The Art of Parenthood

Today I was blowing bubbles with my two-year-old daughter. She was catching the shiny orbs, yelling "Pop, pop, pop. Mama I pop them!" Then she exclaimed, "I'm happy!" I asked, "Do bubbles make you happy?" "No," she said, "you make me happy." That's medicine for a mother's heart.

Yesterday we were wandering around in the local Salvation Army Thrift Shop when I ran across a little plaque with a quote by Wilferd A. Peterson. I bought it for 5o cents to hang in my newly painted kitchen. I want to share it because it's so good...a reminder I need everyday:

In practicing the art of parenthood an ounce of example is worth a ton of preachment. When we set an example of honesty our children will be honest.When we encircle them with love they will be loving. When we practice tolerance they will be tolerant. When we meet life with laughter, they will develop a sense of humor. Our children are watching us live, and what we ARE shouts louder than anything we can say.

love, love, love...

Being a Parent

Being a parent is 1/3 wondering how you will ever make it through this, 1/3 sighing with relief that you handled that one with grace, and 1/3 sitting on the edge of your bed, baffled at how your 8-year-old can sometimes be more wise and mature than you.

Neglected jobs and tea parties

Today is apparently a day for neglected jobs: cleaning trash cans, scrubbing the floor under large appliances, decluttering the top of my dryer.

The advent of Halloween and sticky gunk stuck to the sides and bottom of the trash cans is a sign that it is time. I only use a bag in the kitchen trash (the one all stickies are supposed to be tossed in), trying to be kind to our landfills. (or in attempt to off set the guilt of all the disposable diapers we've sent there over the past 91/2 years.) In spite of the yucky factor, it's a surprisingly rewarding task,creating an entirely new appreciation for the void and sparkling trash receptacles.

In the past, it's been customary to pull the big appliances out (washer, dryer, fridge, stove) in the last few weeks of my pregnancies. The hidden floors probably deserved to be scrubbed more often, but at least I was consistent. Since the whole nesting thing is a past chapter, I'm thinking a new routine will need to be established. I haven't figured that out yet, but the trash cans just put me in the mood, so maybe chewed and discarded gum is the trigger. At any rate, again, quite a rewarding job...can't see it, but you just know it's clean. That's nice.

The laundry room in our house is also the downstairs bathroom, and where I store cleaning supplies. The dryer has become one of the many collection spots. It collects spare change, combs and brushes, a variety of hair accessories, baseballs, empty detergent bottles awaiting rinse and recycle, nail clippers, plastic recorders, buttons and dust, among other items. The plan is to declutter this area and wipe it clean, but I've been side-tracked by a lovely tea-party hosted by my Sarah.

The dryer can wait...

An Ode to Laundry and other things I didn't figure in...

I dreamed about guitars and walks in the woods...and helping people. I dreamed about traveling to India or writing music and poetry. These were my grown-up dreams in college.

I loved college. I loved the soulful, beautiful people I met there. I loved the freedom of finding my passion in life. I loved my writing classes and my mentors. I loved being alone.

I did laundry in college...at the laundromat. Sometimes I used the campus laundromat. It was always full of fantastic people. Funny people, studying people, people folding jeans. I liked to sit on my dryer and just be with them all. Sometimes we'd go to an off-campus laundromat, toss our clothes in and run quick to the Baskin-Robbins next door for ice-cream.

I never dreamed about my future laundry. Laundry was not as dreamy as music and poetry...and certainly didn't have the altruistic pull of digging wells in third-world countries and feeding wide-eyed hungry children. My dreams were much more magnanimous than washing clothes.

A couple of years into college, my friends started pairing up. Some were getting engaged, some were getting married. I was reading Amy Carmichael books, contemplating a single life traveling to foreign countries to save the world, and writing. Do missionaries do laundry? A picture of humanitarian aid workers washing socks never entered my imagination...just dirt and sweat and pony-tails.

Then something entirely unsuspected happened. I fell crazy in love. Total misjudgment, I know. You just can't plan these things. One minute you're building your castle in the sky, next minute you're gazing into the blue eyes of your destiny. And you start dreaming together.

Ten years and four little blue-eyes later, dirt and sweat and pony tails are my reality. So is sock-washing. My dreams never really faded, they just evolved. In truth, they came in to focus. Writing and walking in the woods, seeing people loved and transformed...these are still at the core of my aspirations. Only now, I'm dressing a few of them in Halloween costumes and trying to remember to pre-treat the chocolate smudges before setting the wash cycle.

Not to say that there's never a tug-of-war between my dreams and the laundry, I feel it nearly everyday. I've just learned to love the challenge, to let it teach me. If the laundry is smothering my heart, I feel discontent trying to creep in. Patience with my children grows thin. Then I try to do exactly what I want my children to learn...shake my head, take a deep breath and have grace...on my growing self.

