On Being Thankful November 24, 2009

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My newly five year old son has his first loose tooth.  In fact, the very day he turned 5 he crawled into bed with us & announced “my tooth is wiggly.”  I was in denial, “no way!” and demanded to try wiggling it for myself  - sure enough.  I am not ready for his tooth to fall out…yet another right of passage that moves him into a “big boy” stage I can’t believe he is approaching.  Honestly, this kid has always been in a hurry.  His first tooth came in at 12 weeks, he was talking and walking at 10 months.  He was crazy passionate about all things trains and Thomas starting at 14 months and now, at 5 years, he’s way over trains and already addicted to video games.  He’s dynamic…observing, changing, learning, always talking at what seems lightning speed.  He doesn’t stop…is rarely still.  He is delightfully joyous and his enthusiasm is infectious.  He goes and goes from 6:00 a.m. ’til bed at 7:30, when he crashes and sleeps like the dead.  You can seriously dance on his head when he’s sleeping – he will not stir.  I still walk into his room every night, move his body heavy in sleep back so his head is resting on his pillow, tuck him and kiss him before I go to bed.

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My two year old grabs us by the hands and cheers us on:  ”Come on, guys, let’s go play!” or “Great, you DID it!”  He is growing into himself more every day.  From birth he has been sweet, light-spirited and affectionate.  He is compassionate, loves animals, almost always says please and thank you and tells me when I look pretty.  He is gregarious and the epitome of impish…one is well served to heed the twinkle in his eye almost certainly to be followed by rollicking fun – perhaps of a trouble-stirring variety.  He loves to play and is easy to please – books, cars, trains, soccer, t-ball, coloring, swinging – bring it all on.  His imagination is exploding – we are superheroes, cats, robots, polar bears.  This kid needs touch.  He still crawls in my lap just to snuggle – if he hasn’t had “close time” during the day, he will wake at night and lie close in our bed – sometimes even sleep right on top of my husband or me.  He is a light sleeper.  I can’t check on him at night, he has to have quiet to sleep and wakes at the slightest click of his door.

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My husband is passionate…about me, his children, his work, God, his friends, life in general.  He rarely does things halfway and will work tirelessly toward any worthwhile goal.  He is willing to take risks, make mistakes and values living fully without timidity.  He loves music, meaningful conversation, gathering friends, witty or unique turns of phrase, originality and achievement.  I knew when I married him that he had “pop” – that life with him would always seem big and adventurous – he has not disappointed.  As a father, he is creative, dedicated, truly in awe of our sons, sometimes frustrated, and always willing to learn.

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In this season of gratitude, in this season of my life, I am thankful, so thankful for this life of mine, for this family.  I am so grateful to be a wife, a mother.

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He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8

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Hands On September 27, 2009

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Almost everywhere I go these days, I go with at least one, if not two, small hands clenched tightly in mine.  In the parking lot, on the sidewalk, in a busy mall, even up the stairs in my own house.  I do it without thinking because it is what I need to do to keep my 2 and 4 year olds safe.  Since turning 2, my youngest son has forsaken his stroller and insists on doing most everything “BY MYSELF!”  Keeping hold of his hand has become a daily struggle of late as he asserts his burgeoning independence.  But, we press on, we hang on – in spite of the pulling, running, and sometimes even hysterical screaming that accompany the forced hand holding.  ”Hold hands or be carried, hold hands or ride stroller,”  I repeat countless times a day.  I look forward to the day that my youngest – as my oldest now does – will reach for my hand instinctively when we get out of the car.  And I cherish those times when either – or both – of the boys reach for my hand just to connect – to squeeze “I love you,” or “I’m glad you’re here,” or ” I need a friend.”

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It’s something I think I lose sight of as an adult – that need to reach out – the necessity of having my hand in someone else’s…or to accept another’s hand reaching out for mine.  I AM independent – I can cross the street alone, climb the stairs without fear of falling.  Even greater, I can go through a whole week, a whole month or even more…taking care of the kids, my husband, my home…without really needing a hand from anyone.  In many ways, it is a source of pride and strength for me -my ability to do it on my own.  I revel in my independence and take pride in how resourceful I can be to solve any challenge on my own.  We live in a city without family nearby, so we have – in many ways by necessity – figured out how to go it alone.

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So, in the midst of all of my smug independence and empty pride, enter stage left…life and a couple of weeks full of unexpected news, challenges and events out of my control and not within my ability to solve myself.  Long story short.  Several years ago, my husband had a melanoma (skin cancer) removed from his face.  After more than 3 years and quarterly skin checks, the doctors found another melanoma, which had to be removed right away.  So ensued doctor appointments and outpatient surgery scheduled on the fly.  All of this in the midst of busy “back to school” and an already planned girls’ long weekend trip to celebrate my mother’s recent retirement.  Oh, and an out-of-town business trip for my husband, which required 16 hours of driving over a day and a half because flying was verboten in the wake of surgery.  All is now well, cancer removed, girls’ weekend celebrated, school attended, business trip completed, surrounding tissue biopsies back clean, my husband is recovering well.  But, we didn’t do it on our own…not even close.

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It’s no secret that challenging times often act as a powerful lens  - bringing our lives into focus with quick precision.  I have experienced – and I am eminently grateful for – the necessity of relying on others…on being there and having others be there for me.  Perhaps more important than the necessity of reaching out, I have been reminded of the essential value in it as well.  The truth is that real community and deep friendship require us to keep our hands on one another…to hold tight and be there for each other.  And, what can sometimes be more difficult – at least for me – to ask for and accept help from one another.

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As I relied on a friend to take my four year old in on the day we went to the doctor pre-surgery, I was struck by how far our friendship has come since meeting each other in music class with our 6 month old sons almost 5 years ago.  As I called my son’s preschool teacher to let her know the situation for the week, I was comforted by her understanding and offer to keep a special eye on my son for the week.  I gave thanks to God for placing an amazing family in our lives several years ago – one who continually reaches out and offers to be there for us – who, in the past, has hosted us for Easter, taken us to Sunday dinner at their parent’s house, brought meals when my second son was born and looked out for me when my husband worked out of town for several months while I was home with a 3 year old and 4 month old baby.  Who, while I was in Florida for girls’ weekend, brought food, bathed and dressed my sons, kept my husband company and his mind off of more serious matters, and took the kids into their home so my husband could rest and work.  I was grateful, too, for the flexibility of a friend of my husband’s, who came for a pre-planned guys’ night of grilling out and beer drinking while I was away, but who took on the role of game leader – climbing the swingset and chasing our boys around the yard when my husband could not.

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Everywhere, there were hands where we needed them.  And I haven’t even yet mentioned the doctors and nurses who cared for my husband.  Or the many who I know held us in thought and prayer over the past weeks.

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But, even as I have been reminded of the many hands on me, I have thought of the many I have let go.  The friends – or potential friends – who have reached and I haven’t reached back.  Or those who have drifted because of changes in life circumstances or just general life busyness.  Or, the times I didn’t ask for help when I could have used it.  Or, the times others could have used my help, and I didn’t see it or didn’t offer.  Lost opportunities for connecting, for knitting tighter a community we hold dear.

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As I can attest from recent experience with my 2 year old, it takes time and training to learn to “hold hands.”  It takes reaching out and holding tight – sometimes even when we want to do things “by ourselves” or even when a friend seems to be pulling away.  But, we must press on, we must hang on – in spite of the pulling, running – in spite of the multiple soccer games, the work commitments, the school fundraisers.  We must find a way to connect deeper  - to squeeze “I love you” and “I’m glad you’re here” or “I need a friend” into each other’s lives.  One way or another, life will remind us – God will remind us – “hold hands or be carried.”  And, I’m so glad that He does.

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Enough August 12, 2009

In a rare moment of solitude at our local stationery store, I recently found myself browsing the card aisles – musing on what holidays, birthdays, family anniversaries might be coming up…or that I might have just missed.  I then started looking, too, through the boxed cards to see the latest mod-styles, cute kid thank you or general “hello” cards.  As I began to collect a few cards and to pick up a box of stationery…a thought suddenly popped into my head:  ”You have enough.”  So simple, strong and absolute was the thought that I rolled my eyes upward to see if a bubble might actually be hanging over my head – containing the words for everyone to see.

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This word “ENOUGH” has been popping into my head a lot lately.  When I go to my pantry and open my refrigerator to assess and make my weekly shopping list, I often find myself thinking…sometimes for several weeks in a row, ” hmmm, we have enough.”  I can usually write down a couple of fresh fruits, veggies, meats, maybe milk and call it a quick shopping day.  ”Enough!” – It occurs to me when I look in my closet, in the kids’ toy closet (not to mention their bookshelves, window box, basement and our family room, also full of toys), in the pantry, at the Container Store, when I sit down at a restaurant and, heartbreakingly, even when I find myself in the Nordstrom shoe department.  Frankly, in pretty much any “buying” situation I find myself in lately, I think: “Enough.”

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Now, I haven’t spent much time beating myself up over past purchases or practices, but I have found myself looking more closely at patterns, where and how my time and money (and, by default, my family’s time and money) are spent and the messages I am sending to myself, others and, most importantly, to my kids.  The truth is, I am fortunate, and I could afford some new cards and a box or two of stationery without a second thought…but why?  I have an entire shelf in my guest closet dedicated to unused cards – individual “occasion” cards and boxed stationery…I have a private stationery stash I rarely use.  Why not look there first?

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In addition to the word “enough,” a verse keeps coming to mind:  ”Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:21).  I want to be deliberate about the time I spend…who I spend it with and how I spend it.  I want my treasure…and my heart…to be with my family and friends and reaching out to them and to others who may need a hand.  I want my time…and my kids time…to be spent at parks, on hiking paths, visiting with a friend, riding bikes or playing tag with the neighborhood kids…not at our local Target, the mall or (oh, it’s hard to limit this one because it is a favorite pastime of mine) perusing through open houses we see during Sunday drives.  Not spending time looking at (or worse, buying) stuff we don’t need or perhaps can’t even afford.  I want to be deliberate about our money too, though I don’t want to spend all of our time thinking about it – budgeting it, re-budgeting it, or figuring out how to get “best deals” on stuff we don’t really need.   (Honestly, this is kind of funny, because we aren’t big thinkers about money.)  I guess I’m saying that I want to think about our money enough that I’m not sending…even inadvertently…a message that my treasure is in the things that money can buy.

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After my older son finished his summer camp session in mid-July, I found myself talking to a friend about scheduling a meet-up.  ”Our schedule is pretty open right now,” I told her, “but one of my goals for the summer was to get both boys in swim lessons.”  I started to outline the pros and cons…the lessons were 5 days a week, which was great from a consistency standpoint, but not great from a geting everybody together and out of the house every morning standpoint.  The lessons would limit our time for playdates, particularly when afternoons are already taken up by a still-napping child.  Finally, my friend, whose eyes were glazing over, gently interrupted me and said:  ”Why don’t you just make swimming a goal for the fall?”  And, just like that, very simply, it popped in my head again:  ”Enough.”  So, we have spent…are spending…the last month of summer hanging out, playing with friends, lazing our way through breakfast, staying up late enough to chase lightning bugs or spend 2 hours at the park…after dinner.  I can’t get enough.

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The current economic downturn has been, at best, unsettling.  I don’t mean to downplay the situation or the painful effects it is having on many.  As a collective nation and as individuals or families we have seen our “worth” decline sharply.  The stepping stones back up don’t seem all that clear, but, frankly, as I look around at all the “things” we have, I see some positives to putting the “enough” brakes on.

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We hold so many gifts – so much inherent worth – as people…our capacity for friendship and hospitality, creativity and self-expression and  practical gifts like the ability to build things, fix things or grow things.  Often, I am so busy doing – or acquiring – that I do not develop, use or receive these “free” gifts – enough.  But I have been reminded lately on how fulfilling these gifts can be – for me and for those around me.  When I walk by my elderly neighbor sitting on her front porch…and she says, “come sit”  - and I do.  When my friend down the street has my older son over to play with her kids…and I return to a blissfully quiet home.  When I find fresh tomatoes and cucumbers from a neighbor’s garden in a bag on my front porch.  When I sit down at this computer to write and I can work out my thoughts on the page.

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All of these things “free,” but infinitely valuable.  All of these things, enough.

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Inch, Mile…How Ya’ Doin’? July 28, 2009

Ugh.  It happened again…I gave my son an inch.  He took a mile.  It is a stage, right…this 4 year old time frame?  Everything seems like a test of my authority.  Especially at the end of the day.  He knows…I know…I am DONE.  If it takes just one more book, I will read it.  If “icy water” is needed, I will make it…yes, with “real ice cubes” and “water from the refrigerator, not the sink” and “YES, in the Buzz Lightyear cup” (even though I am going to have to go downstairs and clean it out with scalding hot water because it is sitting in the sink where I threw egg shells as I was making dinner).  And, “yes, I will tuck you in for the 3rd time, so that not 1/8 an inch of the green side of your reversible blue/green comforter is visible to you in any way.

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On and on until it seems pointless to even put him to bed because it’s practically time for him to get up (he’s up at 6:00 a.m. like clockwork, regardless of bedtime).

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Sometimes I don’t know where to draw the line.  When is he a little boy, who just needs reassurance and love from his mother – and when is he some crazy puppeteer pulling my every string near the breaking point?  Every time I give a conciliatory inch, he takes a mile leap.

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Inch:  the past couple of weeks we have been walking down to my son’s friend house and picking him up to come play at our house.  It has been great – so fun to have a good buddy so close by.  Mile:  Yesterday morning I was pushing our (newly) 2 year old in his swing in the backyard while my older son played Playdoh in the kitchen.  After a few minutes I went into the house to check on him.  Nowhere to be seen.  Calling, calling, looking looking.  Before panicking, checked the front door – unlocked.  Went down and retrieved him from his neighbor buddy’s house where he was dancing around the driveway because his buddy wasn’t home.  How ya’ doin?  Son, you’re 4 and you MUST ask mommy before leaving the house.  But, mom….    NO NO NO “buts” (I really must be a mom if I’m saying this) you MUST ask mommy before leaving our house or there will be serious consequences.  Consequences like what?  He asks, mildly curious.  ARRGH!   I have no hair left, I’ve torn it all out.  Real life consequences like getting lost or run over by a car…or hopefully “mommy consequences”…like going to your room or not being able to invite your friend over for a day because you forgot to ask the day before.

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Obviously, I did not explain it so graphically to him, though we did later discuss some of the dangers/negatives of me not knowing where he is.

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So, we’re navigating this independence thing.  Give and take…and sometimes take away.  Until we master it, if my son shows up on your doorstep, could you ask if his mommy knows he’s there?

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Good Guys, Bad Guys and Everyone in Between July 17, 2009

We’re having a challenging time coming up with the rules of the road relating to good guys, bad guys, guns, swords and the like around our house.  During a playdate  a while back with a friend who has an older son, I watched with envy as she effortlessly shouted out “house rules” related to weapons:  ”No shooting an unarmed man!”  ”No weapons at the dinner table.”  ”Don’t shoot your sidekick!”

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At our house, we were still waivering  - we hadn’t yet *really* allowed weapons in, though my son was using his legos to build guns and holding the wooden strip steak from his kitchen set like a handgun while he made shooting sounds.    Could I have a rule…no PRETEND weapons?

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Then my son’s 4th birthday came – heralding in a lightsaber, a water gun, and a couple of Power Rangers.  Followed by Christmas – with Star Wars Legos and a truck transformer that looked harmless enough but, transformed, became a blasting lights-flashing talking “ARM CANNON.”   As I balked, my husband nostalgically recounted his childhood shooting days when his father armed the entire neighborhood with guns he had handily patterned and cut from wood himself.  Needless to say, we succumbed and have only added to the arsenal since then.  We adopted my friend’s rules, no shooting “unarmed” men, sidekicks or at the dinner table.  We added, no shooting “good” guys – though it’s not always clear who the good guys are, I guess.  Like in real life, the line between “good guys” and “bad guys” is not always clearly drawn.  There may be a few clearly “good” or “bad” guys but, perhaps most often, somewhere in between.

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A few weeks ago we had friends and their kids over – and, because I am a person who tends to choose a path and go whole-hog, I put all of our “weapons” in the backyard and let them go to town – light sabers, pirate swords, water guns – they were all out in full force.  Eight kids between the ages of 1 and 9 – no holds barred, no pre-set rules.  About an hour into the picnic I found my 4 year old wandering around on the side of the house looking dazed – one hand holding a lightsaber and the other hand on his head.  ”Are you okay?” I asked with great concern as I watched him stagger like a drunken sailor weaving back and forth on the flagstone path.  ”Ummm, I got hit on the head, but I think I’m alright,” he answered, sort of convincingly.

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About an hour after that, a high-pitched scream and cry drew immediate attention from all of the adults – the youngest girl at the party holding her cheek and my son standing beside her – sword in hand, looking at the ground.  As a blue welt rose on the girl’s face, I called an end to the backyard weaponry – at least for the night.  But not before my son, so ashamed of what he had done, ran into the house and locked himself into the bathroom, sobbing.  Mainly because he was afraid the girl’s older brother (who he idolizes) was never going to like him again or, maybe, out a fear that her older brother might just kick his little behind.

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So, that was a few weeks ago now, and I’m not sure that we are on any steadier footing with regard to weapons and rules related thereto.  We have been on vacation – to Florida with a beach and pool, where water gun use abounded.  And, in the week we’ve been back, neighbor boys have been in our backyard fighting – with the water guns and bubble shooters, that is.  So, we’ve added “don’t shoot mommies” and “don’t shoot our friends in the face or while they are reloading” to our rule book.

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My son tried to introduce a gun game at his summer camp and, apparently, the counselors stopped him cold.  When given the opportunity to choose the game for playtime, my son asked to play “Attack” which, he explained, was a game that involved everyone shooting one another.  As my son reported back to me, “the teachers said ‘there are NO guns in school.’”

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Hmmmm…maybe it is possible to simply have a “no guns” – or is it?  Anyway, there is no doubt that “no guns in school” is a rule we can all get behind.   As for what will continue to develop at home, I can only say that it is still a work in progress and any ideas/thoughts are more than welcome!

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A Father’s Legacy: “I Love You Best” July 14, 2009

It is so difficult for me to believe that my father died 11 years ago today.  In life, he was patient, funny, caring.  He was a listener, a dreamer, an early riser, a pastor by training and commercial contractor by trade.  He played a mean game of pool, drank beer from a stein kept all week long in the freezer awaiting Sunday night pizza night, and could effortlessly tease my sister out of a bad mood.  He would give his last dollar away without even thinking about the possibility that another dollar might not soon come his way.  He was passionate about sailing and christened his boat “Le Corsair.”  He loved music – to listen to, sing and dance along with.  He danced with my mom, with my sister and me, my brother, our dogs.  When my father was shuttling me around as a teenager, I would get in the van and immediately change the radio station to “my” music.  He never changed it back or rolled his eyes, but would crank the volume up as loud as it would go and look at me quizzically before his face widened into a huge grin or he burst out in song along with Huey Lewis and the News.  He had an unmatched embrace that drew me to him and imparted warmth, joy, complete security and unconditional love.  And somehow, just somehow, he spread that love so thick that I don’t feel it less today than when his young, strong, pre-cancer body embraced me in life.  

 

My father was not a man of many written words – he didn’t leave journals or copious letters behind.  But during the time that he was being treated for cancer he wrote me a letter that I cherish to this day – a love letter – a father’s love letter to his child.  In this letter, he writes “I love you best” and enumerates the reasons why.  He recalls memories of me and him – memories that recount his longing to have a family, a child, and his joy upon receiving me, their first child.  He tells me those qualities about me of which he is most proud and the particular ways in which our relationship is unique and the ways in which he delights particularly in me.  My father’s letter, as grateful as I am to have the words written in his hand, did not come as a surprise to me.  I already knew – from his daily actions over many years – that he loved me best.   In his letter, my father also tells me (though I already knew this too would be the case) that he has written “I love you best” letters to my younger sister and brother as well.  For just as he loves me best, he loves them uniquely best as well.

 

Don’t we all want to be “loved best” by someone?  Don’t we see it in our kids who exhibit sibling rivalry to vie for parents’ attention or who (at least sometimes) strive to live up to our expectations in hopes of receiving a hug or a “great job”?  Don’t we know people around us – grown men and women (maybe even ourselves) who we can tell are still questioning whether they are…or ever have been or will be…”loved best”?  

 

It is a meaningful blessing this – loving your child best – to do whatever you can as a parent to see the good, the unique, the absolute precious in each of your children.  My father seemed to do it so effortlessly as I was growing up that I never realized how difficult it might be at times as a parent to convey to my children – through all of my actions – that I love them best.  I get tired and my temper can get short.  I get focused on my tasks or my own desires – and I listen with half an ear.  I am incredulous and crazy frustrated that I have asked my son 5 times to get his shoes on because we’re already late for camp – yet, he is still repeatedly blowing his self-made bazooka.  I just yell over and over about his shoes and don’t stop to share his wonder at the toy he has ingenuously created.  And then, I have to take a deep breath, kneel down to my son’s level, take him in my arms, admire his creation and gently put his shoes on him because even though he can do it himself, his hands are otherwise occupied in the moment.

 

I think about my father so frequently – and even though he never met my husband or my children – he is one of the strongest influences on my family.  I am amazed and humbled at the legacy one man can leave in so many around him.  He left an incredible imprint of love that just won’t…cannot…quit.  My oldest son knows him as “Grandpa Bill”  - from stories I tell, memories recalled, photos and videos – in fact, he one day demanded that I get Grandpa Bill on the phone, “call him right now.”  My husband swears that he hears my dad talk to him, reminding him to be patient and gentle with me.  

