Life can be so ironic at any given time. It says that because circumstances dictate a situation, they should also dictate how you feel about it and how you respond. Life says, "You're hungry," so you go eat a big bag of potato chips. The bag is now empty, so you should be full, right? But you're not. If anything, you're hungrier than ever. Life says, You've got a million dollars in the bank so you should be happy," but you buy everything you can imagine and you're still left empty. Life says, "It's summer vacation," so you should relax, sit back, and be carefree.
Only for me, summer vacation has been all but that. It's about taking children to the park and letting them run free and make new friends; it's about making sure they are safe around whoever else is hanging out at the park. It's about keeping my eye on children that are going in four different directions at any given time. Summer vacation is about swimming and splashing in the water! It's about making sure everyone keeps on their floaties and that nobody jumps in the deep end. It's about staying up late and sleeping in! It's a time of vigilance, where I have to stay on my toes every waking moment, and there are a lot of them. It's about struggling to keep my eyes open when everyone has their own sleeping schedule and I can't fall asleep because at least one person is awake for all but 2 hours of the day.
I think that anyone with children can testify to the fact that, for a parent, summer vacation is one of life's little ironies in that we work harder then than at any other time of the year. And the longer it continues, the more interesting our lives become because the children start to get restless. Why is that? Summer is a time of wild abandonment...shouldn't they be content? But after a while, summer vacation stops being fun, even for the kids. Why is that?
The children have all this free time to roam, so why are they discontent? It's because total absence of organization becomes unsettling. They miss the consistency of school. Some of them actually, gasp, they miss the learning! They miss the scheduled routine. They miss knowing that they have to be in the class at exactly 7:45 or they will receive a tardy mark. They wouldn't admit it, and I don't even think they realize the crux of the matter lies in the knowledge that every single little action has a consequence.
Children get frightened when there are no guidelines, because they instinctively know deep inside that it is these rules that keep them safe. Though they may buck and fuss and moan about the strict regime at times, they understand subconsciously that without rules and regulations, all would be chaotic. In school there is little room for tolerance or leniency when it comes to the black and white rules of conduct. Are you disrespectful? Warning, principal's office, suspension. Too talkative? Parent-teacher conference. Go too long without paying your lunch tab? No soup for you! Didn't do yourwork? Don't pass the class.
And, I confess, I like my routine when the kids are in school. I never thought I would say that. Growing up I was going to be the do all homeschooling mommy who also kept the perfect house and entertained guests night and day. I certainly had all the skills. I enjoy teaching, I love children, and I am very much a people person. That's all I need, right? WRONG. Notice I mentioned nothing about my great organizational housekeeping skills. That's because they don't come naturally at all, not one iota. But I discovered something last year, when Nyssa and Nathaniel started the public school system. I suddenly had time to start learning how to get this house cleaned up.
I'm not all there by a long shot, and I don't have all the rules down pat yet, but I am learning. I'm in the school of life, and I am enjoying it. When the house is messy and cluttered, it's chaotic and I can't focus well. Things get skewed, and it's easier to wade deeper and deeper, and it gets harder to clean. I get depressed because I'm in this hole that I've helped dig myself into and I can't get out because the rules that help me get it straightened up just flew out the window when that last bell rang in May. In fact, as much as I hate to say it, the house stays sub par and I can't get a foot hold to climb out because I'm constantly cleaning up the last mess that would not have happened if I DID have this place in ship shape condition. I'm ready to climb out now, and I need the schedule. I need the consistency. I need to learn the rules and to follow them. Summer vacation is over. Thank God!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Bubbles and Thunderstorms
Life can get so monotonous. I get stuck in a routine that's comfortable, day in and day out. I monitor the kids, play with them, feed them, clean up after them, clean up after my husband and myself. I pull the children out of mischief and I feel like I'm spinning, spinning, spinning my wheels. Yesterday I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes. Today I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes. Always I have to know where the children are because in the middle of my routine, daily, without fail, something is going to happen to switch it up a little.
Today I felt a storm brewing. I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes, and the kids were stir crazy. They didn't want to play with their toys; they didn't want to go outside; they didn't want to go to the park; they didn't want to clean their rooms - that was no surprise; they didn't want to watch a video. So they started jumping on the couch and pulling the cushions off. I felt something brewing and knew that if I wasn't careful, it was going to be a full-fledged thunderstorm.
I remembered some bubbles I had purchased from the end of the summer clearance aisle at Wal Mart and set about finding them. The kids were esthatic! They started jumping, swatting at bubbles, and blowing them at each other. They spilled a container and Nyssa vigorously cleaned it up and begged for more. There we played, in the family room, with the bubbles, wildly and abandoned, for well over an hour. When all the bubbles had been popped, and every last drop of the solution had been used, a stillness came. Everyone was blushed with the excitement, yet calm and content. Then the kids went off their merry little way, enjoying the rest of the day.
I know I've mentioned this before, but I find such exhilaration in a thunderstorm, especially when it comes in the middle of the day. The skies are all blue, the sun is shining, though you may see a few clouds. Then, the wind begins to pick up. The scent of the air begins to change, too.
I don't know how many people can sense it. Sometimes I get strange glances from others when I say, "Does it smell like rain to you?" and they shake their head no, raise the eyebrows, and almost physically back away slowly, as if they're expecting to see men in little white coats come toward me. But if anyone has experienced it, I know they understand, because there comes a knowing look in their eye as they take in a deep breath and nod their head. The very air, that which brings the essence of life, oxygen, shifts, and I feel it to my very core. The gasses becomes purer, somehow, sweeter.
It's strange, because it's not like I thought it smelled bad before, but when rain is coming, I suddenly realize there's a cleansing coming, a refreshing, a renewal, and it excites me. It's hope. That's what comes first for me, the sweet sensation of clean air.
Then the wind picks up just a little, gathering strength, pulling in the clouds. And with their entrance, the sky darkens and the sun hides from view. At that point, the wind seems to have become fearless, driving leaves from the trees, and tossing the branches to and fro. It blows a cool breeze that penetrate my skin, reaching my bones.
The lightning bolts and the thunder claps, driving me to an ethereal delight. Over and over again and the windows of heaven are opened. I feel the first drop and with it, a tingling sensation as the floodgates open and tell me the skies will not be denied their power. The earth, too, seems to dance with joy, receiving the the much needed drenching and soaking in all it can before the water is washed away.
Then all is gone but the beating of the raindrops on the trees, the grass, the ground, touching whatever it can reach, quenching the thirst of all of creation in its wake in the rain's desire to cleanse and to make all things new so that the circle of life can go on, not begrudgingly, but revitalized in the heartbeat of its mission.
And finally, there is silence.
I hate to miss a thunderstorm. I often stop what I am doing when one comes up. I choose to embrace it, to experience as much of it as I can. I love to go outside and let the rain wash over my face, with my arms extended, letting the drops penetrate my pores. I love every aspect of it. And when it is over, I am changed...I don't know how and I don't know how to explain it, but I am content, and I feel it.
It's that blessed stillness. Then the pulse begins again slowly, steadily, as the clouds disappear as quickly as they came. The skies clear and the sun shines on the new earth. The aroma of purity lingers in my nostrils as I cast my eyes on all that is around me, then close them slowly, and just breathe.
Earlier this afternoon, as I lingered alone in the stillness of the aftermath of the bubbles, I realized the day could have been different if I had made one very big mistake. I realized that if I had ignored their frustrations and allowed their boredom to reign, then we would have all gotten restless and ill-tempered. I chose instead to embrace their tension, to give them an outlet in which they could explode and expend their energy. And that had made all the difference, just one little choice to get out the bubbles.
I've got a little secret to tell you. The kids weren't the only ones who enjoyed the bubbles. I rejoiced in their excitement and delighted in their faces as they danced around them, much as I like to do in the middle of a storm. When they were spent, and went upstairs to play, I just sat there, seeing the change. Then I smiled. I closed my eyes and breathed.
Today I felt a storm brewing. I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes, and the kids were stir crazy. They didn't want to play with their toys; they didn't want to go outside; they didn't want to go to the park; they didn't want to clean their rooms - that was no surprise; they didn't want to watch a video. So they started jumping on the couch and pulling the cushions off. I felt something brewing and knew that if I wasn't careful, it was going to be a full-fledged thunderstorm.
I remembered some bubbles I had purchased from the end of the summer clearance aisle at Wal Mart and set about finding them. The kids were esthatic! They started jumping, swatting at bubbles, and blowing them at each other. They spilled a container and Nyssa vigorously cleaned it up and begged for more. There we played, in the family room, with the bubbles, wildly and abandoned, for well over an hour. When all the bubbles had been popped, and every last drop of the solution had been used, a stillness came. Everyone was blushed with the excitement, yet calm and content. Then the kids went off their merry little way, enjoying the rest of the day.
I know I've mentioned this before, but I find such exhilaration in a thunderstorm, especially when it comes in the middle of the day. The skies are all blue, the sun is shining, though you may see a few clouds. Then, the wind begins to pick up. The scent of the air begins to change, too.