I'd choose the laundry again.

Thankful Thursday: Growing Children

I'm not the only one growing up. Sarah and I visited one of the local elementary schools today for the kindergarten round-up. As we walked up to the school doors she said to me very seriously, "I'm a little nervous." Sarah won't be five until October, so I'm a little nervous, too...not that she won't do well...I'm confident that she's ready. It's just me...I'm not so sure that I'm ready to see her all growing up like that on me. We walked around the gym visiting each table, and I watched her interact with the teachers, gaining more and more confidence along the way. I could tell it was sinking in with her just like it was with me...however I feel about it, she's growing up.

Truthfully, I couldn't be more pleased. After all, that's the game plan. Couple has baby, holds and loves baby, baby grows up....shortened version, of course. I have been thinking about this, anyway. My children do not belong to me. They come through me, not from me. Yes, I am their mother, but before I recognize them as my children, I recognize them as radiant souls...on a journey of their own...with much wisdom to offer me, as well. None of us are perfected, but we have the honor of traveling together. I have the privilege of being their mother...of loving them in a way I love no others...of growing through the unique challenges only a mother can understand.

I'm thankful to be able to see my children grow, but also thankful to share their shaping with other beautiful, caring people whom I have come to trust and appreciate not only as teachers, but as friends.

Those Beautiful Curly Blonde Locks...

Yesterday morning I walked into the bathroom upstairs and noticed a few locks of beautiful curly blonde hair. For a moment I was puzzled, then slowly panic set in as I realized what little head the tufts had fallen from. In a daze, I found myself in the girls room surrounded by more angel hair. Sarah is my three-year-old. Everywhere we go people ooh and ahh over her sweet blonde curls. Admittedly, I have a hard time taking my eyes off those darling ringlets, myself.

I pulled her into my arms from a sound sleep and saw a first glimpse of the damage done. Yes, it was true, she had cut her hair quietly before going to sleep, not knowing the repercussions of her actions. In tears, I said, "Sarah, what did you do to your beautiful curls?" Still half asleep, her face crinkled up and tears swelled. Of course, I went through the stages of bewildered, sad, then angry....lastly humbled. Hair grows back, but heart's are easily broken...remorse was deep and real for her and for me.

Sarah now sports a darling vintage 80's hairstlye perfect for warm summer weather. It will take a while to get used to and I've vowed to put her in summer dresses and girly colors all summer while her hair grows out, but I have to admit...it suits her personality.
This is Sarah with her best friend, Bella...doesn't she look like she just stepped out of an 80's McCall's magazine?

Thankful Thursday: Senses

Have ever been so sick that you felt like your senses were too overwhelmed with physical discomfort to be aware of spirit? That is what my week has been like. Trying to care for my sick little ones, nurture myself, keep up with household responsibilities and writing has been a challenge. My house has suffered and my patience has been short.

Last night my five-year-old layed in her bed crying...it's been a tough week for her too. I sat down, exhausted and let my tired heart open to my little girl. Every once in a while I am utterly amazed at how much I need my kids. This gentle-hearted litte soul held me in her hand as I sat on the end of her bed and assured her of the wonderful journey that we are taking together as she grows up...5 years, 10, 15, 20...I sat and told her stories that I know my children have heard may times, about when I was a little girl and how I couldn't imagine what my life would be like when I grew up. Now I look at my husband and children and I feel so amazed and blessed...Wow, who knew these little people would grace my life?

This morning I woke up early feeling much better, ready to find a quiet place and connect with
my Creator...body no longer overwhelming soul. Deep breath...yes I feel it...spirit moving in, around, through me, holding us all together. Thank God for sweet quiet moments filled with pure awareness of His ever-present nearness. May those moments grow so close together that they mesh into every activity of my life--sensing the sacred in the common.

Thankful Thursday: Baking Soda...and grace.

I'm really into baking soda...it has so many cool uses. I bake with it, clean with it, bath my girls in it, put it in the laundry...so I often have a box of it sitting in various places around the house. In fact, one has a permanent home in the bathroom upstairs. I was a little surprised today to find that box empty...this is not a little box...this is the big box variety. Not only was the box empty, but the bathroom floor was not. I'll let you picture it. Little white footprints led from the bathroom into the girls bedroom....niiiice. I wasn't happy, but the footprints were pretty cute.
After sending the three-year-old culprit to sit on her bed to wait for me, I cleaned up the mess and gave myself some time to figure out how I was going to handle this. When I walked into her room and started the questions she answered in her sweet 3-year-old dialect, "I wanted to be a big girl but I had an accident and I spilled it." That was the first real discipline "talk" she and I have had together. I did not talk to her, I talked with her. I mean, my little one really has become a big girl, she's not a baby anymore. This post really isn't about baking soda (although I still think it's cool stuff), it's about grace and forgiveness and loving a little girl.

