I get so irritated with my gutless self sometimes. While I naturally gravitate toward people that are kind & not all in-your-face about how they disagree with you (I really hate conflict), sometimes in-your-face is called for....if for nothing else, to avoid hangover guilt the next morning when you think back on your pathetic, zipped-lip self.
We had Sassy's birthday party yesterday, a joint party with her cousin Lillie who was turning one. All of Jeff's family attended, and some of my mother-in-law's neighbors, too. His aunt L got to talking with his mom's neighbor M (who has one child, one year old) after I commented on a little girl from another group's party up the hill. She was sitting on the ground for a good five minutes crying, wailing actually, and I said, "I wonder what she's crying so much about."
I suppose I should have been more distinct. I was wondering who her parents were and why they weren't trying to figure out what was wrong. I was wondering why they were leaving her to cry by herself for 5 minutes. She was 3 or 4 years old maybe.
This started a nice little ditty of a conversation between L and M.
M: I'll tell you what I would do. I'd tell her to quit crying or I'd give her something to cry about.
L: You know, I was in Target the other day and [insert local news anchor’s name] was in there with her little girl. She had her in the cart and the little girl was throwing a huge fit, screaming and crying, and she was talking to her! Trying to reason with her! Finally, she let her out and the little girl threw herself on the floor and threw a huge tantrum – kicked her legs, flung her arms around. Well, everybody was looking. Later, I heard they were out on the bench in the front of the store and she told someone, “It was way past her naptime.” I’ll tell you what – it was way past her spanking time!
M (nodding): This business about not being able to spank your kids when you want is the biggest bunch of bull. My friend’s son came home the other day from school and told his mom, “Guess what I learned in school today. I learned you can’t touch me or I can call 241-KIDS. “ Now he’s a good kid. He was just telling his mom what he learned, not threatening or anything. But she put him in his place. She said, “Well, I might go to jail but I’ll get out of jail faster than you’ll get out of the hospital!”
Much laughter ensued between L & M, and even through my tight lips, I couldn’t hold back my, “Ooh, that’s horrible!”
I guess they realized at that point they didn’t have much of a sympathetic audience anymore, so L gave one last little anecdote while M looked at me suspiciously.
L: I saw [same news anchor] in Kohl’s one day and she had both kids with her. They were both screaming and crying that day. It disturbed everyone in the place! No one could shop.
In my head, I was saying all sorts of things. Things like:
“You know, it is not a basic human right to go out in the world and not be annoyed by other people.”
“Your ‘good Christian judgment’ never helped anybody understand Jesus’ love.” (She’s quite religious.)
“Boy, if only Jesus had been there, he would have picked those kids up and blistered their butts!”
“Children have as many rights as you do to express their frustration without being assaulted, even if they don’t do it in as mature a way as you do.”
And finally....
“This is a horrible conversation! I’m outta here!”
Instead, I waited for an opportunity to politely excuse myself without being rude. Because I don’t want to cause a conflict. Because I don’t like confrontation.
Because I was gutless, and I’ve got the hangover guilt to prove it.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
what is it about stickers?
Thanks DK & Miss Pickle for letting me talk through my issues with Sassy the other day at the park. It helped to just work it out aloud & I got myself all inspired to make some changes.
She has been quite the little TV addict lately, and it's been my own fault for not setting better limits. The TV wasn't the only thing bothering me. It was also the I'm-the-queen-bee attitude. I know that attitude, because it's the same one I had my whole childhood.
Like Sassy, I was the first grandchild in the family, and I wasn't followed by another for 7 years. I was bowed to, catered to, served, picked up after. Anything I wanted was handed to me. Sometimes it took a big ol' temper tantrum to get it, but it was eventually handed to me. I remember the attitude I got along with all the glorious, indulgent attention. It was the attitude that makes other moms in the grocery store roll their eyes and mutter "Brat" underneath their breath. My own mom, despite her disciplinarian intentions, was thwarted by her need to be elsewhere most of the time and the resultant catering I received while in the care of the elderly women in my family.
While Sassy's situation might not be as extreme, her attitude has been growing into the same big hairy monster mine did. I love her unconditionally...that means bad attitude or good. Sick or well. Cranky or pleasant. It also means that I love her enough to start looking for solutions as soon as I see THE ATTITUDE rearing its ugly head. Because the thing I remember very distinctly about my many years with THE ATTITUDE is that I felt unhappy, insecure and generally bad whenever I had it.
What does it look like?
Instead of saying, "Sure, Mommy!" we say, "NO! I don't WANT to!"
Instead of saying, "Hi, friend!" we turn our heads, cross our arms & stomp away.
Instead of saying, "I love you Mommy!" we say, "Get off me! I want my alone time!"
Instead of saying, "OK, I will go. But can we get this show I'm watching from the library?" we scream, cry, kick our toys, stomp upstairs, slam our door, and say "I HATE our house!"
Instead of saying, "Sure, I'll get that!" we say, "You get it Mommy. I don't feel like it right now."
Instead of saying, "Let's snuggle, Mommy," we say, "Turn on the TV and scratch my back Mommy. Give me MY pillow!"
We have our arms crossed a lot. We walk with a swagger, nose high up in the air. We growl, we grunt. It is THE ATTITUDE. It is also a big cry for help out of this crappy place we've found ourselves.
I decided Sassy needed a 3-prong approach. First, she needed to cut her TV time. (Thanks C!) Second, she needed some of my expectations clearly laid out for her, in a way that made them easy to decipher & easy to achieve. Third, she needed clear boundaries and consistent consequences for crossing them.
I made this chart last night.
I explained to her that each time she did one of the tasks on the chart by herself, without complaining, she would earn a sticker. Each sticker equaled 10 minutes of TV time. Each night, we'll add up all her stickers & she can watch a cartoon of that length. If she gets no stickers for the day, she gets no TV at night.
I don't know what it is about those darn stickers, but they sure do motivate! She had already earned 3 stickers (30 minutes TV!) by the time she left for Nana's today! And she did it happily, I might add.
The first day of the chart was great for both of us. Although I sensed it would make her feel more secure to have my expectations clearly defined on paper, the unexpected fringe benefit was that it made me feel more secure and calm too.
Since she took off to Nana's by noon today, I didn't have a chance to see if THE ATTITUDE would have emerged from its dark hole later in the day. If it does tomorrow, a second chart of behaviors that are not allowed will be in order.
Oh, and I almost forgot -- the best part? "I need my alone time!" has been replaced again with, "I love you to the tip of the sky!" To which, of course, I replied, "Well I love you to the tip of the sky -- and back!"
She has been quite the little TV addict lately, and it's been my own fault for not setting better limits. The TV wasn't the only thing bothering me. It was also the I'm-the-queen-bee attitude. I know that attitude, because it's the same one I had my whole childhood.
Like Sassy, I was the first grandchild in the family, and I wasn't followed by another for 7 years. I was bowed to, catered to, served, picked up after. Anything I wanted was handed to me. Sometimes it took a big ol' temper tantrum to get it, but it was eventually handed to me. I remember the attitude I got along with all the glorious, indulgent attention. It was the attitude that makes other moms in the grocery store roll their eyes and mutter "Brat" underneath their breath. My own mom, despite her disciplinarian intentions, was thwarted by her need to be elsewhere most of the time and the resultant catering I received while in the care of the elderly women in my family.
While Sassy's situation might not be as extreme, her attitude has been growing into the same big hairy monster mine did. I love her unconditionally...that means bad attitude or good. Sick or well. Cranky or pleasant. It also means that I love her enough to start looking for solutions as soon as I see THE ATTITUDE rearing its ugly head. Because the thing I remember very distinctly about my many years with THE ATTITUDE is that I felt unhappy, insecure and generally bad whenever I had it.
What does it look like?
Instead of saying, "Sure, Mommy!" we say, "NO! I don't WANT to!"
Instead of saying, "Hi, friend!" we turn our heads, cross our arms & stomp away.
Instead of saying, "I love you Mommy!" we say, "Get off me! I want my alone time!"
Instead of saying, "OK, I will go. But can we get this show I'm watching from the library?" we scream, cry, kick our toys, stomp upstairs, slam our door, and say "I HATE our house!"
Instead of saying, "Sure, I'll get that!" we say, "You get it Mommy. I don't feel like it right now."
Instead of saying, "Let's snuggle, Mommy," we say, "Turn on the TV and scratch my back Mommy. Give me MY pillow!"
We have our arms crossed a lot. We walk with a swagger, nose high up in the air. We growl, we grunt. It is THE ATTITUDE. It is also a big cry for help out of this crappy place we've found ourselves.
I decided Sassy needed a 3-prong approach. First, she needed to cut her TV time. (Thanks C!) Second, she needed some of my expectations clearly laid out for her, in a way that made them easy to decipher & easy to achieve. Third, she needed clear boundaries and consistent consequences for crossing them.
I made this chart last night.
I explained to her that each time she did one of the tasks on the chart by herself, without complaining, she would earn a sticker. Each sticker equaled 10 minutes of TV time. Each night, we'll add up all her stickers & she can watch a cartoon of that length. If she gets no stickers for the day, she gets no TV at night.
I don't know what it is about those darn stickers, but they sure do motivate! She had already earned 3 stickers (30 minutes TV!) by the time she left for Nana's today! And she did it happily, I might add.
The first day of the chart was great for both of us. Although I sensed it would make her feel more secure to have my expectations clearly defined on paper, the unexpected fringe benefit was that it made me feel more secure and calm too.
Since she took off to Nana's by noon today, I didn't have a chance to see if THE ATTITUDE would have emerged from its dark hole later in the day. If it does tomorrow, a second chart of behaviors that are not allowed will be in order.
Oh, and I almost forgot -- the best part? "I need my alone time!" has been replaced again with, "I love you to the tip of the sky!" To which, of course, I replied, "Well I love you to the tip of the sky -- and back!"
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
i think it's so groovy now
...that things are finally coming together.
Yes, I know they're not the real lyrics, but they are how I feel today and they are mine.
Have I shared on here what all is currently broken in our house? Well, here's a refresher list:
1. Our dishwasher (again)
2. Our oven (still)
3. Our refrigerator -- started leaking water on the kitchen floor
4. Our washing machine -- imagine a creek through the basement to the drain every time it runs
5. Our vacuum
6. My laptop charger, making my laptop useless
7. My sewing machine
One thing after another just started breaking on me & sadly, I had to put off the first repair (on the oven) because it was beginning of winter & with our inefficient furnace & ridiculously high heating bills, I couldn't do it. Then, everything else followed suit, one by one, until I just had to throw up my hands in defeat & depression & refuse to talk or think about it anymore. It's one thing to save save save your money for one major purchase at a time but good word! Seven??!!??
So today, I went to my grandma's house for a visit, laundry load in tote, and she saved me!!! It's such a glorious, freeing feeling!
We took a trip to Hagedorn's, where she bought me a brand new washing machine to the tune of $500. Thank you thank you thank you. She gave me one of her vacuums (she has 3). She told Hagedorn's to service all my broken kitchen appliances & bill it to her. Thank you thank you thank you. Leaving me with having to take care of just two. My laptop charger, which I purchased yesterday & am happily using as I type on my lovely familiar keyboard. And my sewing machine, which I'm anxious to replace. Perhaps -- perhaps -- even upgrade. :) :) :) :) :)
My grandma will probably spend $800 or so when all's said and done, but the monkey she's taken off my back makes it the best birthday gift ever. The best early birthday gift ever.
Yes, I know they're not the real lyrics, but they are how I feel today and they are mine.
Have I shared on here what all is currently broken in our house? Well, here's a refresher list:
1. Our dishwasher (again)
2. Our oven (still)
3. Our refrigerator -- started leaking water on the kitchen floor
4. Our washing machine -- imagine a creek through the basement to the drain every time it runs
5. Our vacuum
6. My laptop charger, making my laptop useless
7. My sewing machine
One thing after another just started breaking on me & sadly, I had to put off the first repair (on the oven) because it was beginning of winter & with our inefficient furnace & ridiculously high heating bills, I couldn't do it. Then, everything else followed suit, one by one, until I just had to throw up my hands in defeat & depression & refuse to talk or think about it anymore. It's one thing to save save save your money for one major purchase at a time but good word! Seven??!!??
So today, I went to my grandma's house for a visit, laundry load in tote, and she saved me!!! It's such a glorious, freeing feeling!
We took a trip to Hagedorn's, where she bought me a brand new washing machine to the tune of $500. Thank you thank you thank you. She gave me one of her vacuums (she has 3). She told Hagedorn's to service all my broken kitchen appliances & bill it to her. Thank you thank you thank you. Leaving me with having to take care of just two. My laptop charger, which I purchased yesterday & am happily using as I type on my lovely familiar keyboard. And my sewing machine, which I'm anxious to replace. Perhaps -- perhaps -- even upgrade. :) :) :) :) :)
My grandma will probably spend $800 or so when all's said and done, but the monkey she's taken off my back makes it the best birthday gift ever. The best early birthday gift ever.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
and you ask yourself, well, how did I get here?
Hoity canoity! I went to bed a perfectly normal homeschooler, pro-education in the very educated sense of the word, and woke up an unschooler. How did that happen?! And when, exactly? I wonder....
Anyway, here's a quotable from Mr. Holt.
Sometimes I'm giddy with nervous excitement, imagining Sassy having freedoms I never had, living a life I only dreamt of, being herself mutliplied by infinity. I feel like I have a fear-grin permanently plastered across my face right now, even if it doesn't show on my lips. I want to jump out of my skin right onto our farm, even though I'm terrified of my own lack of experience here.
Ah, well, with me, the call of adventure always wins over fear.
Anyway, here's a quotable from Mr. Holt.
"It can't be said too often: We get better at using words, whether
hearing, speaking, reading, or writing, under one condition and only
one -- when we use those words to say something we want to say,
to people we want to say it to, for purposes that are our own."
~ John Holt
Sometimes I'm giddy with nervous excitement, imagining Sassy having freedoms I never had, living a life I only dreamt of, being herself mutliplied by infinity. I feel like I have a fear-grin permanently plastered across my face right now, even if it doesn't show on my lips. I want to jump out of my skin right onto our farm, even though I'm terrified of my own lack of experience here.
Ah, well, with me, the call of adventure always wins over fear.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
this is my commandment
I used to sing a song in Sunday School when I was little.
Here's the actual verse.
I've been thinking quite a bit about this verse all month. This Sunday, we had the sermon about homosexuality that often pops up in "seeker churches," like the one I attend. I was glad to hear that our pastor was preaching love instead of judgement (particularly since this is a make or break issue for me in a church), but it really got me thinking about this aspect of "love" that Jesus talks about it this verse.
Love is presented in this passage in the form of a commandment. I've known this for years -- ever since those kindergarten years singing Sunday School songs. But it holds a new meaning when I concentrate on the commandment part.
It is only possible to follow a command if you're being commanded to do something. You can't be commanded to feel something. Really, this idea of love that we are commanded to practice must carry with it a different meaning than the one that we Americans typically attach to "love."
It must be possible to actively love other people, regardless of your feelings for them. Like most Americans, I typically see love in the context of my marriage, my family & my friends, plus all those other things I enjoy. I LOVE my husband. I LOVE my daughter. I LOVE retrievers. I LOVE summer. I LOVE coffee. I LOVE sunshine. I LOVE my new camera.
When we keep using the word love in this way, I think it keeps us from realizing that the love Jesus spoke of is a little different, less opinion-based and way more active.
I can't change my usage of the word love, nor would it be all that productive since it's part of our country's vernacular and I don't want to be misunderstood by everyone around me. Instead, I'd like to add one little word to Jesus' commandment to make it more accurate in the context of current American English.
There will always be neighbors that I find it hard to love as myself, those about whom I'm prone to gossip, that most pervasive of transgressions among women. But I have to love on them anyway. If the focus is off changing my feelings and on practicing the action of love, the commandment should be easier to follow.
This is my commandment
That you love one another
That your joy may be strong.
Here's the actual verse.
Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question.
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."
Matthew 34-40 NIV
I've been thinking quite a bit about this verse all month. This Sunday, we had the sermon about homosexuality that often pops up in "seeker churches," like the one I attend. I was glad to hear that our pastor was preaching love instead of judgement (particularly since this is a make or break issue for me in a church), but it really got me thinking about this aspect of "love" that Jesus talks about it this verse.
Love is presented in this passage in the form of a commandment. I've known this for years -- ever since those kindergarten years singing Sunday School songs. But it holds a new meaning when I concentrate on the commandment part.
It is only possible to follow a command if you're being commanded to do something. You can't be commanded to feel something. Really, this idea of love that we are commanded to practice must carry with it a different meaning than the one that we Americans typically attach to "love."
It must be possible to actively love other people, regardless of your feelings for them. Like most Americans, I typically see love in the context of my marriage, my family & my friends, plus all those other things I enjoy. I LOVE my husband. I LOVE my daughter. I LOVE retrievers. I LOVE summer. I LOVE coffee. I LOVE sunshine. I LOVE my new camera.
When we keep using the word love in this way, I think it keeps us from realizing that the love Jesus spoke of is a little different, less opinion-based and way more active.
I can't change my usage of the word love, nor would it be all that productive since it's part of our country's vernacular and I don't want to be misunderstood by everyone around me. Instead, I'd like to add one little word to Jesus' commandment to make it more accurate in the context of current American English.
This is my commandment
That we LOVE ON one another
That our joy may be strong.
There will always be neighbors that I find it hard to love as myself, those about whom I'm prone to gossip, that most pervasive of transgressions among women. But I have to love on them anyway. If the focus is off changing my feelings and on practicing the action of love, the commandment should be easier to follow.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
blooming flower
Sassy chose the blooming flower as her prize at the Art MuseumFor some reason, I've been thinking a lot about my various time suckers recently. I feel like one of those analysts that companies hire to find out where they can save money, especially in human labor. I've been jokingly referring to myself as a "systems analyst" in my own head. (OK, and to Jeff, too. I'm sure he was rolling his eyes, even if he was kind enough not to do so during our "face time.")
It is true, however, that our house is bleeding money through as yet unidentified avenues and weeks will go by with me not seeming to do much besides repeating long cleaning or organizing processes over and over and over again. Couldn't there be a better way? A way that enables me to spend more time doing something that would make us some money or feed into my daughter and other family/friend relationships? Finding and reducing these time suckers often has some lovely little surprise benefits, like saving money or saving resources to help lessen our environmental impact.
So can I write "systems analyst" on a resume one day? :-) Here are a couple I've identified.
Dishes
Our dishwasher broke again (never, ever, EVER buy Frigidaire anything), leaving me with lots of time spent not doing dishes, but thinking about the dishes. I have implemented a new plan for our family. Each of us has chosen one mug, one glass, one bowl, one plate, one fork, knife & spoon. These are only to be used for the individual that chose them, and no one was allowed to choose the same style. That habit I've cultivated of buying mismatched dishes, to the dismay of my more OCD friends, is paying off!
We have a special drying place for these dishes. Each time you use your dishes, you rinse them & put them on the drying place. Every time I do a load of dishes, I wash those too & we start over. In my estimation, this will eliminate about 50% of the overall dishes. No longer will we have a steady stream of plates, mugs, glasses & silverware. The full loads will be made up of our cooking & storing dishes. It should save the same amount of money spent and water wasted.
Pictures
I've realized that my camera is a big time sucker for me. It involves a loooooonnnnnnggggg process to get pictures from the camera to, say, a website like this one. Unfortunately, I don't have such an easy fix on this one, though I'm trying. Here's the steps:
Transfer pics via camera cord to my laptop
iPhoto auto starts and imports the pics
View pics in iPhoto and decide which ones to keep (this is by far the longest step, since the camera's resolution overwhelms my very slow computer)
Delete unwanted pics from computer, first to iPhoto trash, then empty iPhoto trash, then empty desktop trash
Name those pics destined for other places (email, websites, photoshop)
Export those pics to the appropriate places by apple-clicking on each one from the organize view, choosing export & typing in my specs (this too is very time-consuming & annoying since I can't always remember which pic I've chosen for which app when in organize view)
For a Blogger upload, open the image dialog box in Blogger & configure specs
Upload
Copy & paste to the right spot in the post since it always annoyingly puts it at the top of the post
Using this system, one picture -- just one -- could easily take 20 minutes or longer since a lot of time is waiting for iPhoto to stop spinning its little rainbow ball and recoup enough to perform the command I just gave it without crashing my system. Then, of course, there's the waiting for the Blogger site to respond. It can be very frustrating. If I want to use a grown-up camera, I think I need to find a grown-up system to deal with the pics. Maybe this involves different software or maybe different hardware for my computer. If you all have any ideas that have worked for you, I'd love to hear them!
So if I can eliminate these time-suckers, what will I do with myself? That's easy. I'm looking at my bedroom around me right now. It's dusty. So, so dusty. It needs to be vacuumed. Thoroughly. Even under the bed. I have 3 baskets of clean clothes to put away. Dishes to take downstairs. Empty cans & bottles to be recycled. And that's just one room. My usual tactic is to just jump in to get it done. You know, because thinking about the problem would be wasting time that could be spent doing. Maybe that's not so. Maybe thinking about the problems is exactly what would turn my life at home from a "when am I going to ever catch up?" atmostphere to an "I'm on top of it" atmostphere.
I would love for my house to be a safe haven for our whole family. A place to unwind, drop our stress & actually relax. Instead, I actually dread walking up to my front door whenever I come home. While I'm out, I can relax and just be. At home, from the minute I step in the door, I see work. I feel work. I am crushed by work and the everpresent feeling that I am way behind and there's so much more work to do. If I'm the hamster, my house has become the wheel.
I've even thought I will probably have to leave my house to school Sassy when she reaches that hands-on teaching age. I'll have to go to the library to homeschool my child, because my house has become a crushing weight of neverending responsibility and failure. That's just wrong!
So this week, I'm doing a little more thinking and a little less doing. Just for this week. I'm already hopelessly behind, so what's there to lose?
Saturday, April 05, 2008
freedom la la la la la
Well, on the exact 4th day of my new coffee job, today, I awoke early early in the morning. About 3:00 a.m. to be exact. I tossed & turned and told myself I had to get to sleep that I had a big long hurried weekend ahead of me and I was already fighting sickness and I had to sleep. Sleep, dammit, sleep. And then I consulted my little voice on this whole job thing. Why was I already so stressed on only Day 4?
I told a few friends right after my 3rd day (last Saturday) how the assistant manager implied that I was stealing a drink on the way out the door and how they tried to keep me almost an hour after work to teach me the books although no one informed me that this was planned. So, I had Jeff waiting outside for me and both of us getting frustrated for a good 15 minutes. I don't know if I mentioned how frustrating it was that they had no employee manual at all. No policies written down. No training information compiled with instructions on the different procedures, phone numbers of people who could help, etc. Instead, they relied on 3-4 training shifts to teach you all you needed to know & then you were to work by yourself from that point forward.
I'm very comfortable working by myself. With instructions. I like written instructions. At my old coffee shop job, I referred to the training and procedure manual often....after I rewrote it and indexed it for a class project in my tech writing class. I enjoy writing training manuals because I know what a valuable resource a well-organized manual can be.
So I tossed and I turned and I consulted my little voice. I've been missing my little voice. He hasn't come around for awhile. I've been pretty scattered and stressed lately, bordering on the overwhelmed again. My little voice flees like a dove when I feel this way.
My old pastor at my old church, the one that I truly love, the one that has my heart, recently did a sermon on the Holy Ghost. He described the Holy Ghost as a Counselor and brought up how Jesus compared him to a dove. The Holy Ghost does not like to be around certain mindsets. I believe that for me, my little voice skitters away when my mind is all-over-the-place. But apparently, 3:00 a.m. is a good time to be asking for counsel.
My little voice speaks in ideas more than complete sentences, and what I discerned was this: quit. Quit the job. Quit being all-over-the-place. (Why do I keep forgetting these things?) When you do this working outside the home, you are not living your natural life.
There's more. And this is where my little voice deviated from my usual thoughts.
Me: What do I do at home? More gardening? More slashing of bills? Work from home?
Little voice: Serve your husband more.
I've shared my "I'm not a feminist," line with most of my friends, but I never use the word "serve" in relation to my husband. I imagine women that "serve" their husband to always wear long skirts & tennis shoes with white socks sticking out. And never cut their hair -- just pull it up into the bun.
But upon further thought, the little voice is probably right -- again. See, when I work, I start to get stressed & overwhelmed and then I get resentful. I get resentful that Jeff never does housework or laundry or errands or bills. I think, "Well, I work too!" to which he replies, "Yes, but you don't work at a job that supports the family." Many of my feminist friends would likely smart at that one, but I think it's true. I don't carry the burden of supporting the family, nor could I. I am not built that way. I would not be living my natural life.
Jeff, on the other hand, is built that way. That is a very important character trait to him. He may not choose to go to his job on any given day, and it may not be his dream job, but he still goes. That is HUGE to me, because if it were me, I would choose not to go. I would be depressed constantly. I would hate my life, all joie de vivre gone.
The problem is, a $10/hour job demands just as much from you as his family-supporting one does. They carry the same expectations that you arrive on time, that you show up for your shift, that you make them the priority in your life. In fact, the $10/hour job is often more demanding and has higher expectations since the nature of the jobs usually entail some service aspect that can't be achieved without a human being present.
When I work, I feel the same mental strain for that piddly job as he does for his important one. So it's natural that I would get resentful. Of course, resentment never builds a healthy marriage.
What else did my little voice tell me that I wasn't expecting?
Me: Well then, where should the money come from? What kind of job can I get that-
Little voice: A loan.
My whole idea was to pay for this temporary home with cash. But now I feel that perhaps I should explore the loan option a little more. Perhaps it would make this move -- this summer -- less stressful with very little pinch. Aren't I supposed to live, too? I mean short-term pain for the gain is all good and everything, but putting myself into a depressed, resentful state to achieve it doesn't seem like a viable option anymore.
My little voice thinks that my new church is not as good for me as my old church. I know this. The drive is prohibitive for me, but deep down, I know this. I am committed to the new church for now. I have obligations that I'm not willing to break. But I think I need to set aside a certain time & place to download and listen to each week's message from my old church.
So....what did I do after consulting my little voice? I told him how much I'd missed him and asked him not to flee so far and to stick around. Then I went to sleep. Ahhh.....sleep.
And this morning, I woke up, lazed around for a few minutes in bed with Sassy, and then came downstairs and quit my job. And the best part is that I haven't felt guilty about it. I usually feel terribly guilty after I quit a job, but this time I didn't, because I knew I had the support of my little voice.
Freedom la la la la la
I told a few friends right after my 3rd day (last Saturday) how the assistant manager implied that I was stealing a drink on the way out the door and how they tried to keep me almost an hour after work to teach me the books although no one informed me that this was planned. So, I had Jeff waiting outside for me and both of us getting frustrated for a good 15 minutes. I don't know if I mentioned how frustrating it was that they had no employee manual at all. No policies written down. No training information compiled with instructions on the different procedures, phone numbers of people who could help, etc. Instead, they relied on 3-4 training shifts to teach you all you needed to know & then you were to work by yourself from that point forward.
I'm very comfortable working by myself. With instructions. I like written instructions. At my old coffee shop job, I referred to the training and procedure manual often....after I rewrote it and indexed it for a class project in my tech writing class. I enjoy writing training manuals because I know what a valuable resource a well-organized manual can be.
So I tossed and I turned and I consulted my little voice. I've been missing my little voice. He hasn't come around for awhile. I've been pretty scattered and stressed lately, bordering on the overwhelmed again. My little voice flees like a dove when I feel this way.
My old pastor at my old church, the one that I truly love, the one that has my heart, recently did a sermon on the Holy Ghost. He described the Holy Ghost as a Counselor and brought up how Jesus compared him to a dove. The Holy Ghost does not like to be around certain mindsets. I believe that for me, my little voice skitters away when my mind is all-over-the-place. But apparently, 3:00 a.m. is a good time to be asking for counsel.
My little voice speaks in ideas more than complete sentences, and what I discerned was this: quit. Quit the job. Quit being all-over-the-place. (Why do I keep forgetting these things?) When you do this working outside the home, you are not living your natural life.
There's more. And this is where my little voice deviated from my usual thoughts.
Me: What do I do at home? More gardening? More slashing of bills? Work from home?
Little voice: Serve your husband more.
I've shared my "I'm not a feminist," line with most of my friends, but I never use the word "serve" in relation to my husband. I imagine women that "serve" their husband to always wear long skirts & tennis shoes with white socks sticking out. And never cut their hair -- just pull it up into the bun.
But upon further thought, the little voice is probably right -- again. See, when I work, I start to get stressed & overwhelmed and then I get resentful. I get resentful that Jeff never does housework or laundry or errands or bills. I think, "Well, I work too!" to which he replies, "Yes, but you don't work at a job that supports the family." Many of my feminist friends would likely smart at that one, but I think it's true. I don't carry the burden of supporting the family, nor could I. I am not built that way. I would not be living my natural life.
Jeff, on the other hand, is built that way. That is a very important character trait to him. He may not choose to go to his job on any given day, and it may not be his dream job, but he still goes. That is HUGE to me, because if it were me, I would choose not to go. I would be depressed constantly. I would hate my life, all joie de vivre gone.
The problem is, a $10/hour job demands just as much from you as his family-supporting one does. They carry the same expectations that you arrive on time, that you show up for your shift, that you make them the priority in your life. In fact, the $10/hour job is often more demanding and has higher expectations since the nature of the jobs usually entail some service aspect that can't be achieved without a human being present.
When I work, I feel the same mental strain for that piddly job as he does for his important one. So it's natural that I would get resentful. Of course, resentment never builds a healthy marriage.
What else did my little voice tell me that I wasn't expecting?
Me: Well then, where should the money come from? What kind of job can I get that-
Little voice: A loan.
My whole idea was to pay for this temporary home with cash. But now I feel that perhaps I should explore the loan option a little more. Perhaps it would make this move -- this summer -- less stressful with very little pinch. Aren't I supposed to live, too? I mean short-term pain for the gain is all good and everything, but putting myself into a depressed, resentful state to achieve it doesn't seem like a viable option anymore.
My little voice thinks that my new church is not as good for me as my old church. I know this. The drive is prohibitive for me, but deep down, I know this. I am committed to the new church for now. I have obligations that I'm not willing to break. But I think I need to set aside a certain time & place to download and listen to each week's message from my old church.
So....what did I do after consulting my little voice? I told him how much I'd missed him and asked him not to flee so far and to stick around. Then I went to sleep. Ahhh.....sleep.
And this morning, I woke up, lazed around for a few minutes in bed with Sassy, and then came downstairs and quit my job. And the best part is that I haven't felt guilty about it. I usually feel terribly guilty after I quit a job, but this time I didn't, because I knew I had the support of my little voice.
Freedom la la la la la
Saturday, March 22, 2008
eastery fun
I hosted an egg hunt here on Thursday, which was the perfect chance to use my new camera. I guess I've now joined Dana and Caroline in the clunky camera club (we're waiting for you, Z!). 
This probably means my blog will include more look-at-my-pics-of-the-fun-stuff-we've-done posts in addition to the usual here's-what-I've-figured-out-lately-and-now-must-write-about posts. Hopefully these new posts will force me out of my introspective comfort zone and make me focus on the now. Or something like that.
At any rate, I love my new camera. It IS a lot of fun. The Easter egg hunt was a great time. I've done a hunt for the past year (or two?) for our homeschooling group, but this year I scaled it back even further & it worked out much better. There were only 3 families besides us, which was very do-able. In the past, I've put out blanket invitations only to find myself totally stressing over not having enough eggs, not having enough candy, spending lots of money on supplies, having a full house of muddy children, etc. Although I always want to invite everyone I know and love to these sorts of things, I literally bit my tongue to keep it small & consequently, eliminated the stress & was able to relax, have fun, and take PICTURES!
The girls hamming it up for the camera
"Everybody say candy!"
Our Mama-Sassy shot
Hunting
I also picked up some baby chicks from our local poultry farm so the kids could hold them. We still have them chirping away downstairs (well, actually, we have the brown one and a new, older yellow one -- the little tiny yellow one the kids passed around was, unbeknownst to us, only a day old (!) when we picked it up. It was not doing so well the next day, so I drove it back to the farm so it could heal & exchanged it for an older one.) Between the chicks & the kittens, it's gotten us so itchy to move to the farm.
That night, we went to Kroger to buy the supplies to reproduce the Sitwell's Gouda & Guacamole sandwich. Sassy used some of the supplies to make a gorgeous salad for herself, complete with lime juice for dressing and a dill garnish, with no help from us.
Jeff's dad would be so proud.
After she fell asleep, I told Jeff that she would so be his dad's favorite if he had lived to know it. Of course, he'd never have admitted it. But that wouldn't have made it any less so.
This probably means my blog will include more look-at-my-pics-of-the-fun-stuff-we've-done posts in addition to the usual here's-what-I've-figured-out-lately-and-now-must-write-about posts. Hopefully these new posts will force me out of my introspective comfort zone and make me focus on the now. Or something like that.
At any rate, I love my new camera. It IS a lot of fun. The Easter egg hunt was a great time. I've done a hunt for the past year (or two?) for our homeschooling group, but this year I scaled it back even further & it worked out much better. There were only 3 families besides us, which was very do-able. In the past, I've put out blanket invitations only to find myself totally stressing over not having enough eggs, not having enough candy, spending lots of money on supplies, having a full house of muddy children, etc. Although I always want to invite everyone I know and love to these sorts of things, I literally bit my tongue to keep it small & consequently, eliminated the stress & was able to relax, have fun, and take PICTURES!
The girls hamming it up for the camera
"Everybody say candy!"
Our Mama-Sassy shot
Hunting
I also picked up some baby chicks from our local poultry farm so the kids could hold them. We still have them chirping away downstairs (well, actually, we have the brown one and a new, older yellow one -- the little tiny yellow one the kids passed around was, unbeknownst to us, only a day old (!) when we picked it up. It was not doing so well the next day, so I drove it back to the farm so it could heal & exchanged it for an older one.) Between the chicks & the kittens, it's gotten us so itchy to move to the farm.
That night, we went to Kroger to buy the supplies to reproduce the Sitwell's Gouda & Guacamole sandwich. Sassy used some of the supplies to make a gorgeous salad for herself, complete with lime juice for dressing and a dill garnish, with no help from us.
Jeff's dad would be so proud. After she fell asleep, I told Jeff that she would so be his dad's favorite if he had lived to know it. Of course, he'd never have admitted it. But that wouldn't have made it any less so.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
kittens!
We have KITTENS!
Three of them, to be exact. And we also have one dog, one mama cat, one big-ass goldfish & 2 baby chicks. Oh, and an almost five-year-old. Whew! That's a lot of caretaking on my plate right now. It makes me tired just talking about it.
Everybody told me that cats will go off by themselves to give birth -- just disappear -- but not Sally. She wouldn't leave me alone until I followed her upstairs & wouldn't give birth until I stayed with her.
I usually am not a believer in the "everything happens for a reason" mentality...I'm more of a believer that everything happens by chance and things work out better when you follow the conscience God gave to your soul. But this cat almost has a magical quality to her. I wonder if she came to our door because she's my healer.
Here she showed up barely showing a pregnancy, but I figured it out the same night & insisted we keep her. I've watched her get bigger & bigger at the same time that I'm facing the fact that I don't trust my body anymore & feel it's inherently flawed. Instead, I've been watching her be completely at home with her pregnant self, which has been a great model for me.
I've been suspecting lately that I am probably supposed to learn something from her. The night the kittens were born, I was so, SO tempted to jump online & research the heck out of cats giving birth & the signs & how often cats will be with their humans when they do it, etc, etc. But I didn't let myself. I decided this was between me & Sally & she'd tell me everything I needed to know if I just trusted her & listened to her.
It was wonderful. I've never felt I understood a cat's body language before, but she communicated very clearly with me. I turned off all the sounds in the room so I could hear her & drifted to sleep. About an hour and a half later, I heard the tiny squeaks of a kitten, then another. In the morning, I counted 3. Yay!
I had to ditch that great glowing bastion of accumulated information and trust that nature will take its course & that Sally & I could handle whatever happened just fine. And we did. I think I need to apply this lesson to my own body.
She is a wonderful mother. She does it so naturally. I get so caught up in watching her sometimes, soaking in her calm.
Three of them, to be exact. And we also have one dog, one mama cat, one big-ass goldfish & 2 baby chicks. Oh, and an almost five-year-old. Whew! That's a lot of caretaking on my plate right now. It makes me tired just talking about it.
Everybody told me that cats will go off by themselves to give birth -- just disappear -- but not Sally. She wouldn't leave me alone until I followed her upstairs & wouldn't give birth until I stayed with her.
I usually am not a believer in the "everything happens for a reason" mentality...I'm more of a believer that everything happens by chance and things work out better when you follow the conscience God gave to your soul. But this cat almost has a magical quality to her. I wonder if she came to our door because she's my healer.
Here she showed up barely showing a pregnancy, but I figured it out the same night & insisted we keep her. I've watched her get bigger & bigger at the same time that I'm facing the fact that I don't trust my body anymore & feel it's inherently flawed. Instead, I've been watching her be completely at home with her pregnant self, which has been a great model for me.
I've been suspecting lately that I am probably supposed to learn something from her. The night the kittens were born, I was so, SO tempted to jump online & research the heck out of cats giving birth & the signs & how often cats will be with their humans when they do it, etc, etc. But I didn't let myself. I decided this was between me & Sally & she'd tell me everything I needed to know if I just trusted her & listened to her.
It was wonderful. I've never felt I understood a cat's body language before, but she communicated very clearly with me. I turned off all the sounds in the room so I could hear her & drifted to sleep. About an hour and a half later, I heard the tiny squeaks of a kitten, then another. In the morning, I counted 3. Yay!
I had to ditch that great glowing bastion of accumulated information and trust that nature will take its course & that Sally & I could handle whatever happened just fine. And we did. I think I need to apply this lesson to my own body.
She is a wonderful mother. She does it so naturally. I get so caught up in watching her sometimes, soaking in her calm.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
the lion who resurrected
I’ve written before about the cheap little movie machine at Kroger. The selection is small, but for only $1/night, we use it when we want something outside the library.
Last night, I thought it would be fun to get something Sassy and I would both like. I rented The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe. Of course, Jeff was happy with my decision & wanted to watch too, so it made a nice little impromptu family movie night.
I’ve seen my share of these fantasy-type movies, but this is now my favorite, partly due to nostalgia & partly due to timing. I figured there would be some sort of various Biblically-influenced parts to the movie. Having read C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters in my college years, I was well aware of his beliefs. Our pastors at Crossroads also referred to his books often in their own studies. Personally, I’ve found him to be one of the most accessible & intelligent Christian writers out there.
What I didn’t expect was a retelling of the entire Easter story through different characters. It’s easy to become jaded after awhile with the death and resurrection. Even the beating, taunting, suffering beforehand can lose its intensity after you hear it so many times. But to see it through the eyes of this lion, the lion who was both inherently gentle and supernaturally strong, the lion who made even the White Witch sit in her seat with a single roar – it breathed new life into the old story.
I loved it.
I was itching to grasp my teachable moments when I could throughout the movie, but it became a Family Movie Night, and multiple pauses to draw clear metaphors for Sassy wasn’t appropriate at the time.
I’ve requested a movie from the library, The Easter Storytellers, that shows the Easter story as we know it on a kid’s level. After we watch it, I might just watch Narnia again with the remote in hand.
Last night, I thought it would be fun to get something Sassy and I would both like. I rented The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe. Of course, Jeff was happy with my decision & wanted to watch too, so it made a nice little impromptu family movie night.
I’ve seen my share of these fantasy-type movies, but this is now my favorite, partly due to nostalgia & partly due to timing. I figured there would be some sort of various Biblically-influenced parts to the movie. Having read C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters in my college years, I was well aware of his beliefs. Our pastors at Crossroads also referred to his books often in their own studies. Personally, I’ve found him to be one of the most accessible & intelligent Christian writers out there.
What I didn’t expect was a retelling of the entire Easter story through different characters. It’s easy to become jaded after awhile with the death and resurrection. Even the beating, taunting, suffering beforehand can lose its intensity after you hear it so many times. But to see it through the eyes of this lion, the lion who was both inherently gentle and supernaturally strong, the lion who made even the White Witch sit in her seat with a single roar – it breathed new life into the old story.
I loved it.
I was itching to grasp my teachable moments when I could throughout the movie, but it became a Family Movie Night, and multiple pauses to draw clear metaphors for Sassy wasn’t appropriate at the time.
I’ve requested a movie from the library, The Easter Storytellers, that shows the Easter story as we know it on a kid’s level. After we watch it, I might just watch Narnia again with the remote in hand.
Monday, March 10, 2008
aaaaggghhhh! where's the money???
I'm getting so tired of having zero extra money right now. I sort of know where it's going. Our gas & electric bill was well over $300 for the past 2 months & then there's the fact that I'm seeing a nutritionist weekly to the tune of $35 + supplements a pop. It just seems like with Jeff's recent raise there would be more than this!
We watch PBS. All the time. So lately, we've been watching PBS's fundraising. All the time. I agree that we all need to contribute to PBS & I believe with all my heart that it's a great cause & the best TV out there, but I tell you -- I want to stab that woman with a blunt knife every time she interrupts Curious George for 10 minutes in the morning, leaving me with a little Chatty Cathy right next to me until I can (hopefully) persuade her that the Super Why we're hearing might not be a rerun this morning. But then of course, the relief only lasts 10 more minutes anyway before Little Miss Contributions comes back on to yada yada yada us.
It's not that Sassy doesn't have brilliant things to say. (She does!) And it's not that I don't want to hear them. (I do!) But I am not a morning person. I never have been, probably never will be. I enjoy getting up early because that means I can really get going by 10:00 or 11:00. If I were getting up at 10:00, I'd be a grump until at least noon. It's unfortunate, but, what's that phrase? It is what it is.
So, yes, I depend on PBS cartoons in the morning to let me wake up gently, coming to the table a patient mama, an attentive mama, not emotionally scarring my child by appearing to be annoyed by her mere existence beside me. It's just not true. It's chemical!
And so I'd really like to give to PBS. First and foremost, I hope that our "generous gift of $75" would magically tip the scales so that yada yada yada lady would shut up already & let Curious George play all the way through. But, really, because it is something we should support. It is a great institution. And we do watch it. A lot.
Just tonight I saw a very interesting documentary about Pete Seeger. I've now decided that I am not allowed to call myself a hippie, a liberal, a leftist without serious scrutiny and ribbing considering I didn't know many, many of the things in the documenatry. (I will not publicly embarrass myself by listing them here, but suffice to say, I knew next to nothing of his songs, his persona, etc. and I found myself saying many times during the show, "So THATS's where that came from.") My next stop on my internet tour tonight is to request his CD from the library. That should say it all.
In the closing of the documentary, he sang a Spanish song & translated it during the performance. I will close with the line from the song that struck me as the wisest quote I've heard in years. Perhaps that's because Jesus himself said as much over 2000 years ago. Regardless of my ability to support public television, it's important to remember how lovely that struggle can be.
"
We watch PBS. All the time. So lately, we've been watching PBS's fundraising. All the time. I agree that we all need to contribute to PBS & I believe with all my heart that it's a great cause & the best TV out there, but I tell you -- I want to stab that woman with a blunt knife every time she interrupts Curious George for 10 minutes in the morning, leaving me with a little Chatty Cathy right next to me until I can (hopefully) persuade her that the Super Why we're hearing might not be a rerun this morning. But then of course, the relief only lasts 10 more minutes anyway before Little Miss Contributions comes back on to yada yada yada us.
It's not that Sassy doesn't have brilliant things to say. (She does!) And it's not that I don't want to hear them. (I do!) But I am not a morning person. I never have been, probably never will be. I enjoy getting up early because that means I can really get going by 10:00 or 11:00. If I were getting up at 10:00, I'd be a grump until at least noon. It's unfortunate, but, what's that phrase? It is what it is.
So, yes, I depend on PBS cartoons in the morning to let me wake up gently, coming to the table a patient mama, an attentive mama, not emotionally scarring my child by appearing to be annoyed by her mere existence beside me. It's just not true. It's chemical!
And so I'd really like to give to PBS. First and foremost, I hope that our "generous gift of $75" would magically tip the scales so that yada yada yada lady would shut up already & let Curious George play all the way through. But, really, because it is something we should support. It is a great institution. And we do watch it. A lot.
Just tonight I saw a very interesting documentary about Pete Seeger. I've now decided that I am not allowed to call myself a hippie, a liberal, a leftist without serious scrutiny and ribbing considering I didn't know many, many of the things in the documenatry. (I will not publicly embarrass myself by listing them here, but suffice to say, I knew next to nothing of his songs, his persona, etc. and I found myself saying many times during the show, "So THATS's where that came from.") My next stop on my internet tour tonight is to request his CD from the library. That should say it all.
In the closing of the documentary, he sang a Spanish song & translated it during the performance. I will close with the line from the song that struck me as the wisest quote I've heard in years. Perhaps that's because Jesus himself said as much over 2000 years ago. Regardless of my ability to support public television, it's important to remember how lovely that struggle can be.
With the poor of this world, I want to cast my lot.
"
and the list goes on...
We are trying to get our house ready to list by the end of this month. There is so. much. work. I've been trying to do at least one thing each day toward the house & have been fairly successful, especially during the week. But today, I have a few sewing projects so I have to switch gears from the painting, organizing, decluttering mode & try to enter the more sedate, calm, meditative mode of sewing. One of my projects is a gift for a friend, so it actually has to be good. :-)
Lately, we've been spending so much money to fix up the house & do work on the land that it keeps eating our grocery budget right up. So it's been nearly a month since we've had more than $30/week to spend on food. Jeff and I have been supplementing with our own spending money when we get tired of the pantry choices, but the freezer, cabinets & basement storage are all running low. I'm trying to look at it as another chance to work out those tightwad muscles -- sometimes it's too easy to slack off -- but frankly I'm getting tired of workarounds. And yelling at Sassy for eating "too many oranges" in one day, even though the poor thing is still sick & could surely use the Vitamin C. I feel like such an ogre, hoarding the fruit, doling it out one by one after she's proven her case to me. Anyway...
The key in a tight market is to not waste anything, so I've developed a new system on cooking day. Cooking day usually happens every Monday through a confluence of factors that involve me paying bills over the weekend and realizing how poor we are, doing a tiny bit of grocery shopping on what little money we have, spending one full weekend trying to find food for us in the house & looking at the empty refrigerator first thing on Monday morning, thinking I'll surely KILL myself if I don't have ready food for the next 5 days. Or at least be really hungry. And so I cook. And cook. And cook as much as I can think of that day. And it lasts us until Wednesday maybe.
Well, as I was heading to the trash can with my sweet potato ends, I decided it was so wasteful -- why not prepare them for Sofie? So I've kept a small pot of water on the stove all day to which I've added:
sweet potato ends
2 bites uneaten eggs
walnuts found on the floor
popcorn spilled on the floor
cornbread batter from my beater hook (I rinsed it off in the pot instead of in the sink)
Tonight I plan to put all my old leftovers from the fridge into the pot before I boil it all up for her. And hopefully, we can spend our money on people food instead of dog food during this time.
Lately, we've been spending so much money to fix up the house & do work on the land that it keeps eating our grocery budget right up. So it's been nearly a month since we've had more than $30/week to spend on food. Jeff and I have been supplementing with our own spending money when we get tired of the pantry choices, but the freezer, cabinets & basement storage are all running low. I'm trying to look at it as another chance to work out those tightwad muscles -- sometimes it's too easy to slack off -- but frankly I'm getting tired of workarounds. And yelling at Sassy for eating "too many oranges" in one day, even though the poor thing is still sick & could surely use the Vitamin C. I feel like such an ogre, hoarding the fruit, doling it out one by one after she's proven her case to me. Anyway...
The key in a tight market is to not waste anything, so I've developed a new system on cooking day. Cooking day usually happens every Monday through a confluence of factors that involve me paying bills over the weekend and realizing how poor we are, doing a tiny bit of grocery shopping on what little money we have, spending one full weekend trying to find food for us in the house & looking at the empty refrigerator first thing on Monday morning, thinking I'll surely KILL myself if I don't have ready food for the next 5 days. Or at least be really hungry. And so I cook. And cook. And cook as much as I can think of that day. And it lasts us until Wednesday maybe.
Well, as I was heading to the trash can with my sweet potato ends, I decided it was so wasteful -- why not prepare them for Sofie? So I've kept a small pot of water on the stove all day to which I've added:
sweet potato ends
2 bites uneaten eggs
walnuts found on the floor
popcorn spilled on the floor
cornbread batter from my beater hook (I rinsed it off in the pot instead of in the sink)
Tonight I plan to put all my old leftovers from the fridge into the pot before I boil it all up for her. And hopefully, we can spend our money on people food instead of dog food during this time.
Monday, February 25, 2008
"How I Became Pro-Life" - an excerpt
It is tough to be pro-life & liberal at the same time. I've lived that life for over 20 years, believing staunchly in many things that are "leftist" in our culture, like protecting the Earth (that God has given to us, making me question why this ever became a partisan issue in the first place), caring for the unfortunate (again, just as Jesus himself did, bringing into question its partisan status), and the left's general reticence to throw us into war.
During my college days, I hid my true pro-life feelings behind a veneer of apathy. "I would never have an abortion," I'd say, "but I guess I can't really control what other people do." That much was true indeed. But I didn't feel comfortable revealing my disgust at abortion and the way it valued mom's feelings about the pregnancy over those of the developing fetus. Essentially, a culture that says abortion is legal and doesn't even carry with it a scarlet letter is saying that one human life (that of the mother) is more important than another human life (that of the fetus). Let's bring up all the ethical baggage that goes along with the dilemma: but what if there was rape? What if the mother's life were in danger? What if the baby had severe disabilities?
Is it really our right to decide the answers in blanket yes or no judgements? Is it all black and white? Does it have to be? I'm not fooled by the excessive media attention given these fringe scenarios, when I realize fully well that they comprise a very small percentage of abortion cases.
I found a post sort of accidentally this morning that detailed another woman's journey from pro-choice to pro-life, and I appreciated hearing her thoughts.
If you have 20 minutes to spare, please read the whole post because it's very good.
Lately, I've realized what a wonderful moral compass we can find in healthy, secure children who've been given the chance to think freely and not have our society's moral agenda superimposed onto them. My daughter is a great example of this, as was I, and as I believe most children I know are. These well-adjusted kids have an inherent sense of what is right or wrong, not based on a particular ideology, but based on an innate conscience that, when followed and not ignored, will cultivate a loving, generous and kind soul. This, I believe, is why we recognize that children are "innocent."
The abortion issue is one that struck home with me very early. I remember as a child when I first learned of the procedure. My first thought was thankfulness that my own mother didn't choose to have an abortion, followed by a feeling of having had a "narrow escape." Then, I felt a deep sadness for all the babies that didn't get a chance to live. I hadn't been taught yet that the correct term was fetuses and that only pro-life freaks called them babies.
My own daughter loves babies as well, inside or out. She was fascinated by the baby that lived in my womb for 3 months last year. She knew that the baby was to be protected. She would have been horrified if I'd terminated the pregnancy on my own, and rightly so.
We don't like to hear of the particulars of dismemberment, drowning in acid, floating heads, etc. We call it "religious propaganda," and wouldn't dream of showing it to our children. That's because we know our children would be horrified. In their innocence and ability to feel truth rather than our current culture's dogma, they would be sickened and disgusted. That doesn't mean the answer is to hide it from them, any more than the answer to factory farming is to put it out of sight so we don't have to see the suffering of our meat.
The answer for me is that logic and rational thinking only take you so far. No matter how much life experience you have, true wisdom often comes from the littlest voices. If you aren't afraid to look directly at your own moral compass, I think you'll agree.
During my college days, I hid my true pro-life feelings behind a veneer of apathy. "I would never have an abortion," I'd say, "but I guess I can't really control what other people do." That much was true indeed. But I didn't feel comfortable revealing my disgust at abortion and the way it valued mom's feelings about the pregnancy over those of the developing fetus. Essentially, a culture that says abortion is legal and doesn't even carry with it a scarlet letter is saying that one human life (that of the mother) is more important than another human life (that of the fetus). Let's bring up all the ethical baggage that goes along with the dilemma: but what if there was rape? What if the mother's life were in danger? What if the baby had severe disabilities?
Is it really our right to decide the answers in blanket yes or no judgements? Is it all black and white? Does it have to be? I'm not fooled by the excessive media attention given these fringe scenarios, when I realize fully well that they comprise a very small percentage of abortion cases.
I found a post sort of accidentally this morning that detailed another woman's journey from pro-choice to pro-life, and I appreciated hearing her thoughts.
It made me realize that my pro-choice viewpoints were putting me in the position of deciding who was and was not human, and whose lives were worth living. I (along with doctors, the government, or other abortion advocates) decided where to draw this very important line. When I would come across Catholic blogs or books where they said something like "life begins at conception," I would scoff at the silliness of that notion as was my habit...yet I found myself increasingly uncomfortable with my defense:
"A few cells is obviously not a baby or even a human life!" I would say to myself. "Fetuses eventually become full-fledged humans, but not until, umm, like six months gestation or something. Or maybe five months? When is it that they can kick their legs and stuff?...Eight weeks? No, they're not human then, those must be involuntary spasms..."
I was putting the burden of proof on the fetuses to demonstrate to me that they were human.
If you have 20 minutes to spare, please read the whole post because it's very good.
Lately, I've realized what a wonderful moral compass we can find in healthy, secure children who've been given the chance to think freely and not have our society's moral agenda superimposed onto them. My daughter is a great example of this, as was I, and as I believe most children I know are. These well-adjusted kids have an inherent sense of what is right or wrong, not based on a particular ideology, but based on an innate conscience that, when followed and not ignored, will cultivate a loving, generous and kind soul. This, I believe, is why we recognize that children are "innocent."
The abortion issue is one that struck home with me very early. I remember as a child when I first learned of the procedure. My first thought was thankfulness that my own mother didn't choose to have an abortion, followed by a feeling of having had a "narrow escape." Then, I felt a deep sadness for all the babies that didn't get a chance to live. I hadn't been taught yet that the correct term was fetuses and that only pro-life freaks called them babies.
My own daughter loves babies as well, inside or out. She was fascinated by the baby that lived in my womb for 3 months last year. She knew that the baby was to be protected. She would have been horrified if I'd terminated the pregnancy on my own, and rightly so.
We don't like to hear of the particulars of dismemberment, drowning in acid, floating heads, etc. We call it "religious propaganda," and wouldn't dream of showing it to our children. That's because we know our children would be horrified. In their innocence and ability to feel truth rather than our current culture's dogma, they would be sickened and disgusted. That doesn't mean the answer is to hide it from them, any more than the answer to factory farming is to put it out of sight so we don't have to see the suffering of our meat.
The answer for me is that logic and rational thinking only take you so far. No matter how much life experience you have, true wisdom often comes from the littlest voices. If you aren't afraid to look directly at your own moral compass, I think you'll agree.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
lights will guide you home
Ahh....
Reason #94 that I love my husband: because he watches Masterpiece Theatre with me...even the 6-hour, 3-part Pride & Prejudice....and he enjoyed it.
I'm sitting back enjoying the feeling of Part 3, the finale, which we just finished. At which time, Jeff turned to me & said, "I plan to take my respite in the lower portion of the home tonight, as I don't think I can stand yet another minute of the tossing and turning of the little one's legs."
I think Colin Firth might be one my new favorite actors (I'm about to check out his other movies from the library to find out), and Masterpiece Theatre, while I've enjoyed it before, has now leapt to the top of my charts as the only show I look forward to each week. I must offer a thank you to the writers who went on strike, since before they did, Desperate Housewives was in that position. It also so happened to be in the exact same timeslot, and I was certainly never proud to anticipate it so strongly each week. (Yes, after you watch MT, it's far too easy to slip into "Jane Austen-speak," so forgive me, my dear friends.)
Now, however, I can look forward to a show that actually teaches me something, is exciting & well-written, and assuages my guilt about my lack of time for reading all at the same time. Oh, and the best part? Sassy can watch it too!
I never miss cable anymore. And I love PBS. A lot. I hesitate to say just how much we watch PBS usually, because we'd either look like (1) pretentious art snobs or (2) old fogies. But, we do watch it a lot. And we love it.
And, by the way, reason #7 that I love my husband: we watched Masterpiece Theatre together a few weeks ago....instead of the Stupidbowl.
Reason #94 that I love my husband: because he watches Masterpiece Theatre with me...even the 6-hour, 3-part Pride & Prejudice....and he enjoyed it.
I'm sitting back enjoying the feeling of Part 3, the finale, which we just finished. At which time, Jeff turned to me & said, "I plan to take my respite in the lower portion of the home tonight, as I don't think I can stand yet another minute of the tossing and turning of the little one's legs."
I think Colin Firth might be one my new favorite actors (I'm about to check out his other movies from the library to find out), and Masterpiece Theatre, while I've enjoyed it before, has now leapt to the top of my charts as the only show I look forward to each week. I must offer a thank you to the writers who went on strike, since before they did, Desperate Housewives was in that position. It also so happened to be in the exact same timeslot, and I was certainly never proud to anticipate it so strongly each week. (Yes, after you watch MT, it's far too easy to slip into "Jane Austen-speak," so forgive me, my dear friends.)
Now, however, I can look forward to a show that actually teaches me something, is exciting & well-written, and assuages my guilt about my lack of time for reading all at the same time. Oh, and the best part? Sassy can watch it too!
I never miss cable anymore. And I love PBS. A lot. I hesitate to say just how much we watch PBS usually, because we'd either look like (1) pretentious art snobs or (2) old fogies. But, we do watch it a lot. And we love it.
And, by the way, reason #7 that I love my husband: we watched Masterpiece Theatre together a few weeks ago....instead of the Stupidbowl.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
the little camera that could
When I bought our old Olympus Camedia, I was one of the "early adopters" on the digital camera bar graph. I purchased that little 2.1 megapixel guy on a Best Buy credit card for a whopping $699.99 in 2001 and was ecstatic to have it. A few years later, I decided that it was too outdated and marched right out to Best Buy, credit card in hand, to purchase a Nikon Coolpix, since I've always been a Nikon devotee. Problem was, I got the Nikon home, and convinced as I'd been that I'd love it, I hated it. It had the worst delay of any digital camera I'd seen. Your ability to capture good pics relied on one thing only: lucky timing. If, perhaps, your subject might have made an endearing facial expression 3-4 seconds after you pushed the button, lucky you! What a great shot! If instead, your subject, I don't know, decided to crawl away or look at the ceiling or blink or drool, well then, another scrap shot it was.
I sold it for $40 at a yard sale last summer.
I went back to the Camedia, which was, in all respects, a very good camera. Its big flaw was that it did not have an adjustable and interchangeable lens, i.e...it was not a DSLR.
Well, it must have caught wind that I was planning to replace it with the Nikon D60 because it finally, after all these years, just pooped out on me the other day. It flatly refused to turn on, no matter how many different combinations of different AA batteries I used.
So what are we using now? This little gem from Fisher Price, which Sassy received for Christmas. That's right, folks. This is our only digital camera in the house.
I won't purchase another snapshot type camera right now since I'm saving for my Nikon DSLR. So, we are suffering through with the KidTough. Funny thing is, it turns out that it does take some rather cool-looking shots. They're very vintage-style, reminiscent of pics from those little black box cameras that used to be all over every thrift shop you visited in the 90s, but are now collector items selling for big bucks on eBay. For the novelty of it, it's kind of fun right now, though the minute I have my $600 saved, I'm heading straight out to get my Nikon.
Check 'em out:
My Kitchen Sink
I just love having all these little glass bottles of different things above my sink. It makes me feel joyful, fulfilled. Silly, yes, but I do love it. I have organic vanilla extract, dried mango and pineapple slices, red rooibus tea, indian spice tea, and oven-dried tomatoes in olive oil in the first pic. The second pic shows my new why-didn't-I-think-of-this-already drying system for my rags and scrubbers so they don't get nasty sitting in the sink anymore.
Oven-Dried Tomatoes
Here we have the latest batch of oven-dried tomatoes, for which I cut in half some organic grape tomatoes that were on clearance at Jungle Jim's. They were 84 cents a package so we bought 2 packages and dried most of them. I actually turned these into a "salsa starter" (just add canned tomatoes) last night along with the rest of the dried mango (bought also on clearance at Jungle Jim's for a ridiculously low price, oh how I'm loving that Jungle Jim's right now).
Pancake Rollups
I made buckwheat pancakes for the first time last week. I soaked equal parts buckwheat and whole wheat with some raw cider vinegar, sour cream & water a la Weston A. Price guidelines, then rolled them up with the sweet cream cheese from Nourishing Traditions. I added some vanilla extract and almond extract to the cream cheese and YUM! Sassy and I both loved them.
Sassy's Plate Arrangement
Jeff's father would be so proud of our little girl. She is destined to work in the culinary field, I'm convinced. Here she arranged a plate for her "bake shop" where she sold "tea and pancake rollup pastries."
My First Cold Frame
Here it is -- the first cold frame I've ever made. (I say "my first", because I hope to make many more.) We used a free-to-us bookshelf for the base and a trash-picked french door for the top. I've already planted a few lettuce seeds in it, you know, just to see.
STILL I'm Watching You
And rounding out our gallery tour today is this stupid, oh-it's-so-cute-I-think-it's-going-to-kill-me little cat that Jeff and I have been hiding in various places for each other, like the inside of our kitchen cabinets, our underwear drawers, under the computer mouse, taped to his rearview mirror, etc.
I sold it for $40 at a yard sale last summer.
I went back to the Camedia, which was, in all respects, a very good camera. Its big flaw was that it did not have an adjustable and interchangeable lens, i.e...it was not a DSLR.
Well, it must have caught wind that I was planning to replace it with the Nikon D60 because it finally, after all these years, just pooped out on me the other day. It flatly refused to turn on, no matter how many different combinations of different AA batteries I used.
So what are we using now? This little gem from Fisher Price, which Sassy received for Christmas. That's right, folks. This is our only digital camera in the house.
I won't purchase another snapshot type camera right now since I'm saving for my Nikon DSLR. So, we are suffering through with the KidTough. Funny thing is, it turns out that it does take some rather cool-looking shots. They're very vintage-style, reminiscent of pics from those little black box cameras that used to be all over every thrift shop you visited in the 90s, but are now collector items selling for big bucks on eBay. For the novelty of it, it's kind of fun right now, though the minute I have my $600 saved, I'm heading straight out to get my Nikon.
Check 'em out:
My Kitchen Sink
I just love having all these little glass bottles of different things above my sink. It makes me feel joyful, fulfilled. Silly, yes, but I do love it. I have organic vanilla extract, dried mango and pineapple slices, red rooibus tea, indian spice tea, and oven-dried tomatoes in olive oil in the first pic. The second pic shows my new why-didn't-I-think-of-this-already drying system for my rags and scrubbers so they don't get nasty sitting in the sink anymore.
Oven-Dried Tomatoes
Here we have the latest batch of oven-dried tomatoes, for which I cut in half some organic grape tomatoes that were on clearance at Jungle Jim's. They were 84 cents a package so we bought 2 packages and dried most of them. I actually turned these into a "salsa starter" (just add canned tomatoes) last night along with the rest of the dried mango (bought also on clearance at Jungle Jim's for a ridiculously low price, oh how I'm loving that Jungle Jim's right now).
Pancake Rollups
I made buckwheat pancakes for the first time last week. I soaked equal parts buckwheat and whole wheat with some raw cider vinegar, sour cream & water a la Weston A. Price guidelines, then rolled them up with the sweet cream cheese from Nourishing Traditions. I added some vanilla extract and almond extract to the cream cheese and YUM! Sassy and I both loved them.
Sassy's Plate Arrangement
Jeff's father would be so proud of our little girl. She is destined to work in the culinary field, I'm convinced. Here she arranged a plate for her "bake shop" where she sold "tea and pancake rollup pastries."
My First Cold Frame
Here it is -- the first cold frame I've ever made. (I say "my first", because I hope to make many more.) We used a free-to-us bookshelf for the base and a trash-picked french door for the top. I've already planted a few lettuce seeds in it, you know, just to see.
STILL I'm Watching You
And rounding out our gallery tour today is this stupid, oh-it's-so-cute-I-think-it's-going-to-kill-me little cat that Jeff and I have been hiding in various places for each other, like the inside of our kitchen cabinets, our underwear drawers, under the computer mouse, taped to his rearview mirror, etc.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
warmth and wind and water
The other day, I wrote about persistent, loud grief and I received such kind words from my friends. Thank you.
I knew I should pray about it. Heck, what with all the direct answers I've been getting, you'd think I'd want to pray all the time -- you know, sort of maintain this constant prayerful spirit, looking up instead of back & ahead, instead of looking into the shadows all the time. But, I must admit, after I received an answer I didn't like, I sort of avoided it for awhile. Then, of course, there's always the fact that when my life speeds up, my prayer life all but fades away, as do all activities that require a calm spirit.
Yesterday was the perfect melting pot for looking up. Sassy was with her Nana all day, and Jeff worked second shift, which left me with an empty home save the Vunderdog. I returned home at 6:00, fed myself, fed the Vunderdog, and gathered some materials for gardening. I was certain that getting my hands dirty would settle me enough to hear answers if they were there. I took out an oil torch for lighting. After I planted some lettuce and spinach in my new coldframe, I sat on our trash-picked swing with Peter Bjorn and John on the mp3 player. There, on the swing, I took some minutes to feel the unseasonable warmth, the restrained power of the pre-storm wind, and the vitality of the day's rain and finally, I could ask the questions and listen for answers.
As usual, the answers make little sense right now. I trust that they will. I was left feeling that the pain IS and that's all. The pain is neither inherently good nor bad. It just is. And, as Jeff suggested earlier yesterday, I am allowed to pull it out, examine it objectively, and eliminate its negativity since it simply is.
The other answer is that even though my reticence to share my pain is actually a symptom of fear rather than strength, that balming the grief isn't going to happen by opening the floodgates. Instead, my pain will be soothed by daily activities. By simple routines and grounding organic activities. Things like cooking from scratch, growing food, being side by side with my animal, washing our things, arranging our home to be even more of us, and replacing Google with God (thanks, Lara). Things like noticing the "triangles in the water" running down our street (thanks, Sassy). Things like portraying what is in our hearts through the artistic techniques of masters (thanks, Caroline).
I enjoyed watching the wind sway the branches above my head for almost an hour as I considered these concepts and how to put them into practice. The storm was on the horizon all night, moving the warmth through our area. But the wind didn't rush things along. It had a steady intensity about it, but it didn't blow through in gusts, leaving wreckage behind, as I've seen so many storm winds do. As a result, I felt more wholly comfortable and settled myself, in the warmth and the wind and the water.
How much wreckage could be eliminated in my home and in my heart if I approached life with a steady intensity rather than my long-standing pattern of either strong gusts or light breezes?
I knew I should pray about it. Heck, what with all the direct answers I've been getting, you'd think I'd want to pray all the time -- you know, sort of maintain this constant prayerful spirit, looking up instead of back & ahead, instead of looking into the shadows all the time. But, I must admit, after I received an answer I didn't like, I sort of avoided it for awhile. Then, of course, there's always the fact that when my life speeds up, my prayer life all but fades away, as do all activities that require a calm spirit.
Yesterday was the perfect melting pot for looking up. Sassy was with her Nana all day, and Jeff worked second shift, which left me with an empty home save the Vunderdog. I returned home at 6:00, fed myself, fed the Vunderdog, and gathered some materials for gardening. I was certain that getting my hands dirty would settle me enough to hear answers if they were there. I took out an oil torch for lighting. After I planted some lettuce and spinach in my new coldframe, I sat on our trash-picked swing with Peter Bjorn and John on the mp3 player. There, on the swing, I took some minutes to feel the unseasonable warmth, the restrained power of the pre-storm wind, and the vitality of the day's rain and finally, I could ask the questions and listen for answers.
As usual, the answers make little sense right now. I trust that they will. I was left feeling that the pain IS and that's all. The pain is neither inherently good nor bad. It just is. And, as Jeff suggested earlier yesterday, I am allowed to pull it out, examine it objectively, and eliminate its negativity since it simply is.
The other answer is that even though my reticence to share my pain is actually a symptom of fear rather than strength, that balming the grief isn't going to happen by opening the floodgates. Instead, my pain will be soothed by daily activities. By simple routines and grounding organic activities. Things like cooking from scratch, growing food, being side by side with my animal, washing our things, arranging our home to be even more of us, and replacing Google with God (thanks, Lara). Things like noticing the "triangles in the water" running down our street (thanks, Sassy). Things like portraying what is in our hearts through the artistic techniques of masters (thanks, Caroline).
I enjoyed watching the wind sway the branches above my head for almost an hour as I considered these concepts and how to put them into practice. The storm was on the horizon all night, moving the warmth through our area. But the wind didn't rush things along. It had a steady intensity about it, but it didn't blow through in gusts, leaving wreckage behind, as I've seen so many storm winds do. As a result, I felt more wholly comfortable and settled myself, in the warmth and the wind and the water.
How much wreckage could be eliminated in my home and in my heart if I approached life with a steady intensity rather than my long-standing pattern of either strong gusts or light breezes?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
if you're gonna talk the talk...
...then walk the walk, or ride the bike as it may be. People, this is why I love Portland.
I'm so glad someone had the ironic sense to snap this photo. My friend Jeff and his new wife Jill recently moved to a new home. But they did it all by bike. I've been awaiting the pics & I am not disappointed! It's heartwarming to see this kind of dedication, stamina & community. There is hope for humanity (in Portland, at least).
If you want to check out more of what a MxB looks like (move by bike), check out some of the other public collections of the event. Says one photographer:
Shot on a Nikon D200
That's my friend there with the map. I love it! He's always good for being organized and definitely knows his way around a map. :-)
Looking at the scope of the project
Yep, couches & mattresses too
Lotsa MxB
Bike moves = much pizza
I'm so glad someone had the ironic sense to snap this photo. My friend Jeff and his new wife Jill recently moved to a new home. But they did it all by bike. I've been awaiting the pics & I am not disappointed! It's heartwarming to see this kind of dedication, stamina & community. There is hope for humanity (in Portland, at least).
If you want to check out more of what a MxB looks like (move by bike), check out some of the other public collections of the event. Says one photographer:
24 brave hardy souls braved rain, sleet and (yes, briefly) snow to move Jeff and Jill a few miles. Half of us were crazy enough to go pack and pull a second load!
Shot on a Nikon D200
That's my friend there with the map. I love it! He's always good for being organized and definitely knows his way around a map. :-)
Looking at the scope of the project
Yep, couches & mattresses too
Lotsa MxB
Bike moves = much pizza
Monday, February 04, 2008
pain and health
My grandma has always been a strong woman. She's not had a piece of cake life; actually, she's had more than her share of grief to deal with, as anyone would if they lost one of their children. But she keeps going, she perseveres, she puts on a face of faith & strength, even in the midst of her grief. My mother was similar, in many ways. She and I shared this impulsive part of our personality, infused with nervous energy. But my mom didn't break down in public. Even when she was sick with cancer, she continued to go to work at her new management job at Cincinnati Bell & put on her game face for several months until the disease forced her to quit.
The past few years have held my own shares of pain & grief. I won't detail them here. Some of them are well-known to my friends; some of them come from many years past. The point is, I learned how to put on my game face a long time ago from my two masters. I learned that being a blubbering idiot about your grief gets you nowhere -- that people lose respect for you, that you don't appear strong, and that strength is the defining characteristic of a worthy woman.
Unfortunately, in the past year and half, life keeps piling on the grief. Each month, each moon, more grief, more loss. And I'm left now wondering where I have put it all? It keeps simmering far too close to the surface for my comfort level. It keeps bubbling over at inopportune times, try as I might for it to stay in the pot. Where have I put it? Where should I put it?
I often address my problems visually, a trick I learned long ago when I had to deliver public speeches in college. If I imagined myself at the podium, delivering my speech to a spellbound audience, natural and relaxed, with perfect comedic timing, my speech went pretty well. If I imagined myself crashing and burning, I would leave the podium embarrassed.
Last night, I was talking to an old friend on the phone when lo and behold, here came those pains, pushing their way out the top. I actually hung up the phone with her, told her I'd call her right back. I was frustrated. I didn't care for them at the moment. I visually saw myself, asked myself, to push them back where they belong, which in my mind's eye, was somewhere in my belly area. Then I became concerned. How long have I been pushing them into my belly? What implications might that have now, or in the long-term. I decided I needed somewhere else for them, and mentally went through my body parts. Brain? No. Heart? No way! I'd have a heart attack eventually? So I started thinking of less important body parts, in the grand scheme. Legs? Uh-uh. I want to walk. Hands? No, I need to be able to work.
I was then even more concerned. If I didn't even feel right about giving my grief to my hands, why on earth was I pushing them to my bellly? Had I been pushing these feelings to very detrimental places all my life? Even if this has had no discernible consequences up until now, when will it? Of course, I fear it may have already.
So I thought about giving my feelings to the chair I was sitting in. Let them drip out the bottom. But I immediately rejected the idea, because I love the chair I was sitting in & I didn't want it to become a big chair of negativity. OK, now you may be laughing, but what struck me is this: I love the chair enough not to give it my negative feelings but not my body?
In the end, I went to bed wondering where to put them? Where to push them to? The best I could come up with is to give them to God. But how does one do that exactly?
The past few years have held my own shares of pain & grief. I won't detail them here. Some of them are well-known to my friends; some of them come from many years past. The point is, I learned how to put on my game face a long time ago from my two masters. I learned that being a blubbering idiot about your grief gets you nowhere -- that people lose respect for you, that you don't appear strong, and that strength is the defining characteristic of a worthy woman.
Unfortunately, in the past year and half, life keeps piling on the grief. Each month, each moon, more grief, more loss. And I'm left now wondering where I have put it all? It keeps simmering far too close to the surface for my comfort level. It keeps bubbling over at inopportune times, try as I might for it to stay in the pot. Where have I put it? Where should I put it?