I don't know how many people can sense it. Sometimes I get strange glances from others when I say, "Does it smell like rain to you?" and they shake their head no, raise the eyebrows, and almost physically back away slowly, as if they're expecting to see men in little white coats come toward me. But if anyone has experienced it, I know they understand, because there comes a knowing look in their eye as they take in a deep breath and nod their head. The very air, that which brings the essence of life, oxygen, shifts, and I feel it to my very core. The gasses becomes purer, somehow, sweeter.
It's strange, because it's not like I thought it smelled bad before, but when rain is coming, I suddenly realize there's a cleansing coming, a refreshing, a renewal, and it excites me. It's hope. That's what comes first for me, the sweet sensation of clean air.
Then the wind picks up just a little, gathering strength, pulling in the clouds. And with their entrance, the sky darkens and the sun hides from view. At that point, the wind seems to have become fearless, driving leaves from the trees, and tossing the branches to and fro. It blows a cool breeze that penetrate my skin, reaching my bones.
The lightning bolts and the thunder claps, driving me to an ethereal delight. Over and over again and the windows of heaven are opened. I feel the first drop and with it, a tingling sensation as the floodgates open and tell me the skies will not be denied their power. The earth, too, seems to dance with joy, receiving the the much needed drenching and soaking in all it can before the water is washed away.
Then all is gone but the beating of the raindrops on the trees, the grass, the ground, touching whatever it can reach, quenching the thirst of all of creation in its wake in the rain's desire to cleanse and to make all things new so that the circle of life can go on, not begrudgingly, but revitalized in the heartbeat of its mission.
And finally, there is silence.
I hate to miss a thunderstorm. I often stop what I am doing when one comes up. I choose to embrace it, to experience as much of it as I can. I love to go outside and let the rain wash over my face, with my arms extended, letting the drops penetrate my pores. I love every aspect of it. And when it is over, I am changed...I don't know how and I don't know how to explain it, but I am content, and I feel it.
It's that blessed stillness. Then the pulse begins again slowly, steadily, as the clouds disappear as quickly as they came. The skies clear and the sun shines on the new earth. The aroma of purity lingers in my nostrils as I cast my eyes on all that is around me, then close them slowly, and just breathe.
Earlier this afternoon, as I lingered alone in the stillness of the aftermath of the bubbles, I realized the day could have been different if I had made one very big mistake. I realized that if I had ignored their frustrations and allowed their boredom to reign, then we would have all gotten restless and ill-tempered. I chose instead to embrace their tension, to give them an outlet in which they could explode and expend their energy. And that had made all the difference, just one little choice to get out the bubbles.
I've got a little secret to tell you. The kids weren't the only ones who enjoyed the bubbles. I rejoiced in their excitement and delighted in their faces as they danced around them, much as I like to do in the middle of a storm. When they were spent, and went upstairs to play, I just sat there, seeing the change. Then I smiled. I closed my eyes and breathed.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Blue Skies
I love looking at the sky, day or night. I see so much beauty there! At night, I trace pictures with the stars and the moon. During the day, I see the prettiest shade of blue, sometimes accented with clouds that take shape with my imagination, sometimes clear with only the golden sun, and at other times, darkening to a gray as a storm approaches.
Tuesday was a day where the sun shone brightly, bringing warmth to the earth, and life to the plants. Tuesday was a day for the children to play outside, where they could run in the back yard, free to yell and shout, and to move like the wind. Tuesday was hot! Tuesday, I had a baby who was fussy because she was teething and wanted to be held. Tuesday I could attend to her while the older ones whooped and hollered. Tuesday I had to put Gabriela down for a nap like always.
The children took advantage of this short term of absence by turning on the water hose and spraying one another wildly. They had a blast and by time I got outside, they were soaking wet, cooled off from the water, and laughing joyously. I turned off the hose and let them play outside a while longer, giving the sun a chance to dry them off as they enjoyed the rays of life it brought to their little bodies. After a while, I got them each a towel, dried them off, and sent them to their rooms to change clothes. They then proceeded to play very nicely together and even let me join in the fun as we put Nathaniel's Transformers back together.
Time flew and I made them boiled eggs, vegetables, milk, and buttered bread for lunch. I got them seated and proceeded to go upstairs to get Gabriela who had awakened from her nap. She had wet through her clothes, so I changed her diaper, changed her clothes, and changed the crib sheets before joining the children. They were, after all, eating lunch.
They were not eating lunch. They were experimenting with the powdered food coloring that had been on the top shelf of the upper cabinets inside a "hard to open" box. They had painted their eggs the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen. They wore the brightest shade of blue on their mouths and their hands. They had feathered the powdered on their arms and legs. They had...oh my, they looked like Smurfs and Smurfette. They had painted the table and had spilled the blue food coloring on the kitchen floor. They had tracked it all around the room. How could they have done all this in five minutes?! They had developed the ability to stop time like Hiro in Heroes. Sigh.
It was bath time. At least this time, they had left Gabriela out of it. Of course, she was with me, so they didn't have the opportunity to make her the second Smurfette. They rubbed and scrubbed and it actually came off much easier than I had anticipated.
I used my trusty Clorox wipes and cleaned off the table and the chairs; I mopped the kitchen floor with my Swiffer; I put all the affected dishes in the dishwasher, put the soap in it, and turned it on. I put their clothes in the washer. Amazingly enough, by time my dear beloved Richard got home, there were only traces of the afternoon's antics. Their bodies were nicely scrubbed clean, and they all wore clean clothes; there were no traces of Smurfdom on them, and only small stains on the linoleum that were easily cleaned off later with the Magic Eraser (I've come to depend mightily on that product over the last few years).
Some days this week have started out sunny, with clear skies, only to darken suddenly. Rain has come down in sheets only to stop a few minutes later. After an hour, the sun has been so effective, there has been no evidence the storm was even there, except that the plants have all been watered and the dirt and grime has been washed away.
Isn't that just like life? Everything is going beautifully and then a storm hits. Everything we touch seems to be turned disastrous and looks insurmountably stained. We feel it and see it surrounding us and are only aware of the bleakness. And the darkness comes. But then, in the middle of all the gray clouds, when we're not watching, things change. It suddenly doesn't look so bad. This gigantic problem? Hardly noticeable. It's like a cleansing stream washes it all away and there is a new beginning. Same person, different clothes. Different perspective. The sun is shining, the plants are growing, and the skies are blue once again.
Tuesday was a day where the sun shone brightly, bringing warmth to the earth, and life to the plants. Tuesday was a day for the children to play outside, where they could run in the back yard, free to yell and shout, and to move like the wind. Tuesday was hot! Tuesday, I had a baby who was fussy because she was teething and wanted to be held. Tuesday I could attend to her while the older ones whooped and hollered. Tuesday I had to put Gabriela down for a nap like always.
The children took advantage of this short term of absence by turning on the water hose and spraying one another wildly. They had a blast and by time I got outside, they were soaking wet, cooled off from the water, and laughing joyously. I turned off the hose and let them play outside a while longer, giving the sun a chance to dry them off as they enjoyed the rays of life it brought to their little bodies. After a while, I got them each a towel, dried them off, and sent them to their rooms to change clothes. They then proceeded to play very nicely together and even let me join in the fun as we put Nathaniel's Transformers back together.
Time flew and I made them boiled eggs, vegetables, milk, and buttered bread for lunch. I got them seated and proceeded to go upstairs to get Gabriela who had awakened from her nap. She had wet through her clothes, so I changed her diaper, changed her clothes, and changed the crib sheets before joining the children. They were, after all, eating lunch.
They were not eating lunch. They were experimenting with the powdered food coloring that had been on the top shelf of the upper cabinets inside a "hard to open" box. They had painted their eggs the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen. They wore the brightest shade of blue on their mouths and their hands. They had feathered the powdered on their arms and legs. They had...oh my, they looked like Smurfs and Smurfette. They had painted the table and had spilled the blue food coloring on the kitchen floor. They had tracked it all around the room. How could they have done all this in five minutes?! They had developed the ability to stop time like Hiro in Heroes. Sigh.
It was bath time. At least this time, they had left Gabriela out of it. Of course, she was with me, so they didn't have the opportunity to make her the second Smurfette. They rubbed and scrubbed and it actually came off much easier than I had anticipated.
I used my trusty Clorox wipes and cleaned off the table and the chairs; I mopped the kitchen floor with my Swiffer; I put all the affected dishes in the dishwasher, put the soap in it, and turned it on. I put their clothes in the washer. Amazingly enough, by time my dear beloved Richard got home, there were only traces of the afternoon's antics. Their bodies were nicely scrubbed clean, and they all wore clean clothes; there were no traces of Smurfdom on them, and only small stains on the linoleum that were easily cleaned off later with the Magic Eraser (I've come to depend mightily on that product over the last few years).
Some days this week have started out sunny, with clear skies, only to darken suddenly. Rain has come down in sheets only to stop a few minutes later. After an hour, the sun has been so effective, there has been no evidence the storm was even there, except that the plants have all been watered and the dirt and grime has been washed away.
Isn't that just like life? Everything is going beautifully and then a storm hits. Everything we touch seems to be turned disastrous and looks insurmountably stained. We feel it and see it surrounding us and are only aware of the bleakness. And the darkness comes. But then, in the middle of all the gray clouds, when we're not watching, things change. It suddenly doesn't look so bad. This gigantic problem? Hardly noticeable. It's like a cleansing stream washes it all away and there is a new beginning. Same person, different clothes. Different perspective. The sun is shining, the plants are growing, and the skies are blue once again.