I'm thankful that I've learned the biggest lesson of grace...that I can be graceful with myself. I'm not perfect, but I'm growing. I make lots of mistakes, but grace says "Don't wallow...learn!" I don't always handle stressful situations well with my children, but today I did and my daughter experienced forgiveness in the true sense....and her grieving three-year-old heart understood.

This is a spiritual lesson...one that's meant to stop and consider the mother-heart of God. This is not about punishment, it's about learning. That's what it's all about. Hmmmn. And I'm really thankful for that.

A few words on parenting...and Spirit

When I was a new parent with my first child I did what many new parents do. I read parenting books until my head was spinnining and I felt a little bit more confused than when I started out. Parenting philosophies are so widely varied that you could easily be left feeling a little dizzy trying to find a good balance for your family. Three children later, I'm am convinced that the best advise any parent could ever embrace is probably what most would consider the least practical. No, it's not about spanking or chore charts. It's not about schooling or routines. It has nothing to do with discipline or time-outs for your children. It has everything to do with discipline and time-out for you! I've read a lot of books with great ideas for raising good and wise children who love God. I could probably give a little helpful advise of my own from personal experience, though I am by no means a greatly seasoned parent. My oldest is only seven and we are still in the baby years with number four. In spite of my youth (okay, past thirty is still youth!), I am sure that I have found the best parenting advise you will ever come across....if you are willing to dive in. There once was a time that I felt, as a busy mother of young children, that I simply did not have the time or energy to devote to this critical practice. Sometimes I felt so sapped physically and emotionally from the everyday mother-world that I simply had no passion left for this highest of all disciplines. But still, in my heart, I knew the answer was to cultivate a deep spiritual life, to root myself in prayer. Sounds too simple, doesn't it? I'm not saying that all those books out there with practical parenting tips are useless. I've found some great advise in some of the books I've read. What I am saying is that the most important thing for us and our children is that we are immersed in God's presence, that we are growing in wisdom and grace as we seek to know Him.

Honor and Wisdom

A nice visit over a few hot cups of tea with good friends last night left me refreshed and encouraged: My thoughts turned towards noble ideals and the priviledge of leading our little ones along the path of wisdom and instilling in them a love for truth. There are three words that seem to define our persuit as a family: truth, wisdom and honor.
I am always speaking to my children of my desire to see them grow in wisdom. Our simple definition of wisdom: knowing what is right and doing what is right. Giving children the desire to grow in wisdom empowers them to make good and thoughtful choices.

"Who among you is wise and understanding?

Let him show by his good behavior his deeds

in the gentleness of wisdom...

The wisdom from above is first pure,

then peacable, gentle, reasonable,

full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy.

And the seed whose fruit is righteousness is sown in peace

by those who make peace."

James 3:13,17-18

As a mother, it is one of my highest priorities is to teach my children the virtue of honoring one another. The word honor encapsules the ideas of respecting, esteeming, cherishing, prizing one another. This is the critical foundation of family life. Children need to know that God has given them their parents to care for, protect and teach them and given them siblings to love, protect, play with, learn with, work with.

These are just a few thoughts that I've been dwelling on. Now I need to build a block fortress with my daughter who is diligently repeating, "It's taking you a long time. Please. Por favor. Please. Por favor." (thank you, Dora for the Spanish lessons.)

Wynken, Blynken and Nod

A few years ago, while browsing through records at a local resale shop, I came across an old LP that I remember spending many hours listening to as a child. I snatched it up in hopes that someday I would be able to share the story with my own kids. This weekend my precious in-laws gave us a stereo with a turn-table! So yesterday the kids and I must have listened to Wynken, Blynken and Nod at least three times through, among a few other oldies I brought out. It was so fun introducing them to the old vinyl records. My kids love hearing stories about when I was small and I love giving them little glimpses of my childhood. Hearing those nostalgic crackles in the background brought back sweet memories of sitting up on the huge old woodgrain stereo in our dining room listening to my favorite records. (Bullfrogs and Butterflies and Down By the Creek Bank were some others that got a lot of play time.) Our stereo was completely equipped with turn-table, eight-track and radio. Oh yea, those were the days. Our new stereo is about one-fourth the size of that old dinosaur and it offers CD, dual-tape deck, radio and turn-table....But you can't sit on it. They just don't make them like they used to.

Just a quick thought for today: I have found that sharing stories from my childhood always makes a connection with my kids. Try it! It's nice for them to know you were really a kid...and that you remember. (: