets noticed vs. the humble thing that I need to do. Or giving an easy answer rather than listening. This season is one for sorting out what is what, but even in attempting to do that, I easily gravitate toward the cape.

There are things in this life we are called to do. We are called to be His hands, His feet, and His tear-ducts at times. But some of us, uh-hum, have trouble sticking to the cross and want to solve the problems of this world.

As a parent, I'm faced with this dilemma time and time again. I want my children to have the best childhood possible and yet, in attempting to bring that about I have to wonder if I'm doing everyone a disservice. There are times when we do fun things, yes. But I can never protect them from all evil, can never be the answer to all their problems, never know exactly what they need in the moment or what they need to be learning to be prepared for in their futures. I can only hope to keep turning them toward the cross, reminding them of their hope, redirecting them outside of themselves and teaching them to love God and not seek my approval. Which sounds far easier than it actually is. Because I want to be SuperMom.

Kyrie told me last week that I was the "Perfect Mom." I think I actually laughed that such a statement would come from her. But I set about correcting her that no one is perfect and I most certainly am NOT. Later, tucking my wise 9-year old into bed, I said, "Well, you certainly know I'm not perfect." And with his wise little eyes that hide nearly everything he's thinking (which scares the caped woman to no end), he responded, "No, but you are a good mom." (Pretty diplomatic really.)

Being a mom is a cross in one sense, not because it is oppressively burdensome, but because when done well it does require the laying down of one's self.  A new mom said to me recently, "I just didn't know you are never off; you never have time that is just yours." And while I'm thankful for more time to myself these days, I sometimes have to stop the important thing I think I'm doing and give 100% to my family.

At the same time, my children are learning that I have other roles, and that I don't have all the answers. They will be better neighbors, friends, spouses, people for knowing that the world doesn't revolve around them and for learning early that I can't solve all of their problems. They have to learn to pray, and to seek God.

And so I try to start my day looking to the One Who Knows and remember not to get irritated when the day doesn't follow the plan. And not get tired and give up in the face of difficulties either. Capes vs. crosses.  One seems light but is utterly impossible. One is heavy but leads to life.

Summer School

We just finished our academic year. The kids did well; Kyrie suddenly decided she wants to be in 1st grade next year and spent more time on her kindergarten work in the last month than the rest of the year combined. I need to finish the year by doing a little record-keeping and re-organizing the school closet/supplies.

The buzz in homeschooling circles is year-round schooling. "We keep going through the summer," one mom told me. "We will take a couple weeks off in August before we start up for fall."

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this. In one sense, a 3-month break is not realistic; they certainly won't be handed that in the vocations they choose. (Unless they go in to teaching.) On the other hand, we aren't teaching them how to take meaningful vacations and rest very well either.

Ultimately, I come down on the side that we teach different things in our summer school. Little bodies, little minds need sunshine, fresh air, and a chance to gain a new perspective. We also need to learn a few life skills that are hard to teach year-round. So, I pulled up the Life Skills chart and printed them out and worked out a summer schedule where Ben and Kyrie will each help me plan and prepare one meal one night a week and also spend 30 min twice a week working one-on-one with me to learn a new chore. Everleigh will get 30 minutes a week.

One thing I feel I'm not doing well is helping them develop a special skill. I'm fine at encouraging academics....But I'm lost with sports, music, etc.... They all have artistic interests but this summer I want to help Ben and Kyrie choose something (i.e. an instrument, sport, etc...) to pursue. Swimming lessons was a must this summer and Ben has already started his class.

We will continue to play learning games, Ben wants to continue Latin so he doesn't forget anything and I will work one day a week with Kyrie on keeping up her reading.

But there is so little time to be a child. These are the days of playing in the sandbox, swinging on swings, going to the park, playing with the neighbors and growing healthy little minds and bodies.

Fall will be upon us soon enough.

Birth Order Matters

Back in high school, I stumbled across a book on birth order by Dr. Kevin Leman. I was absolutely fascinated. I so identified with the descriptors attached to first-born children and this helped me feel better about the ways I was so distinctly different from the rest of my family. I was quite determined for a while to make a good birth order match (which would have made my mate a baby in his family, ideally, or a middle child). That didn't happen (gratefully) and now my firstborn husband and I sometimes struggle to understand the non-firstborns in our families.

Last week, I read Why Birth Order Matters and watched elements of it play out.

On Friday, I heard Ben carefully describing how one was supposed to accomplish a certain task to Kyrie. He laid it out diligently. She promptly started with "You don't have to do it that way."

"Yes, you do, Kyrie." And the tension began to escalate.

I took the opportunity to explain to her that her brother and her parents love rules, love black and white. She looked at me like I was from another planet.

This description could not be more perfect for the three firstborns in our family:

Reliable and conscientious, they tend to be list makers and black-and-white thinkers. They have a keen sense of right and wrong and believe there is a right way to do things. They are natural leaders and achievement-oriented.

My middleborn completely fits this descriptor with the exception of the last phrase. Negotiator, yes. Peace, not so much.

They're the hardest to pin down of all the birth orders, but they'll be the opposite of the child above them in the family. If the firstborn is very conventional, the second will be unconventional. Middle children walk to the beat of a different drummer. They are competitive, loyal and big on friendships. The middle child of the family is often the negotiator who tries to keep the peace.

 And then our baby:

These social, outgoing creatures have never met a stranger. They are uncomplicated, spontaneous, humorous and high on people skills. To them, life's a party. They're the child in the family who is most likely to get away with murder and the least likely to be punished. They often retain their pet name.

This is the child who ran up to her uncle last weekend, jumped in his arms, and declared, "I'm your honey."

I know my kids aren't tied to these things and that there are always exceptions. (Kevin Leman is always mindful to point this out.) But this article gave renewed focus to my parenting and relieved a little of the guilt I have in always seeing the perspective of one of my children better than the others. I have to work a little harder. I particularly am focused on remembering that sometimes Kyrie is right; there is more than one way to skin a cat. And I have to be more diligent to make sure our little charmer grows up learning to pull her weight.

Lastly, Mike and I were both raised by a middle-born and last-born parent. Remembering that helps us understand why we are both more conventional than our parents and sometimes wish they were more interested in "following the rules." Hopefully, because we were raised by parents not of our birth order, we are more flexible and accommodating. Ben, however, may be a lost cause. (Smile.)

Testing the Mettle

This morning I overheard a conversation between my two oldest:

"Ben, they took my blood, just like they did yours."

"Oh, wow! Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, I hated it."

"Me too."

And they bonded over needle sticks.

Kyrie started having abdominal pain Sunday morning. She is never sick and when she told me her stomach hurt I didn't think much of it. But she was crying shortly after noon and doubled up. She watched TV on the couch and then drifted in and out of sleep. I was forcing liquids down her, including an herbal tea with a laxative effect. I thought she might have gas or constipation but by the time I came back from grocery shopping late in the afternoon, I wasn't so sure. She was crying in pain in her sleep and wincing if you so much as brushed her abdomen. She couldn't eat, could barely drink. I used my diagnostic resources and decided it was: 1) a urinary tract infection, 2) an intestinal blockage/constipation or 3) appendicitis. She had a fever but no other symptoms. My dad agreed. But he was a little worried too.

I finally called an on call doctor around 5:30pm. He was really concerned she couldn't walk upright and hadn't moved off the couch. He said to take her to ER. Ugh. I called friends who told us to bring Ben and Evie over.

And to ER we went. They tested her urine. Took blood. Took X-Rays. An ultrasound. Two different doctors came in and tried different things. Could she jump? Yes. Meanwhile, she was feeling a little better and her fever had come down. But still in pain. Mike went and took the other two kids home.

One doctor came in and suggested that she should stay overnight. I asked the purpose. "Just in case, so we can monitor her. We can't rule it is appendicitis but we can't rule it out either." I asked him to give me more reason to stay. He couldn't. "You can take her home and monitor her yourself too."  I asked for a few minutes to think it over and talked to Mike on the phone. I really didn't know. I was tired and she had gone from wanting to stay to wanting to leave. So we finally decided to leave, which the second doctor seemed to come in and affirm as a good decision. They dosed her on antibiotics in case she had an urinary tract infection.

We came home. She wanted to eat but I was still nervous about the appendix. I needn't have worried because she couldn't get down more than a third of a coconut water bar. We collapsed into bed and within forty minutes she was at my bedside in excruciating pain again. I took her to the guest bed so I could monitor her. I was so tired and her fever seemed gone, leaving me confused. But I second-guessed my decision to leave the hospital over and over. Mike came in and I went back to bed. We both had fitful sleeps.

Until 7am when Kyrie came into my room, I was nearly certain we were going back to the hospital for an appendectomy.  I had read all the symptoms over and over and the factor that troubled me was that her pain had never moved to the right. It was dead-center. But everything else fit. And then she went to the bathroom. And I remembered the intestinal blockage I had researched originally. And the ER had never considered. She felt better. She looked better.

I called her pediatrician's office and the nurse was unconvinced it was appendicitis as well. She scheduled a visit for 11am. I found Kyrie on the toilet again. And then 10 minutes later, there she was again.

By the time she saw the doctor I had renewed hope. The number of prayers we had prayed for wisdom, guidance, and yes, healing were huge. The doctor confirmed intestinal blockage with a few more important questions and the statement that "appendicitis does not just come and go." We have seen steady progress throughout the day and her strength has come back.

In this process, I could not fail to see her dad in her. She is tough. She does things for herself. She is a stalwart and undramatic patient. She wept during the blood-draw. She didn't scream or cry out or try to stop it. She thanked me continually during the process. At least four different times, she thanked me for being her mom, for being with her.

It made me explode with gratitude. At times, I was so tested. I didn't catch on as quickly as I should have. I was so weary. And yet, she thanked me.

I have always told her she is a tough girl, a strong girl, made for a special purpose. I reminded her again last night in the ER that she was so very strong.

And she is generous. When she had her xrays, the tech gave her two stickers: "Dora" and "Angry Birds." Evie will like Dora and Ben will like Angry Birds. And she brought home these things for them.

Tonight life has settled back into normal. We are tired but feeling well. But I know my daughter a little better, I know myself a little better. We are a little stronger for walking this road, and a lot more empathetic. And grateful. Ever so grateful.

It's Never Enough. And Yet It Is.

I picked up a big project for my travel work and have been buried in February. I hit a point where I practiced saying "no, so sorry, can't do it" so I wouldn't get so frantic again. But I can't. I don't want to. I want to say "yes."

So I've been examining every little thing I do, what is excess, what is important. And dealing with the guilt. You know the guilt that all mothers have that they aren't doing enough. Just when I think it is just me, some mom will make some statement to me that leads me to realize I'm not alone.

It is the balance. My mom had to do it, we all have to. Some mothers do give a little more, some a little less. But we all have to walk a tightrope between showing our kids that we love them so very much and want to be certain they have what they need from us to grow and learn and love and live and showing them that adult life is full of responsibility, difficult choices and competing interests. Chances are my daughters will have to work more than I do. Life is just headed that way.

Sometimes it creeps over into selfishness. Because face it, there is much more gratification to my work with adults than the monotony of the same, "Let's pick up your toys, time to brush your teeth, have you used the potty" that is the routine of mommyhood, day in, day out.  But all it takes at this stage for me to snap out of it, is to imagine that they are all gone, all grown, and busy with their lives and don't need me anymore. It pulls it into perspective and helps me find the balance between the things I do for others and the things I do for them.

I'm married to an amazing man who both supports and encourages me to do my little job and also deals with me honestly. He isn't quick to criticize but I have always turned to him to see myself more clearly. He most often tells me not to lament what isn't done and focus on what is. I still struggle here but I'm more apt to say, "It was so busy but everyone's fine" instead of pointing out the floor that needs swept and a sink full of dishes.

This is real life. Full, deep, overflowing. But we are on a journey here. My family is learning, growing, loving. We are doing fine.

Potty-Training (Post No. 112)

This is not really a post about potty-training. It is more a post about my failures as a mother and the wonderful healing balm of forgiveness. I'm writing in the hopes that some mother who is suffering from peer dependence or has read too many parenting books or posts about when and how things should happen without really considering their child, will perhaps do better.

Nothing has been harder for me than potty-training my children. Well, it wasn't really the potty-training. Potty-training is representational. It is about the expectations I have for my kids and potty-training is the thing that laid open the worst instincts I have as a parent.

1) I thought I was patient.  It was clear to me that Ben wasn't ready to leave diapers behind at 2; so I patiently waited until he was 2 1/2 and then embarked on two years worth of frustration and read more books, white papers and posts on potty-training than I care to admit. New methods were tried out as I became more and more agitated. I lost my cool a few times and ranted and raved to him about why he couldn't remember, why didn't he care, but I did ok. I quit trying for months at a time, usually starting anew at the 6-month mark.

2) I could not be happy for people who had kids who potty-trained easily. I would hate to admit the rather vindictive feelings that welled up in me when friends matter-of-factly talked about their success potty training in a day. In my worst moments I felt like a total failure and wondered why I had kids. (Clearly, I wasn't good at this.)

3) I somehow overlooked the wisdom of the mothers. Neither of our mothers (Mike's or mine) had an easy time of potty-training despite being excellent teachers. They didn't criticize me; but they did routinely remind me that they had been where I was, with slow kids who weren't ready at the societal norm and especially, Mike's mom, would laugh about it. I should have thought, "Someday I will laugh" and "Eleven children have been potty-trained by these ladies with not one failure." I wanted it done. (See  no. 1.)

4) I forgot that saving face in front of others whether in discipline or my children's accomplishments is not worth sacrificing our relationship and well-being for. My children are not pawns. I get to answer to God for the way I raise them. They deserve better than having to define my self-worth.

I am doing better with number 3. She has shown signs of readiness for a year now. At several points I've started down that road and she will pull back and "change her mind." Kyrie did the same thing and I took it as her personally punishment for my inadequacy. When she regressed, I was angry. And I marched around the house being frustrated for the failures instead of celebrating her successes. Some days Ev wears underwear and does great. She has had an accident here and there; mainly she will ask to wear diapers starting in the afternoon. She's tired. She doesn't want to be vigilant. I get that. But we celebrate success. Each and every time.

Kyrie has been her helpful encourager. This week I saw it all, like a story in contrasts. And I apologized to Kyrie. I told her I hadn't celebrated her successes enough and what a smart little girl she had been to figure it all out while I was focusing on  potty-training her brother. She threw her arms around me and held me. For a Very Long Time.

Happy New Year....(Running Late)

I just checked the calendar. It is the middle of January and I have completely overlooked New Year's resolutions decided to forego New Year's resolutions in favor of looking forward to Lent. Well, kind of.

Let's go back. Fall was a gallop with a near mental breakdown when I took on WAY too much work that resulted in me becoming a monster of a mother. Everything kept getting further and further behind and I focused on survival until the Christmas holidays when I would clean the house thoroughly, unpack the dozenish remaining boxes, and deal with all of the clutter that I haven't had time for. HA!

My mom arrived on December 16, my dad came in on the 19th and my brother arrived on the 23rd. I was so wound up that I spent the first week worrying about how I was going to keep everyone fed and still get my stuff done. And then I collapsed. And just rested.

We were all so tired. My family stayed through the New Year and Mike had 7 days off (PLUS weekends) and we played games, slept in, watched football and movies, made meals, and took a daytrip up to Port Austin in the snow. We rested.

Nothing was organized, the house still has giant dust bunnies and the kids rooms are a shambles. Things are out of place and there is so much clutter that I just came across a late bill and had to pay an extra $15 fee. But we rested.

And in the time when my brain finally quit acting like it had been short-circuited and the two wires about to burst quit sizzling, I realized (AGAIN), that I can't do it all. I am just in this moment writing my New Year's resolutions:

1) GET HELP. (Libby starts next week to give me 3-6 hours of free time in which to exercise, make work calls, or clean house without guilt while she listens to my children and makes sure that they aren't destroying themselves or others). Pray Libby likes us and we like her. Really. Pray.

2) Keep Creative. I am a nicer person when I have an afternoon to scrapbook or make or write notes every once in awhile. Blogging is a creative outlet for me because sadly until I sit down to write, I don't have a clue as to what is happening in my head. My dirty house will have to wait for 4 hours one Saturday a month and a few short moments during the week when I grab a few minutes for myself.

3) Train others to help. Teaching children household tasks takes more time than doing them and right now I'm so behind I fall into the "Here kids, please watch this DVD and leave me alone so I can clean for 30 minutes." But lest someday I hear that my son went off to college and didn't know how to run a washer, or that my daughter has no idea how to peel a potato, I need to take a few minutes and train little helpers so that someday they will know how to help themselves.

And that's it. I'm not going to get skinny anytime soon. I am not going to quit eating dessert. (Hmm...possibly related?) I am not going to get all my photos organized and printed and I'm not going to finally take time to figure out how my digital camera works. But Lent's around the corner...So maybe then? We'll see.

Blessed

I was riding home on an airplane last Friday night, quietly reading my magazine, when Ben touched my shoulder and then my hand. They were little pats, something he did several times while we were away on our two-day trip to Washington D.C. together.

I smiled and touched his hand back. Then he took his little hand and twined his fingers through mine and went on talking with his dad. My eyes started brimming right then.

I am so blessed to be this boy's mom.  When I'm having a hard day, he's so quick to sympathize with "I'm so sorry Mom." He is quick to do his chores, an avid learner, loves to have me read to him. He's brutally honest too: "Well, Dad is really a more fun parent. But I love you anyway."

Looking at that little hand in mine, reading a magazine with advice to daughter-in-laws to always give their mom-in-law time alone with her son when visiting, I couldn't help but realize that this little man is on his way to being an adult. He already analyzes things so thoughtfully. He is coming to terms with the outside world, as I realized as he watched the hotel lobby television news about the Connecticut children going back for their first day at a new school after so many of their teachers and classmates had been killed. He was serious, focused as we talked about how scary it would be for them and their families. His knowledge is already surpassing mine in some areas (e.g. Latin).

That little hand will one day be a large hand,  and I will release him in many ways, so many times. I cannot know what the future holds, but I'm hopeful for him, and so honored to be his mom. 

Longing

"To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness."
-Bertrand Russell

A friend and I were talking today about this generation of kids who have been given everything they want and then some. We were both remembering Lori Gottlieb's insightful article How to Land Your Kid in Therapy and some kids we know who are well on their path to the therapist's couch. I was lamenting my kids and all their "stuff" and how to help them become contented well-adjusted adults when everything in our culture seems to fight against us.

It is a deep concern of mine. And probably the thing I like least about Christmas: more stuff. I try to always temper this feeling with the remembrance that I don't like clutter and shopping for me is very difficult. I crave experiences...dinners out, trips, tickets. My kids, like...(sigh), stuff.

All month I've been hearing a running monologue from one child about what she wants for Christmas. I lost it last week and said, "One thing. What is one thing you want? Because I am not getting you more than one thing."

I was in the store this week with Kyrie who exclaimed that there was an American Girl doll just sitting there. I looked and realized it was sitting in a Toys for Tots bin. And I was so moved. I tried to explain that someone had given it so a little girl could have a truly wonderful Christmas who might not have received any other gift at all. I loved that someone gave a generous wonderful gift (sacrificial, maybe?).

I don't think I always strike the right balance on this one. I know things will not make my children happy; Walmart is not going to have the answer to their deepest longings. I want them to know that. Without being a killjoy.

I have to remind myself of the same lessons.

God was lavish when He sent His son. It was a gift we receive every day of our life. The Advent season is a chance, just like Lent to think about our lives without that gift. What would that look like? What would the world be without Christmas? Without an incarnational God who gets what we go through and yet has the power to rescue us from eternal destruction? Advent is a chance for me to think about that gift over and over again. To feel again the longing.

And with the longing comes the joy of the gift.

Goodbye Passy

I'm breaking from my Advent posts to attempt to get some much-needed rest before a busy day.

Today Evie was feeling very grown up and threw away her last passy and said she wanted to wear panties. Since all of my attempts at potty-training have ended before 9am with her begging "Please Mommy, I want a diaper" I felt I had to seize the day. With two puddles before lunch time, her stamina was gone and she asked for the diaper.

I was terrified at how nap time would go. It didn't. She didn't cry for her passy. She just wouldn't sleep. Nor would she go to sleep at the earlier bedtime. Mike finally was able to get her to sleep by laying down with her at 9pm. But she is passy-free.