Spice Cake
I love when life gets spicy. I like excitement! I love to go on adventures and taste new experiences. I love stepping out into the unknown with nothing but a trust that everything will turn out right. Sometimes I dive right in before I count the cost because the sheer curiosity and wonder drive me.
My daughter, Nyssa, has inherited the adventurous gene from me. She loves trying new things, and has no fear that it will turn out less than all she thinks it will be. In fact, she is so confident at times that it just oozes out her pores. It shows so clearly that she can talk her brothers into anything...two boys that are very, very wary of trying anything new. True to form for little boys who idolize their sisters, they hang on her every word.
Monday started out typical, cleaning, washing, checking email, and all that jazz. I gave them lunch and settled in to give Gabriela her bottle and put her to bed while they sat watching a video. By time I passed on the baton to Mr. Sandman, Benjamin proudly came to me and announced, "We're making a spice cake!" I thought, hmm. That sounds interesting. And warning sirens sounded off in my head.
I asked him, "Do you mean you want to make spice cake or you are making spice cake?"
With chest puffed out and standing tall, he pronounced, "We're working togever and making it!"
Oh boy, I thought as I headed for the kitchen preparing for the inevitable. What I saw surprised even me. There they were, gathered around the table with ingredients poured into a heart shaped silicone baking dish, with spices everywhere. They had literally emptied the spice cabinet and had all my seasonings spread out. Measuring spoons and cups were scattered on the table with remnants of whatever spice they had dumped in there. I could easily see, already in the heart, baking powder, salt, brown sugar, thyme, basil, and parsley. I smelled the cumin, garlic powder, and cardamon. I stuck my finger in and tasted sumac, tandoori massalha, fajita seasoning, and pepper. Also on my finger was the ingredient that held it together. There was no flour, no butter, no oil, no egg. The red congealing agent on my index finger was ketchup.
Nyssa was so thrilled that she was actually making spice cake! Nathaniel was jumping up and down, flapping his hands in excitement, and Benjamin was strutting around like a peacock. I was caught between being upset that the kitchen was a disaster and pity for the children when they would discover that what they were making was NOT going to taste good at all.
I found myself at a precipice and knew what I would say next could very well determine their outlook on life for the next few hours and, if negative, possibly had the ability to scar them for life..yes, I can get that melodramatic. So instead of rolling my eyes and sighing heavily, I took in a deep breath and opened my mouth.
"You're making spice cake?"
"Yes," replied little miss Sara Lee, with a big smile of satisfaction on her face.
"Oh," I said wonderously. "What recipe did you decide to use?"
The confident look began to fade slowly. "Um. We didn't use one. We wanted to use spices so we decided we would use them all because they are good for cooking."
"Well honey, they are all good spices and can make dishes taste really good. But does Mommy use all the spices at the same time when she cooks?"
"No," as understanding dawned on her.
Like a light of inspiration, I remembered something they had watched a couple days before. "What happened in the video when all the little ponies tried to help Sweetie Bell make her cake? Remember she tried to tell them that they had to follow the directions and they didn't listen and made the cake their own way instead? How did the cake taste?"
"It tasted yucky," my daughter said as she shriveled up her nose.
"That's right. But then she followed a recipe and it tasted much better, didn't it?"
"Yes." Pause...."So I need to follow the directions, huh?"
DING DING DING!
My children learned that they couldn't just dive in and do everything the way they wanted just because it sounded good. They realized that just because something seems good doesn't mean that it will taste good unless they know how to use the ingredients properly. They tasted their cake and discovered that it was too yucky. It had too much salt, it was too bitter, it was too dry. In Nyssa's own words, "That was disgusting!"
Life is a lot like that. There are so many experiences we want to have, so many opportunities. Many voices tell us that something is fun, so go out and go crazy with it, go all out! But there has to be a rhyme and reason to it or it's all discord. It loses that quality that makes it good. If we follow the recipes, or if we have a basic knowledge as to how ingredients should fit together, then we can taste and see....that it can be very good. Yes, it may have some bitter baking soda here and some bland flour there, but when blended with the sugar and the butter, when just the right amount of vanilla flavoring is added, then in the end, it can be a moist delicious spice cake. But all those ingredients are needed, even the ones that don't taste so great on their own, in order for it to turn out just right. Try it. Mix it all up. Taste and see just how good it can be.
My daughter, Nyssa, has inherited the adventurous gene from me. She loves trying new things, and has no fear that it will turn out less than all she thinks it will be. In fact, she is so confident at times that it just oozes out her pores. It shows so clearly that she can talk her brothers into anything...two boys that are very, very wary of trying anything new. True to form for little boys who idolize their sisters, they hang on her every word.
Monday started out typical, cleaning, washing, checking email, and all that jazz. I gave them lunch and settled in to give Gabriela her bottle and put her to bed while they sat watching a video. By time I passed on the baton to Mr. Sandman, Benjamin proudly came to me and announced, "We're making a spice cake!" I thought, hmm. That sounds interesting. And warning sirens sounded off in my head.
I asked him, "Do you mean you want to make spice cake or you are making spice cake?"
With chest puffed out and standing tall, he pronounced, "We're working togever and making it!"
Oh boy, I thought as I headed for the kitchen preparing for the inevitable. What I saw surprised even me. There they were, gathered around the table with ingredients poured into a heart shaped silicone baking dish, with spices everywhere. They had literally emptied the spice cabinet and had all my seasonings spread out. Measuring spoons and cups were scattered on the table with remnants of whatever spice they had dumped in there. I could easily see, already in the heart, baking powder, salt, brown sugar, thyme, basil, and parsley. I smelled the cumin, garlic powder, and cardamon. I stuck my finger in and tasted sumac, tandoori massalha, fajita seasoning, and pepper. Also on my finger was the ingredient that held it together. There was no flour, no butter, no oil, no egg. The red congealing agent on my index finger was ketchup.
Nyssa was so thrilled that she was actually making spice cake! Nathaniel was jumping up and down, flapping his hands in excitement, and Benjamin was strutting around like a peacock. I was caught between being upset that the kitchen was a disaster and pity for the children when they would discover that what they were making was NOT going to taste good at all.
I found myself at a precipice and knew what I would say next could very well determine their outlook on life for the next few hours and, if negative, possibly had the ability to scar them for life..yes, I can get that melodramatic. So instead of rolling my eyes and sighing heavily, I took in a deep breath and opened my mouth.
"You're making spice cake?"
"Yes," replied little miss Sara Lee, with a big smile of satisfaction on her face.
"Oh," I said wonderously. "What recipe did you decide to use?"
The confident look began to fade slowly. "Um. We didn't use one. We wanted to use spices so we decided we would use them all because they are good for cooking."
"Well honey, they are all good spices and can make dishes taste really good. But does Mommy use all the spices at the same time when she cooks?"
"No," as understanding dawned on her.
Like a light of inspiration, I remembered something they had watched a couple days before. "What happened in the video when all the little ponies tried to help Sweetie Bell make her cake? Remember she tried to tell them that they had to follow the directions and they didn't listen and made the cake their own way instead? How did the cake taste?"
"It tasted yucky," my daughter said as she shriveled up her nose.
"That's right. But then she followed a recipe and it tasted much better, didn't it?"
"Yes." Pause...."So I need to follow the directions, huh?"
DING DING DING!
My children learned that they couldn't just dive in and do everything the way they wanted just because it sounded good. They realized that just because something seems good doesn't mean that it will taste good unless they know how to use the ingredients properly. They tasted their cake and discovered that it was too yucky. It had too much salt, it was too bitter, it was too dry. In Nyssa's own words, "That was disgusting!"
Life is a lot like that. There are so many experiences we want to have, so many opportunities. Many voices tell us that something is fun, so go out and go crazy with it, go all out! But there has to be a rhyme and reason to it or it's all discord. It loses that quality that makes it good. If we follow the recipes, or if we have a basic knowledge as to how ingredients should fit together, then we can taste and see....that it can be very good. Yes, it may have some bitter baking soda here and some bland flour there, but when blended with the sugar and the butter, when just the right amount of vanilla flavoring is added, then in the end, it can be a moist delicious spice cake. But all those ingredients are needed, even the ones that don't taste so great on their own, in order for it to turn out just right. Try it. Mix it all up. Taste and see just how good it can be.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Running the Race
I'm realizing more and more every day that life is a marathon. It's not a sprint that can be done in 9.76 seconds, even if I were Usain Bolt. It is a race of endurance and I have to stay the course. It's not run on a single terrain, going round and around on a track. It has hills and valleys, rock, mud, water, asphalt, and grass. When running, a person has to be aware of what is ahead, but not distracted by the obstacles, so that one does not get tripped up by them. One needs to be aware of the water tables set up for the runners to rehydrate in the race without stopping.
This has been one of the most challenging weeks of my life. I have run endlessly from one thing to another. I don't know if I have ever worked so hard with so little to show for it. I ran track throughout junior high and high school, and even got some red ribbons. But Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and today have all been about running. The race goes on and on and even getting rehydrated has been on the go. I'll give you a small snippet of the last few days.