I often address my problems visually, a trick I learned long ago when I had to deliver public speeches in college. If I imagined myself at the podium, delivering my speech to a spellbound audience, natural and relaxed, with perfect comedic timing, my speech went pretty well. If I imagined myself crashing and burning, I would leave the podium embarrassed.
Last night, I was talking to an old friend on the phone when lo and behold, here came those pains, pushing their way out the top. I actually hung up the phone with her, told her I'd call her right back. I was frustrated. I didn't care for them at the moment. I visually saw myself, asked myself, to push them back where they belong, which in my mind's eye, was somewhere in my belly area. Then I became concerned. How long have I been pushing them into my belly? What implications might that have now, or in the long-term. I decided I needed somewhere else for them, and mentally went through my body parts. Brain? No. Heart? No way! I'd have a heart attack eventually? So I started thinking of less important body parts, in the grand scheme. Legs? Uh-uh. I want to walk. Hands? No, I need to be able to work.
I was then even more concerned. If I didn't even feel right about giving my grief to my hands, why on earth was I pushing them to my bellly? Had I been pushing these feelings to very detrimental places all my life? Even if this has had no discernible consequences up until now, when will it? Of course, I fear it may have already.
So I thought about giving my feelings to the chair I was sitting in. Let them drip out the bottom. But I immediately rejected the idea, because I love the chair I was sitting in & I didn't want it to become a big chair of negativity. OK, now you may be laughing, but what struck me is this: I love the chair enough not to give it my negative feelings but not my body?
In the end, I went to bed wondering where to put them? Where to push them to? The best I could come up with is to give them to God. But how does one do that exactly?
Monday, January 28, 2008
a few fun things
Here's a couple activities we've done together lately.
The other day, we made a maze out of blocks. Idea from Highlights High Five Magazine.
Then we played with it for a little while.
As my own project for her, I made a baby carrier for her dolls.
And finally, we've picked up the best children's art book I've ever seen per C's recommendation. This will be our art curriculum through Kindergarten. I am excited to do the projects along with her!
The other day, we made a maze out of blocks. Idea from Highlights High Five Magazine.
Then we played with it for a little while.
As my own project for her, I made a baby carrier for her dolls.
And finally, we've picked up the best children's art book I've ever seen per C's recommendation. This will be our art curriculum through Kindergarten. I am excited to do the projects along with her!
Friday, January 25, 2008
no writing?
I think I'm starting to glimpse the true meaning behind "Quit writing," and if I'm right, it's also not something I'm ready to accept. And here comes Sassy up the stairs....perfect timing.
This is the usual pattern. I settle into something that cannot by the nature of the activity include her, just like this post. And next thing you know, she approaches me. And it bothers me. Sometimes just a little bit. Often, it's more than a little bit. I snap at her. I say crazy things to her, like, "Mommy needs quiet time!" or "I HAVE to get my work done. You need to find something to do!"
In reality, telling a 4 year old, in so many words, to "Go away and leave me alone" never works. In fact, it usually has the immediate opposite effect. I might as well just whip out my velcro & give us each a piece instead.
This post isn't very well thought-out & might meader, so my apologies upfront.
It isn't just writing that brings on this scene. It's writing, paying bills, checking email, doing financial spreadsheets, doing group maintenance, researching ideas or information online, replying to posts within larger forums, reading posts within larger forums, requesting media from the library, purchasing things online, sometimes even downloading music. It's interesting to me that I call all of this "work," when actually, it's not. Most of it is truly just play.
When we were browsing the thrift store together yesterday (and, BTW, she was SO GOOD), we were playing this back/forth imaginary game where she was a little girl who was buying a dog from me. She told me about her family. "My daddy doesn't go to work out of the house," she said. "My daddy works in his study. He works on the compootier."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. He works a lot. But he doesn't go outside the house. Well, actually, he doesn't work on the compootier. He doesn't work at all!"
"Oh," I said, "That's interesting. Well, if he doesn't work, what does he do with his time?"
"He plays with me!" she said. "All the time."
No, I don't think it's possible (or appropriate) for Jeff or for me to play with her all the time. But I do think this is a telling representation of how she is experiencing life.
And, as much as it pains me to say it, I don't feel like I am experiencing her. I am managing her. That's mostly how I feel. Even when we play or do things together, my mind is usually on "grown-up" things.
Last night, we laid in bed when we were both getting tired and we played a question game. I told her I could ask her any question I wanted to & then she could ask me. My first question was, "What was your favorite part of today?"
"All of it!" she said, although we truly had not done much that was exciting yesterday.
As we were exchanging questions, I looked into her eyes & she into mine. It was so hard! I was amazed that looking straight into her eyes was as hard as it was. I used to look into her eyes all the time when she was a baby. Why was it hard?
I'm not sure why exactly. Part of it was the earnestness in her eyes. I've never seen someone look at me so earnestly, except maybe an ex or two that was far more into me than I was into them. Not so with Sassy! I look at her with just as much longing and love but it's always when she's sleeping. The mere intensity of her undiverted stare made me uncomfortable with a mix of guilt, radical love and too much emotion. But I think part of it was also that I'd let myself get un-used to it. Most of the time, rather than really listening, the kind of listening where the person can "see your eyes," I maintain our conversations with an "mm-hmm", "oh, yeah?" "hmm, that's cool." Often I have no idea what she's actually talking about.
Naturally, children separate from their parents. Sassy's too little to need to separate so far.
Where does this bring me?
It's not about the writing itself. It's not about the computer or the TV in and of itself. It's about my attitude of management rather than engagement. I could set limits on our TV time & computer time & I think that would be a great start. But it won't finish the job.
To engage with Sassy means that I need to not assume that since she is old enough to be more self-sufficient, that I can take off & do my own thing for a couple hours while she watches cartoons, plays computer games or plays with her toys in a different part of the house. It's OK for her to do those things -- I am not her permanent entertainer. But, it's not OK for me to expect that time. That time is a welcome surprise. An unexpected treat.
My online habits will have to change, of course. I am likely going to take TTC down completely. Well, actually, I will likely make it password-protected & keep it as a virtual filing cabinet of various financial "articles" that perhaps I could market one day. After a few months, I hope I can find time to transfer those to hard disk somewhere & take it down entirely.
I doubt I'll check email more than once/day unless I am expecting something.
I will try to maintain a consistent bedtime at night so that I can do computer work then while Sassy sleeps AND she can hopefully get the sleep a child her age needs, which has been a problem lately.
I will try to involve Sassy in my activities & limit cartoon time to an hour each morning & perhaps an hour of "downtime" in the afternoon, if needed.
I am not the type of person who can play imaginary games all day. Even an hour really wears on my nerves. But I can involve her in what I do & not try to live these separate lives in the same household so that I can loaf on my own.
This is the usual pattern. I settle into something that cannot by the nature of the activity include her, just like this post. And next thing you know, she approaches me. And it bothers me. Sometimes just a little bit. Often, it's more than a little bit. I snap at her. I say crazy things to her, like, "Mommy needs quiet time!" or "I HAVE to get my work done. You need to find something to do!"
In reality, telling a 4 year old, in so many words, to "Go away and leave me alone" never works. In fact, it usually has the immediate opposite effect. I might as well just whip out my velcro & give us each a piece instead.
This post isn't very well thought-out & might meader, so my apologies upfront.
It isn't just writing that brings on this scene. It's writing, paying bills, checking email, doing financial spreadsheets, doing group maintenance, researching ideas or information online, replying to posts within larger forums, reading posts within larger forums, requesting media from the library, purchasing things online, sometimes even downloading music. It's interesting to me that I call all of this "work," when actually, it's not. Most of it is truly just play.
When we were browsing the thrift store together yesterday (and, BTW, she was SO GOOD), we were playing this back/forth imaginary game where she was a little girl who was buying a dog from me. She told me about her family. "My daddy doesn't go to work out of the house," she said. "My daddy works in his study. He works on the compootier."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. He works a lot. But he doesn't go outside the house. Well, actually, he doesn't work on the compootier. He doesn't work at all!"
"Oh," I said, "That's interesting. Well, if he doesn't work, what does he do with his time?"
"He plays with me!" she said. "All the time."
No, I don't think it's possible (or appropriate) for Jeff or for me to play with her all the time. But I do think this is a telling representation of how she is experiencing life.
And, as much as it pains me to say it, I don't feel like I am experiencing her. I am managing her. That's mostly how I feel. Even when we play or do things together, my mind is usually on "grown-up" things.
Last night, we laid in bed when we were both getting tired and we played a question game. I told her I could ask her any question I wanted to & then she could ask me. My first question was, "What was your favorite part of today?"
"All of it!" she said, although we truly had not done much that was exciting yesterday.
As we were exchanging questions, I looked into her eyes & she into mine. It was so hard! I was amazed that looking straight into her eyes was as hard as it was. I used to look into her eyes all the time when she was a baby. Why was it hard?
I'm not sure why exactly. Part of it was the earnestness in her eyes. I've never seen someone look at me so earnestly, except maybe an ex or two that was far more into me than I was into them. Not so with Sassy! I look at her with just as much longing and love but it's always when she's sleeping. The mere intensity of her undiverted stare made me uncomfortable with a mix of guilt, radical love and too much emotion. But I think part of it was also that I'd let myself get un-used to it. Most of the time, rather than really listening, the kind of listening where the person can "see your eyes," I maintain our conversations with an "mm-hmm", "oh, yeah?" "hmm, that's cool." Often I have no idea what she's actually talking about.
Naturally, children separate from their parents. Sassy's too little to need to separate so far.
Where does this bring me?
It's not about the writing itself. It's not about the computer or the TV in and of itself. It's about my attitude of management rather than engagement. I could set limits on our TV time & computer time & I think that would be a great start. But it won't finish the job.
To engage with Sassy means that I need to not assume that since she is old enough to be more self-sufficient, that I can take off & do my own thing for a couple hours while she watches cartoons, plays computer games or plays with her toys in a different part of the house. It's OK for her to do those things -- I am not her permanent entertainer. But, it's not OK for me to expect that time. That time is a welcome surprise. An unexpected treat.
My online habits will have to change, of course. I am likely going to take TTC down completely. Well, actually, I will likely make it password-protected & keep it as a virtual filing cabinet of various financial "articles" that perhaps I could market one day. After a few months, I hope I can find time to transfer those to hard disk somewhere & take it down entirely.
I doubt I'll check email more than once/day unless I am expecting something.
I will try to maintain a consistent bedtime at night so that I can do computer work then while Sassy sleeps AND she can hopefully get the sleep a child her age needs, which has been a problem lately.
I will try to involve Sassy in my activities & limit cartoon time to an hour each morning & perhaps an hour of "downtime" in the afternoon, if needed.
I am not the type of person who can play imaginary games all day. Even an hour really wears on my nerves. But I can involve her in what I do & not try to live these separate lives in the same household so that I can loaf on my own.
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