Nyssa and I worked Friday morning to clean her room from the boys' whirlwind play and did a pretty good job at getting it nice and orderly. I worked on the downstairs hall, kitchen, and bathroom, and decided we were doing a good job at getting everything done. Well, evidently, my older two children have gotten bored with life at home and are quite ready for school to begin, and, quite frankly, after the last few days, so am I. Friday afternoon, I was folding laundry in the family room while the children were eating a snack in the kitchen. They wanted some fruit, so they were sitting nicely eating peaches...or so I thought. The baby had been playing contentedly in the corner of the room with me when she decided to join them. I figured there was no harm in it. I heard laughter. It was gleeful. It was pure joy. It was...how do I say this? Unsettling. I hate to say it in reference to laughter, but there comes a certain tenor of tone when they are up to something. So I decided to check it out. I wish I had checked just one minute earlier.
I walked into the kitchen to the sound of four wonderfully jubilant children. Benjamin, my 3 1/2 year old was sitting on the table holding a 28 oz. can of powdered baby formula. Opened. Upside down. Empty. Gabriela was sitting on the floor just to the left of the table, christened with said formula. She looked like a snow baby. The others were playing wholeheartedly in the floor as if they were in a sandbox. I hauled Gabriela upstairs, hoping against hope that she wasn't breathing any of it in and sent the Three Musketeers up to the bathrooms for a bath. I got her undressed, bathed her, put on her diaper, and heard the laughter again.
I found them all in the same bathtub along with all my clean towels. By now you can guess I was not a happy camper. I found a dry blanket, dried them off, sent them to their rooms for clothes, and got Gabriela dressed. By time I got her in her crib I realized Nyssa had still not come to get dressed and was nowhere in sight. I ran around looking for the Comrades in Crime and found them, again in the kitchen. To his credit, Nathaniel was using the little vacuum cleaner. Nyssa and Benjamin, however, were once again skating to a tune in their heads, delightfully spreading the object of their current affection. Take two for baths.
As I sent them upstairs yet again, I saw creamy footprints in the green carpet in the family room and the trail of dust, literally, formula dust, that had been left down the hall and up the stairs. Since he was actually trying to help, I let Nathaniel finish vacuuming while I supervised Butch and Sundance in the bathtub. I helped Butch get himself dressed and went quietly into Sundance and Sleeping Beauty's room to yet another disaster. Nyssa was evidently quite unhappy that I had interrupted her play and expressed her disappointment. She had emptied her closet of all clothes and dumped said contents on the floor. Her drawers, and those of her sister, were also nicely clumped in front of her dresser. She remembered that whoever makes the mess gets to clean the mess. She also got to come help me mop the floor.
By time Richard got home from work, I had the kids in their rooms...for their own safety....while I finished cooking dinner. He asked how the day went. I told him. An hour later, after everyone had eaten and been put to bed, I was sent away. I drove away thinking of what a horrible mother I was, wondering if I ever did anything right, and questioning whether my daughter would live to be a teenager and if I would survive the next week. I went to Starbucks to drown my misery in a caramel light frap. I walked around in Barnes & Noble, glancing at titles, and picking up a couple to take home to read in my spare time...aka in the bathtub at 11:30 at night.
Then I saw it. The book? His Princess by Sherri Rose Shepherd. It wasn't for me, not completely, but for my daughter. I heard that still small voice telling me to get it so we could read it together. All day I had been running, trying to catch up, trying to catch my breath, trying to outpace my daughter. She ran faster. She was determined to win. What she didn't realize, and what I didn't realize, until it was almost too late, was that what we really both wanted was to run side by side, not to compete with one another, but to encourage another. She was trying to get my attention and felt more like a rugrat than the princess that she is.
My children are just that, my children. I love them. I care for them and I need to nurture them. Especially when they try my patience, they need to know that I love them no matter what. I can't just stop because I don't feel like it. I can't just yell and scream and stomp at them for acting like children. I need to teach them lovingly, patiently, how to learn acceptable behavior. Else, how will they learn? I keep going, with an occasional Starbucks run for refreshing and cool down, because I know their lives and their character are at stake.
Back in May, I agreed to do a 5k. It was an unorthodox one, because I knew I had to do it on my own, as I was unavailable for the actual organized one. But I made an agreement to do one on my own and I was going to follow through with it. I couldn't just decide one day to participate and then just go for it, but rather I had to work up my stamina. I trained for it regularly, committing myself to doing a little more each day. When the day came for me to do it, I had to keep going until I had gone the distance.
Sometimes I ran, sometimes I walked, but I kept going, getting water when I needed it, and hearing encouragement from others to keep it up and not give up. The encouragement came not from physical people there, but from the voices of my children in my head when they had told me I was going to be great, from their memory. My legs ached, my breath caught at times, but I couldn't give in. I had made a commitment to follow through with something. I wasn't racing against others; I was racing against myself. I had to deny my selfish desires to quit and push through...and when I completed it, I won. There was no trophy, no red ribbon for second, no blue ribbon, but there was the knowledge that I did it...and the realization that even though it seemed I ran on my own, I was surrounded by a cloud of invisible witnesses.
This has been one of the most challenging weeks of my life. I have run endlessly from one thing to another. I don't know if I have ever worked so hard with so little to show for it. I ran track throughout junior high and high school, and even got some red ribbons. But Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and today have all been about running. The race goes on and on and even getting rehydrated has been on the go. I'll give you a small snippet of the last few days.
Nyssa and I worked Friday morning to clean her room from the boys' whirlwind play and did a pretty good job at getting it nice and orderly. I worked on the downstairs hall, kitchen, and bathroom, and decided we were doing a good job at getting everything done. Well, evidently, my older two children have gotten bored with life at home and are quite ready for school to begin, and, quite frankly, after the last few days, so am I. Friday afternoon, I was folding laundry in the family room while the children were eating a snack in the kitchen. They wanted some fruit, so they were sitting nicely eating peaches...or so I thought. The baby had been playing contentedly in the corner of the room with me when she decided to join them. I figured there was no harm in it. I heard laughter. It was gleeful. It was pure joy. It was...how do I say this? Unsettling. I hate to say it in reference to laughter, but there comes a certain tenor of tone when they are up to something. So I decided to check it out. I wish I had checked just one minute earlier.
I walked into the kitchen to the sound of four wonderfully jubilant children. Benjamin, my 3 1/2 year old was sitting on the table holding a 28 oz. can of powdered baby formula. Opened. Upside down. Empty. Gabriela was sitting on the floor just to the left of the table, christened with said formula. She looked like a snow baby. The others were playing wholeheartedly in the floor as if they were in a sandbox. I hauled Gabriela upstairs, hoping against hope that she wasn't breathing any of it in and sent the Three Musketeers up to the bathrooms for a bath. I got her undressed, bathed her, put on her diaper, and heard the laughter again.
I found them all in the same bathtub along with all my clean towels. By now you can guess I was not a happy camper. I found a dry blanket, dried them off, sent them to their rooms for clothes, and got Gabriela dressed. By time I got her in her crib I realized Nyssa had still not come to get dressed and was nowhere in sight. I ran around looking for the Comrades in Crime and found them, again in the kitchen. To his credit, Nathaniel was using the little vacuum cleaner. Nyssa and Benjamin, however, were once again skating to a tune in their heads, delightfully spreading the object of their current affection. Take two for baths.
As I sent them upstairs yet again, I saw creamy footprints in the green carpet in the family room and the trail of dust, literally, formula dust, that had been left down the hall and up the stairs. Since he was actually trying to help, I let Nathaniel finish vacuuming while I supervised Butch and Sundance in the bathtub. I helped Butch get himself dressed and went quietly into Sundance and Sleeping Beauty's room to yet another disaster. Nyssa was evidently quite unhappy that I had interrupted her play and expressed her disappointment. She had emptied her closet of all clothes and dumped said contents on the floor. Her drawers, and those of her sister, were also nicely clumped in front of her dresser. She remembered that whoever makes the mess gets to clean the mess. She also got to come help me mop the floor.
By time Richard got home from work, I had the kids in their rooms...for their own safety....while I finished cooking dinner. He asked how the day went. I told him. An hour later, after everyone had eaten and been put to bed, I was sent away. I drove away thinking of what a horrible mother I was, wondering if I ever did anything right, and questioning whether my daughter would live to be a teenager and if I would survive the next week. I went to Starbucks to drown my misery in a caramel light frap. I walked around in Barnes & Noble, glancing at titles, and picking up a couple to take home to read in my spare time...aka in the bathtub at 11:30 at night.
Then I saw it. The book? His Princess by Sherri Rose Shepherd. It wasn't for me, not completely, but for my daughter. I heard that still small voice telling me to get it so we could read it together. All day I had been running, trying to catch up, trying to catch my breath, trying to outpace my daughter. She ran faster. She was determined to win. What she didn't realize, and what I didn't realize, until it was almost too late, was that what we really both wanted was to run side by side, not to compete with one another, but to encourage another. She was trying to get my attention and felt more like a rugrat than the princess that she is.
My children are just that, my children. I love them. I care for them and I need to nurture them. Especially when they try my patience, they need to know that I love them no matter what. I can't just stop because I don't feel like it. I can't just yell and scream and stomp at them for acting like children. I need to teach them lovingly, patiently, how to learn acceptable behavior. Else, how will they learn? I keep going, with an occasional Starbucks run for refreshing and cool down, because I know their lives and their character are at stake.
Back in May, I agreed to do a 5k. It was an unorthodox one, because I knew I had to do it on my own, as I was unavailable for the actual organized one. But I made an agreement to do one on my own and I was going to follow through with it. I couldn't just decide one day to participate and then just go for it, but rather I had to work up my stamina. I trained for it regularly, committing myself to doing a little more each day. When the day came for me to do it, I had to keep going until I had gone the distance.
Sometimes I ran, sometimes I walked, but I kept going, getting water when I needed it, and hearing encouragement from others to keep it up and not give up. The encouragement came not from physical people there, but from the voices of my children in my head when they had told me I was going to be great, from their memory. My legs ached, my breath caught at times, but I couldn't give in. I had made a commitment to follow through with something. I wasn't racing against others; I was racing against myself. I had to deny my selfish desires to quit and push through...and when I completed it, I won. There was no trophy, no red ribbon for second, no blue ribbon, but there was the knowledge that I did it...and the realization that even though it seemed I ran on my own, I was surrounded by a cloud of invisible witnesses.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Shooting Stars
Last night I waited excitedly for the coming of the once a year event that is known as the Perseid meteor shower. I have always loved astronomy, learning about the stars and constellations, comets and nebulae, and I find it exhilarating just waiting for it. This particular shower is named for the constellation Perseus, from which it seems to emanate. It is widely accepted to be debris from the Swift-Tuttle comet. It amazes me that "debris" or "left-overs" of a comet is what causes this magnificent display. I read recently that they have a music all their own, and that if you have the right kind of equipment, you can actually hear them. I never have.
Around 10:30, I was sent to bed by my dear husband who knew I would need a nap if I was to watch. At midnight, I awoke and went downstairs and out the door. At first, I watched as a solitary shooting star sped across the canvas every fifteen minutes or so. So I went inside for a bit, knowing it'd be another couple of hours before things really sped up, took care of some things, and then returned to watch the heavenly sights begin to rain down in chorus. For the first time in quite a while, I was alone with the night sky, and I listened.
It turned into a perfectly orchestrated symphony.The meteors were only a part of this music, although a beautiful portion of it. I had to be still to let it take full effect over me. I blocked out the noises of traffic; I blotted out the whoosh of airplanes. And I hearkened to the voices of the crickets and the cicadas, even to the lonely hoot of an owl that joined in from a distance. I heard other insects, as well, lending their instruments to the sonata that filled the air, and I breathed all in. They had a language all their own, and there is no tongue that could describe it. The heavens declared the handiwork of God!
I took an unplanned intermission somewhere in there, for my heart heard my baby's cry in the night. I didn't really hear her from outside, but I think mothers will understand when I say I felt her distress. So I went to her room, changed her diaper, held her and comforted her for a while, and went back to my sojourn.
Life is full of wonders; it truly is a symphony in and of itself. But sometimes, we have to stop to listen in order to truly enjoy it. There is the sad baritone, the tenor of rising hope, the harmony of life as it begins to make sense. Can we hear it? Can we cancel out all the noise that doesn't belong? Can we just sit, close our eyes, and hear? And then, when the music plays and we hear it alone, can we open our eyes and behold the majesty of shooting stars?
Around 10:30, I was sent to bed by my dear husband who knew I would need a nap if I was to watch. At midnight, I awoke and went downstairs and out the door. At first, I watched as a solitary shooting star sped across the canvas every fifteen minutes or so. So I went inside for a bit, knowing it'd be another couple of hours before things really sped up, took care of some things, and then returned to watch the heavenly sights begin to rain down in chorus. For the first time in quite a while, I was alone with the night sky, and I listened.
It turned into a perfectly orchestrated symphony.The meteors were only a part of this music, although a beautiful portion of it. I had to be still to let it take full effect over me. I blocked out the noises of traffic; I blotted out the whoosh of airplanes. And I hearkened to the voices of the crickets and the cicadas, even to the lonely hoot of an owl that joined in from a distance. I heard other insects, as well, lending their instruments to the sonata that filled the air, and I breathed all in. They had a language all their own, and there is no tongue that could describe it. The heavens declared the handiwork of God!
I took an unplanned intermission somewhere in there, for my heart heard my baby's cry in the night. I didn't really hear her from outside, but I think mothers will understand when I say I felt her distress. So I went to her room, changed her diaper, held her and comforted her for a while, and went back to my sojourn.
Life is full of wonders; it truly is a symphony in and of itself. But sometimes, we have to stop to listen in order to truly enjoy it. There is the sad baritone, the tenor of rising hope, the harmony of life as it begins to make sense. Can we hear it? Can we cancel out all the noise that doesn't belong? Can we just sit, close our eyes, and hear? And then, when the music plays and we hear it alone, can we open our eyes and behold the majesty of shooting stars?
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Whirlwinds, Tornadoes, and Hurricanes
Disasters plaster the front pages of newspapers, magazines, and the internet. They flood the airwaves on radio and television, and they change our lives. If we experience them third-hand, most people acknowledge their presence, let out a big sigh, and sympathize, thinking sadly for a while about how others' lives have been negatively affected. Only a rare handful reach out. If we experience them second-hand, then we feel for the relative or friend who has lost a home, property, or their livelihood, and we run over to help if we can, call if we don't, and start to take the disaster to heart. But if the disaster happens to US, to ME, then we are standing there, wading knee deep in the clutter and chaos surrounding us. We don't sympathize, we don't feel, we are caught, sometimes in moments of paralysis, because now it's personal.
In a sense, my children are forces of nature to be reckoned with. They have expertly worked their way around every child proof mechanism known to man. My daughter, having just turned 2, figured out that the way to unlock a chained door was to take the doorknob and slowly jiggle the door back and forth until the chain came out of the slot. My children play wholeheartedly, giving it everything they've got, and when they're done, the room, or the entire house, for that matter, is a total disaster. It looks like a tornado has hit the home, only there is no insurance to cover it. They've pulled out all the toys, they've torn up all the paper from a fit when they didn't get a craft right, they've broken glass, they've left the sink running so long that it caused a mini flood, written on the walls with pencil, crayon, marker, and numerous other media. They've broken windows, stuck holes in the wood furniture by stabbing it with pencils. They've taken Moon Sand and thrown it up in the air as if it were pixie dust that lands all over the carpet.
They've tried to help wash dishes and ended up getting dishwashing liquid all over the counter tops while the water runs out of the sink with suds overflowing. They've tried helping mop the floors with the Pine Sol and emptied the whole 3 liter bottle on the linoleum. They've helped fold the laundry by taking OUT the laundry that I've already folded and turned it into a wadded up mess. They've taken toothpaste and squirted it on the carpet to try to clean up a stain they've made with marker or paint.
I know it seems asinine to compare the messes my children make with that of a full blown disaster such as Katrina, Haiti, or the Oil Gulf spill, because I really do know that my troubles are nothing compared to the way these lives were devastated. But to be honest, as a mother, I sometimes look at the combination of messes my children have made and just stand there, because I'm at a loss of what to do first. Do I clean first or do I discipline? DO I discipline? Or do I acknowledge that in some of these areas, they truly were just trying to help? I beat my head in frustration because there are days I don't know if I will EVER get this mess and clutter cleaned up, especially with the lively Tornadoes running on Energizer batteries.
But then time passes and I step back. I see the whole picture. I've got hardwood floors where there used to be carpet. I got the hall painted...where I wouldn't have been able to reach. The floor got mopped, the dishes and counter tops got cleaned, the carpet was shampooed, and the walls were cleaned. The laundry did eventually get folded and put away, and broken toys were thrown out (they have too many anyway). Something positive DID come out of it, though maybe not the way I wanted. I didn't want to have to go through these mini storms in order to get something checked off my list. But these storms are what allowed them to get accomplished more quickly.
The oil spill in the Gulf? Seems like it was a battle between the forces of human nature versus those of nature itself. The forces of nature won. I'm not an expert, so I can't say what was or wasn't done right. I only know that for whatever reason, the oil well would not be contained. It screamed to be released and pushed with all its might until it won the battle and....it did, and many livelihoods are at stake. I don't yet know what good will come of that spill, but I am anxious to see how, in the end, we are made stronger.
Katrina was a huge disaster; the coastline from Louisiana to Mississippi was devastated. Parts of Haiti were demolished. Many people lost their lives. But the people fought back against the damage of these natural forces. They banded together, and they found their will, their tenacity, and they found their strength. They didn't just give up. They fought back to become a community again. Just look at all the reports of the new parks and restoration going on in New Orleans alone. Watch the results of people pouring in hope, finances, and time in Haiti. Forces of nature can be intense, they can be fierce, and they can be devastating. We protect ourselves as much as possible from them, and we respect them. But we don't lose heart because of them, because they make us stronger and better than before.
The world was almost completely destroyed by a flood once, almost entirely demolished. But now we have the Grand Canyon. What a sight to behold!
In a sense, my children are forces of nature to be reckoned with. They have expertly worked their way around every child proof mechanism known to man. My daughter, having just turned 2, figured out that the way to unlock a chained door was to take the doorknob and slowly jiggle the door back and forth until the chain came out of the slot. My children play wholeheartedly, giving it everything they've got, and when they're done, the room, or the entire house, for that matter, is a total disaster. It looks like a tornado has hit the home, only there is no insurance to cover it. They've pulled out all the toys, they've torn up all the paper from a fit when they didn't get a craft right, they've broken glass, they've left the sink running so long that it caused a mini flood, written on the walls with pencil, crayon, marker, and numerous other media. They've broken windows, stuck holes in the wood furniture by stabbing it with pencils. They've taken Moon Sand and thrown it up in the air as if it were pixie dust that lands all over the carpet.
They've tried to help wash dishes and ended up getting dishwashing liquid all over the counter tops while the water runs out of the sink with suds overflowing. They've tried helping mop the floors with the Pine Sol and emptied the whole 3 liter bottle on the linoleum. They've helped fold the laundry by taking OUT the laundry that I've already folded and turned it into a wadded up mess. They've taken toothpaste and squirted it on the carpet to try to clean up a stain they've made with marker or paint.
I know it seems asinine to compare the messes my children make with that of a full blown disaster such as Katrina, Haiti, or the Oil Gulf spill, because I really do know that my troubles are nothing compared to the way these lives were devastated. But to be honest, as a mother, I sometimes look at the combination of messes my children have made and just stand there, because I'm at a loss of what to do first. Do I clean first or do I discipline? DO I discipline? Or do I acknowledge that in some of these areas, they truly were just trying to help? I beat my head in frustration because there are days I don't know if I will EVER get this mess and clutter cleaned up, especially with the lively Tornadoes running on Energizer batteries.
But then time passes and I step back. I see the whole picture. I've got hardwood floors where there used to be carpet. I got the hall painted...where I wouldn't have been able to reach. The floor got mopped, the dishes and counter tops got cleaned, the carpet was shampooed, and the walls were cleaned. The laundry did eventually get folded and put away, and broken toys were thrown out (they have too many anyway). Something positive DID come out of it, though maybe not the way I wanted. I didn't want to have to go through these mini storms in order to get something checked off my list. But these storms are what allowed them to get accomplished more quickly.
The oil spill in the Gulf? Seems like it was a battle between the forces of human nature versus those of nature itself. The forces of nature won. I'm not an expert, so I can't say what was or wasn't done right. I only know that for whatever reason, the oil well would not be contained. It screamed to be released and pushed with all its might until it won the battle and....it did, and many livelihoods are at stake. I don't yet know what good will come of that spill, but I am anxious to see how, in the end, we are made stronger.
Katrina was a huge disaster; the coastline from Louisiana to Mississippi was devastated. Parts of Haiti were demolished. Many people lost their lives. But the people fought back against the damage of these natural forces. They banded together, and they found their will, their tenacity, and they found their strength. They didn't just give up. They fought back to become a community again. Just look at all the reports of the new parks and restoration going on in New Orleans alone. Watch the results of people pouring in hope, finances, and time in Haiti. Forces of nature can be intense, they can be fierce, and they can be devastating. We protect ourselves as much as possible from them, and we respect them. But we don't lose heart because of them, because they make us stronger and better than before.
The world was almost completely destroyed by a flood once, almost entirely demolished. But now we have the Grand Canyon. What a sight to behold!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Divided We Fall, United We Stand
I had to go yesterday to register my son for kindergarten. Normally, I wouldn't think of it as a big deal. I go in, fill out 20 minutes worth of paperwork, and I'm done, right? Well, I don't think I've ever done anything the "easy" or the "normal" way. Seriously. Ask anyone who's known me for a long time, and they will tell you that I have a "creative" way of doing things. So, when I knew I had to register him, I was truly hoping it wouldn't end up the "Gina" way, but the normal way. But life throws curve balls....
Here's the deal. I have a beautiful 6 year old pixie of a daughter, a 5 year old ASD son, a 3 1/2 year old son, and another daughter who will be a year in 14 days. Bringing all four of them with me to fill out paperwork at a time when it's not breakfast, nap, lunch, or nap take two time, is a real juggler of time. Throw in bathroom breaks, diaper changes, and well, there goes today! Started heading out the door at 10 but got there 10 after 2. and that's 10 minutes AFTER registration closes. I tried it 4 days with no success. I finally got the affidavit of residency turned in to my daughter's school last Friday only because their office is open until 3pm.
So on Sunday, I'm trading stories with a friend who also has 4 children, albeit a little more spread out than mine, and she offers the greatest sacrifice! She offers to come over to my house to watch the kids while I go sign him up. She is truly an answer to prayer! Of course I'm worried about the condition of my house...getting rid of clutter but that's for another day's blog..or maybe a week's....hopping back on track now. But she's a gem of a girl and says not to worry, she knows what it's like sometimes. And, having 4 of her own, I know she does.
Monday shows up and so does my friend with her brood. After the apology for the shape of the house and the brush off comment (which truly does, I might add, help take a load off my mind :) ), we talk for a few minutes while I finish a few things before taking off and give the kids a few minutes to get acclimated to the new adult in the house. PLUS I get some adult conversation in the mix, and so does she, so GO MOMMIES!
I drove the mile down to the school, got out the required paperwork, and filled in the school paperwork, and was back before the hour was up! It was a cinch! It took me hardly any time at all! YES! Mission completed! So I came home, happy as a lark, and talked with my friend for another hour while the kids played and had mac and cheese for lunch. We wondered at how quickly you can get things done when the kids aren't "helping."
And I realized that I'm not in this alone. We shared stories of trying to do all these different things with the children underfoot and how it takes ever so much longer! We ALL have to juggle time with these little ones. Sometimes we can gt it accomplished, eventually, and sometimes... Well, sometimes, we need someone to step in and be willing to help us so we can get the job accomplished. We need each other. We need help. I certainly need help sometimes. And this dear jewel helped me. She stood by me and watched my kids while I registered my son for school.
But more importantly, she was attuned enough to realize that I needed help and was willing to offer it where she could. She talked with me and listened. We shared bits of our lives with one another and just enjoyed the company. I will forever be grateful because what she did was take a day that could have been another failure and help turn it into a great success just by being there for me. She was my right arm and helped me to stand.
Here's the deal. I have a beautiful 6 year old pixie of a daughter, a 5 year old ASD son, a 3 1/2 year old son, and another daughter who will be a year in 14 days. Bringing all four of them with me to fill out paperwork at a time when it's not breakfast, nap, lunch, or nap take two time, is a real juggler of time. Throw in bathroom breaks, diaper changes, and well, there goes today! Started heading out the door at 10 but got there 10 after 2. and that's 10 minutes AFTER registration closes. I tried it 4 days with no success. I finally got the affidavit of residency turned in to my daughter's school last Friday only because their office is open until 3pm.
So on Sunday, I'm trading stories with a friend who also has 4 children, albeit a little more spread out than mine, and she offers the greatest sacrifice! She offers to come over to my house to watch the kids while I go sign him up. She is truly an answer to prayer! Of course I'm worried about the condition of my house...getting rid of clutter but that's for another day's blog..or maybe a week's....hopping back on track now. But she's a gem of a girl and says not to worry, she knows what it's like sometimes. And, having 4 of her own, I know she does.
Monday shows up and so does my friend with her brood. After the apology for the shape of the house and the brush off comment (which truly does, I might add, help take a load off my mind :) ), we talk for a few minutes while I finish a few things before taking off and give the kids a few minutes to get acclimated to the new adult in the house. PLUS I get some adult conversation in the mix, and so does she, so GO MOMMIES!
I drove the mile down to the school, got out the required paperwork, and filled in the school paperwork, and was back before the hour was up! It was a cinch! It took me hardly any time at all! YES! Mission completed! So I came home, happy as a lark, and talked with my friend for another hour while the kids played and had mac and cheese for lunch. We wondered at how quickly you can get things done when the kids aren't "helping."
And I realized that I'm not in this alone. We shared stories of trying to do all these different things with the children underfoot and how it takes ever so much longer! We ALL have to juggle time with these little ones. Sometimes we can gt it accomplished, eventually, and sometimes... Well, sometimes, we need someone to step in and be willing to help us so we can get the job accomplished. We need each other. We need help. I certainly need help sometimes. And this dear jewel helped me. She stood by me and watched my kids while I registered my son for school.
But more importantly, she was attuned enough to realize that I needed help and was willing to offer it where she could. She talked with me and listened. We shared bits of our lives with one another and just enjoyed the company. I will forever be grateful because what she did was take a day that could have been another failure and help turn it into a great success just by being there for me. She was my right arm and helped me to stand.
Monday, August 9, 2010
And Having Done All, to Stand
Some days are just plain hard; it's a fact of life. You have to grit your teeth and dig in your heels and just stand there through the battle of life swirling around you. Sometimes you take a stab at the foes coming against you, and sometimes you just hold up that shield in front of you to keep the fire that comes from the dragon's mouth from scorching you head to toe. But you have to stand. You can't run away from it, because then you're dead meat.
I've studied the Roman centurion's armor. This is the same armor worn by perhaps the greatest pre-modern Empire, and, dare I say, one of the greatest Empires of all time. I hesitate using the words Old World, because the Greeks and the Romans helped usher us into the new world, and gave us all ideas of diplomacy and democracy that we use to this day. But I digress. I was speaking of the great Roman battle uniform.
They wore a helmet of metal, covering their heads from the back of the neck to the nose, with ears, eyes, mouth, and chin exposed. They wore a coat of mail or a breastplate that covered the torso, metal shin guards that were held on by leather strips tied around the back, shoes, a sword, and a shield, also made of metal. Belted around the waist in skirt like fashion was either the continuation of the coat of mail or leather strips to help protect the area below the waist and their thighs. And they had assorted smaller weapons, as well.
Do you notice what is missing? The greatest foot army that ever dominated the world and they had little to protect the back side. They couldn't make the decision to turn tail and run lightly. If they turned their backs, they were dead meat. Deeply ingrained in their strategic design and in their minds were the effective thought of ever going forward, and rarely retreating. They advanced or they stood their ground, together. They may have been pushed back, but they faced the enemy head on.
Some days I go forward, some days I feel I am pushed back, and some days I just stand my ground. There are other days, too. Some days, between battles, I rest. Those days are desperately needed to recover and to heal, and to prepare for the next day's warfare. Those days are like Heaven! Yesterday was such a day. After church, I came home, made lunch for the kids and slept. After an entire week of very little sleep, my husband sweetly put me to bed and took care of the kids for me the entire afternoon.
I am so thankful for my husband. I know there are many mothers who don't have a husband, or don't have one who lets them rest. To those women, I salute you! And I pray a special blessing over you, and grace, and a way to be able to rest between the battles.
We live in a world of war, a war against the world that would lead our children astray, and call them to stand up for what they think is right in their own eyes rather than what is actually right. So we fight for them, and fight fiercely, until they are able to fight for themselves. And then, still, we fight alongside them. And sometimes, we just stand. Yesterday, I rested. Today, I stand, ready to fight.
I've studied the Roman centurion's armor. This is the same armor worn by perhaps the greatest pre-modern Empire, and, dare I say, one of the greatest Empires of all time. I hesitate using the words Old World, because the Greeks and the Romans helped usher us into the new world, and gave us all ideas of diplomacy and democracy that we use to this day. But I digress. I was speaking of the great Roman battle uniform.
They wore a helmet of metal, covering their heads from the back of the neck to the nose, with ears, eyes, mouth, and chin exposed. They wore a coat of mail or a breastplate that covered the torso, metal shin guards that were held on by leather strips tied around the back, shoes, a sword, and a shield, also made of metal. Belted around the waist in skirt like fashion was either the continuation of the coat of mail or leather strips to help protect the area below the waist and their thighs. And they had assorted smaller weapons, as well.
Do you notice what is missing? The greatest foot army that ever dominated the world and they had little to protect the back side. They couldn't make the decision to turn tail and run lightly. If they turned their backs, they were dead meat. Deeply ingrained in their strategic design and in their minds were the effective thought of ever going forward, and rarely retreating. They advanced or they stood their ground, together. They may have been pushed back, but they faced the enemy head on.
Some days I go forward, some days I feel I am pushed back, and some days I just stand my ground. There are other days, too. Some days, between battles, I rest. Those days are desperately needed to recover and to heal, and to prepare for the next day's warfare. Those days are like Heaven! Yesterday was such a day. After church, I came home, made lunch for the kids and slept. After an entire week of very little sleep, my husband sweetly put me to bed and took care of the kids for me the entire afternoon.
I am so thankful for my husband. I know there are many mothers who don't have a husband, or don't have one who lets them rest. To those women, I salute you! And I pray a special blessing over you, and grace, and a way to be able to rest between the battles.
We live in a world of war, a war against the world that would lead our children astray, and call them to stand up for what they think is right in their own eyes rather than what is actually right. So we fight for them, and fight fiercely, until they are able to fight for themselves. And then, still, we fight alongside them. And sometimes, we just stand. Yesterday, I rested. Today, I stand, ready to fight.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Facing an Evil Dragon: Procrastination
After three months of being away, I finally went to another Weight Watcher's meeting today. I wasn't intending to skip, but I missed a couple right before we went on family vacation because I was getting everything ready. Then we were an hour away from the closest location for two weekends. I had to help get everything unpacked; my husband was going out of town the next weekend; date with hubby.... Before I knew it, June and July had passed me by and my WW schedule flew the coop. But I'm back :)
I got home at 1:00 to find that my children had not eaten lunch yet. See, they were supposed to clean up this mess they had made in the hallway around 11 and just refused to do it. So, mastermind that he is, my husband said, "No clean, no eat. Just clean up this mess and you can eat." The kids hemmed and hawed and went downstairs and helped themselves to a bowl of cereal each. He saw this and told them that since they decided to eat that, no lunch....until they cleaned the hall. Now to be completely fair, the mess he was referring to was a small array of plastic children's tools consisting of nuts, bolts, toy pliers, screwdrivers, hammers, and an apron, all of which fit neatly into a toolbox.
How long does it take three children, aged 3 1/2 (he'll be 4 in October), 5, and 6, to clean that up? Evidently it was very tiring work, because come 5:30, it was still there. It was a nice little cycle. They complained that they were hungry, and we reminded them of their responsibility. We decided not to yell, fuss, or nag them about it, but to let them figure it out on their own that actions, or lack thereof, have consequences. A part of me wanted to give in. I thought to myself, "How cruel is it to make them go hungry?" "Their poor little tummies are starving. Just let them eat and then they can clean." But we had been through that before, and come bedtime, the mess had remained. Besides, I reminded myself that there are so many people out there that eat only once a day, if that, for years, because they just don't have access to food. They eat regularly, 3 meals and 2 snacks, every day, so I knew that one day was not going to cause any real damage. So I bucked up, stood firm, and let them know I wasn't backing down.
5:45pm. They come back. They're hungry. They're whining, and they still have not cleaned the mess. I sweetly tell them that if they want to eat today, they will have to clean the hall. 5:50. They bound down the stairs and ask me to come look because the hall was cleaned. 5 minutes. 5 minutes! All that fussing and complaining and it only took them 5 minutes. 6:15, they have pizza outside picnic style; they eat apples and drink some milk and play, enjoying the outdoors.
Procrastination is the enemy, I want them to understand! I wonder where they get it?
I heard it said once that children will draw a mother to her knees. For me, it's true, and I'm grateful. The characteristics of my children that bother me the most are usually the faults within myself, and they are a perfect mirror. I have to get away from them for a few minutes, go down on my knees, confess my shortcomings and pray for help so that I can be the mother my children need, and the living example they can follow.
I got home at 1:00 to find that my children had not eaten lunch yet. See, they were supposed to clean up this mess they had made in the hallway around 11 and just refused to do it. So, mastermind that he is, my husband said, "No clean, no eat. Just clean up this mess and you can eat." The kids hemmed and hawed and went downstairs and helped themselves to a bowl of cereal each. He saw this and told them that since they decided to eat that, no lunch....until they cleaned the hall. Now to be completely fair, the mess he was referring to was a small array of plastic children's tools consisting of nuts, bolts, toy pliers, screwdrivers, hammers, and an apron, all of which fit neatly into a toolbox.
How long does it take three children, aged 3 1/2 (he'll be 4 in October), 5, and 6, to clean that up? Evidently it was very tiring work, because come 5:30, it was still there. It was a nice little cycle. They complained that they were hungry, and we reminded them of their responsibility. We decided not to yell, fuss, or nag them about it, but to let them figure it out on their own that actions, or lack thereof, have consequences. A part of me wanted to give in. I thought to myself, "How cruel is it to make them go hungry?" "Their poor little tummies are starving. Just let them eat and then they can clean." But we had been through that before, and come bedtime, the mess had remained. Besides, I reminded myself that there are so many people out there that eat only once a day, if that, for years, because they just don't have access to food. They eat regularly, 3 meals and 2 snacks, every day, so I knew that one day was not going to cause any real damage. So I bucked up, stood firm, and let them know I wasn't backing down.
5:45pm. They come back. They're hungry. They're whining, and they still have not cleaned the mess. I sweetly tell them that if they want to eat today, they will have to clean the hall. 5:50. They bound down the stairs and ask me to come look because the hall was cleaned. 5 minutes. 5 minutes! All that fussing and complaining and it only took them 5 minutes. 6:15, they have pizza outside picnic style; they eat apples and drink some milk and play, enjoying the outdoors.
Procrastination is the enemy, I want them to understand! I wonder where they get it?
I heard it said once that children will draw a mother to her knees. For me, it's true, and I'm grateful. The characteristics of my children that bother me the most are usually the faults within myself, and they are a perfect mirror. I have to get away from them for a few minutes, go down on my knees, confess my shortcomings and pray for help so that I can be the mother my children need, and the living example they can follow.
A Princess, Two Princes, Frosting, and Diet A&W Cream Soda
Life isn't always peaches and cream, but it can give you cream soda. This evening, we got the kids settled in bed, came back downstairs, and relished the quiet for a little while. Then, it happened. Nathaniel came down the stairs calling for me as though his life depended on me (ok, so I guess it does at his age), with absolutely nothing on. Let me rephrase that: he wasn't wearing clothes, but he was wearing a green substance that had a very sweet smell. I mean, it wasn't just green, it was leprechaun green, and I recognized it immediately. I went upstairs to see that he, Benjamin, and Nyssa had been celebrating quietly with some things Nyssa had taken upstairs without us knowing it, the little sneak. All three were dressed in green frosting from head to toe, and there was a nearly empty two liter bottle of Diet A&W Cream Soda on the floor in the boys' room, along with their Lincoln Log wanna be toys, Nathaniel's favorite orange blanket, and two pillows. They lay, covered in green on the carpet which was, on the other side of the room, a golden beige.
The Three Musketeers had struck again. I was upset, I was angry; I was furious. I was livid! I was definitely undeniably, unequivocally, most assuredly, certainly, truly most sincerely.....very put out. I could feel the swarm of bees coming from my ears ready to sting upon command. My heart pounded as I felt the anger flush flowing to my cheeks as my 11 month old who had slept soundly through it all woke up and started crying. I went to the girls' room, praying and pleading to God with all my heart that they hadn't decided to paint her as well. She was pure, untouched. She was just wet. Richard took her while I marched the Three Amigos to the bathtub to wash the candied mixture out of their hair and off their little bodies. That carnival we talked about going to tomorrow? Nope. Not gonna happen; maybe next weekend.
The positive side is that the carpet shampooer which we purchased a couple years back was already in the boys' room where I had cleaned the carpet earlier today before we went to CiCi's. Nathaniel had used it as a canvas for his poop, along with the walls and the window. So, at least I didn't have to haul the cleaner upstairs again. Ten minutes while the kids were soaking and the device earned its weight in gold yet again. The carpet was almost good as new.
Why, why, WHY do the kids insist on this kind of behavior? Almost every week I need to drag out that carpet shampooer for some disaster or another. Do they just like the carpet shampooer? Is that it? Maybe they don't think the carpet is clean enough so they get together and devise a plan to get it REALLY dirty so I'll pull out the machine. Same with the walls, though I will say it was a first for the window. Last year, it wasn't poop on the window, just Jupiter breaking it when the boys decided to jump off the bookcase headboard and swat at the innocent planet as it hung from the ceiling. That solar system went out the door the following morning, much to my children's dismay. Every time I turn around, they're pulling something or other that makes me want to grab a pillow and scream in frustration.
But, in all honesty, am I any better? I get out the frosting and the soda of life and taste it. It's not good for me in the first place, but I like it, it tastes good. So I decide to lather myself and everything around me with it and Someone else has to help wash it off. Someone else has to clean up the rest of the mess while I sit in the other room waiting for my punishment. And, of course, I get it. I reap the effects of what I have done, and it smarts, but I still know I am loved in spite of it. At the end of the day, I can curl up peacefully in the arms of One who loves me beyond measure, with Whom I feel safe. I can look up and say, "Will you please stay with me until I fall asleep?" And He does.
Did I mention that Nathaniel is Autistic? He's 5 and he's got a combination of Asperger's and atypical Autism. They call it PDD-NOS or Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified. A year ago, he couldn't look me in the eye. A year ago, he couldn't say, "I did it," when I asked him a question. A year ago. Tonight, he was laughing and playing with his brother and sister. Tonight he was engaging in social play. Tonight his eyes shone as he looked at me, smiled, and gave me a kiss. Tonight he asked me if I would stay with him until he fell asleep. Frosting and Soda. What a mess, but I got to help him clean it up and kiss him and hug him and lay beside him as he sighed contentedly and drifted off to dreamland. No, life isn't always peaches and cream, but tonight, it was sweet. Frosting and Soda.
The Three Musketeers had struck again. I was upset, I was angry; I was furious. I was livid! I was definitely undeniably, unequivocally, most assuredly, certainly, truly most sincerely.....very put out. I could feel the swarm of bees coming from my ears ready to sting upon command. My heart pounded as I felt the anger flush flowing to my cheeks as my 11 month old who had slept soundly through it all woke up and started crying. I went to the girls' room, praying and pleading to God with all my heart that they hadn't decided to paint her as well. She was pure, untouched. She was just wet. Richard took her while I marched the Three Amigos to the bathtub to wash the candied mixture out of their hair and off their little bodies. That carnival we talked about going to tomorrow? Nope. Not gonna happen; maybe next weekend.
The positive side is that the carpet shampooer which we purchased a couple years back was already in the boys' room where I had cleaned the carpet earlier today before we went to CiCi's. Nathaniel had used it as a canvas for his poop, along with the walls and the window. So, at least I didn't have to haul the cleaner upstairs again. Ten minutes while the kids were soaking and the device earned its weight in gold yet again. The carpet was almost good as new.
Why, why, WHY do the kids insist on this kind of behavior? Almost every week I need to drag out that carpet shampooer for some disaster or another. Do they just like the carpet shampooer? Is that it? Maybe they don't think the carpet is clean enough so they get together and devise a plan to get it REALLY dirty so I'll pull out the machine. Same with the walls, though I will say it was a first for the window. Last year, it wasn't poop on the window, just Jupiter breaking it when the boys decided to jump off the bookcase headboard and swat at the innocent planet as it hung from the ceiling. That solar system went out the door the following morning, much to my children's dismay. Every time I turn around, they're pulling something or other that makes me want to grab a pillow and scream in frustration.
But, in all honesty, am I any better? I get out the frosting and the soda of life and taste it. It's not good for me in the first place, but I like it, it tastes good. So I decide to lather myself and everything around me with it and Someone else has to help wash it off. Someone else has to clean up the rest of the mess while I sit in the other room waiting for my punishment. And, of course, I get it. I reap the effects of what I have done, and it smarts, but I still know I am loved in spite of it. At the end of the day, I can curl up peacefully in the arms of One who loves me beyond measure, with Whom I feel safe. I can look up and say, "Will you please stay with me until I fall asleep?" And He does.
Did I mention that Nathaniel is Autistic? He's 5 and he's got a combination of Asperger's and atypical Autism. They call it PDD-NOS or Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified. A year ago, he couldn't look me in the eye. A year ago, he couldn't say, "I did it," when I asked him a question. A year ago. Tonight, he was laughing and playing with his brother and sister. Tonight he was engaging in social play. Tonight his eyes shone as he looked at me, smiled, and gave me a kiss. Tonight he asked me if I would stay with him until he fell asleep. Frosting and Soda. What a mess, but I got to help him clean it up and kiss him and hug him and lay beside him as he sighed contentedly and drifted off to dreamland. No, life isn't always peaches and cream, but tonight, it was sweet. Frosting and Soda.
Friday, August 6, 2010
A New Beginning
I am a very enthusiastic person who can get caught up in the whirlwind of life's happenings. I dramatically imagine I am like Buttercup of The Princess Bride because she loved fearlessly, with complete faith in her true love. I want to be like Xena the Warrior Princess because I have this complete fascination with swords and the idea of fighting fearlessly for what is right. I see myself as Princess Leia who fought for the old republic which had been overrun by the evil empire. I attack life with a vengeance.
And then I come back down to earth and realize that I am all, and none of them. I look around and see projects unfinished, a sink full of dishes, and a washroom full of dirty laundry. I get discouraged because no matter how hard I try, these things keep coming back and I have to vanquish my foes once again. I sit and let out a deep sigh, thinking that as long as my children are young, my house will never, ever, meet my standards. So I get frustrated and wonder what in the world my dear beloved husband ever saw in me, how I could even think that my house would look like anything but that three tornadoes have invaded indoors, and that I'd even have the tenacity to try to confront my biggest enemies, let alone defeat them.
So if I'm this overwrought, why am I even taking the time to sit here and type away?
Because I do have the presence of mind to realize that I'm not the only person to have to deal with these issues, I can't be. That would be so insanely narcissistic, not to mention self-centered with no idea what goes on outside these palace walls. But there is this kingdom out there, and some of those citizens actually look at me, to see what I would do, what I do, and how. And if I just stay inside my castle and never look around me, then I won't see their needs and their concerns. Because if I examine my life in the light of everything else that comes into my view, then I realize just how good I have it. I realize that I am blessed beyond compare.
And I have 4 precious little ones who think their mommy is the queen of the world, and in a sense, I am. I am the queen of their world.
And then I come back down to earth and realize that I am all, and none of them. I look around and see projects unfinished, a sink full of dishes, and a washroom full of dirty laundry. I get discouraged because no matter how hard I try, these things keep coming back and I have to vanquish my foes once again. I sit and let out a deep sigh, thinking that as long as my children are young, my house will never, ever, meet my standards. So I get frustrated and wonder what in the world my dear beloved husband ever saw in me, how I could even think that my house would look like anything but that three tornadoes have invaded indoors, and that I'd even have the tenacity to try to confront my biggest enemies, let alone defeat them.
So if I'm this overwrought, why am I even taking the time to sit here and type away?
Because I do have the presence of mind to realize that I'm not the only person to have to deal with these issues, I can't be. That would be so insanely narcissistic, not to mention self-centered with no idea what goes on outside these palace walls. But there is this kingdom out there, and some of those citizens actually look at me, to see what I would do, what I do, and how. And if I just stay inside my castle and never look around me, then I won't see their needs and their concerns. Because if I examine my life in the light of everything else that comes into my view, then I realize just how good I have it. I realize that I am blessed beyond compare.
And I have 4 precious little ones who think their mommy is the queen of the world, and in a sense, I am. I am the queen of their world.
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