 

 I hope that you, as I am, will be inspired to do whatever you can to bestow this same blessing – of loving best – on your own children – and all those closest to you in life.  To delight in and be joyful about the true miracles that they are.

Who is God? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? June 11, 2009

Something has been bugging me for a couple of weeks.  One of those things that my mind keeps returning to when I have a (relatively) quiet moment.  A thing that has nagged at my heart because I felt like I could have…should have…been able to handle it better.  Something that I have been over-thinking I am sure, but that is important to me, so it keeps coming up.  

 

A couple of weeks ago my preschooler asked me:  ”Who is God?”  

 

“Whoa…Uhhh”  I thought.  I stumbled and stammered a bit (or a lot) and I just didn’t quite know what to say.  I started to recover and talked about God being our heavenly Father and having created the world, when my son interrupted me, “God is the boss, right?  He is even the boss of you & daddy?”  A sense of relief from me; my son had an answer in mind…sort of an agenda because he’s really into figuring out who is “in charge” of who right now – especially who might be “boss” of mommy & daddy.  But, I digress, more on this in another post, back to my immediate concern –  

 

I can be hard on myself and I felt like I failed in some way.  I thought, “Who is God?” is a really important question – such that I should have had at least SOME articulate response in mind.  And, I didn’t.  

 

Yesterday as I was working in the garden, my mind returned again to the question and started trying to formulate an answer.  Still, I was having a difficult time.  So, I changed the question to “Who is ____?” and began thinking how would I answer this question filling in the blank with anyone I know, including myself.  Who am I?  I am a wife, mother of two, a daughter, a sister, a sister-in-law, an aunt, a friend to many.  I am a voracious reader, a lover of blues music, a traveler, a sometimes extrovert, but more often introvert.  I am a Christian, a churchgoer, a Bible studier, a lover of life and of simple pleasures like homemade lemonade and walking the neighborhood.  I am a writer, an amateur photographer, a very novice gardner.   A former city dweller and forever city-lover.  I am patient, slow to anger, observant and fun-loving.  As my definition of self continued to expand…I realized that this question, “Who is God?” is not…and is not supposed to be…subject to a pat answer.

 

The best evidence?  In my faith, the Bible, of course, the book that does answer this question – by stories, examples, definitions and even God’s own words.  And, if anyone can sum up the entire Bible – and all of the different sides of God represented there –  into a preschooler attention-span answer, please pass it along.  Ha Ha.  

 

Seriously, though, the question and my lack of a succint answer is no longer bugging me.  We do introduce our sons to God in many ways and pretty much every day.  We encourage our children and each other to see God in the everyday – in nature and the people we know – and by being thankful for them.  We read Bible stories together (my favorite is the Jesus Storybook Bible published by zonderkidz for ages 4-8 – the illustrations are really terrific and the stories are told in a way that kids can really understand without overly watering down the content).  We go to a church where there are amazing teachers and volunteers with hearts for sharing God with children in ways they can relate.  As parents, my husband and I do strive to remember that God is “our boss” as my son said and, therefore, we study and do our best to raise our children following God’s directions and mirroring our actions after God’s characteristics.  We fail sometimes…and we have to ask forgiveness sometimes…of God and of our children.  But, luckily, there is a biblical example for this as well.  

 

In short, if the question “Who is God?” comes up again, I have a starting point I am comfortable with.  Until then, we will continue to seek God and to introduce Him to our children.  

 

Deuteronomy 6:5-8:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands ad bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.”

Parenting: From the Back of the SUV June 4, 2009

As a suburban mom, a fair amount of my time is spent driving around in our SUV to school dropoff and pickup, to soccer, to McDonalds, to swim lessons, music class…You get the picture.  We really can’t get any more suburban cliche.   But, the driving time is not “lost” time, to the contrary…

 

A friend of mine jokes that most of her parenting occurs “in the back of the van.”   Her, eyes forward, kids staring at the back of her head…she and the kids discuss and problem-solve.  My mom friend bouncing her advice, concerns and discipline off of the windshield  - hoping her words float back to listening ears behind her.  

 

I completely relate.  It is rare to catch my kids sitting still for any length of time sufficient to pour into them my vast parenting wisdom…except when they are sitting in the back of the SUV.  There is also something about the back of my head that inspires my 4 year old son to divulge information and raise questions he would refuse to let loose when looking at me eye to eye.  Honestly, it’s also kind of easier for me to react calmly, somewhat rationally or to take a little time before I speak (just a minute, wait ’til I get to the next stoplight) when the kids are in the back of the SUV.  Not to mention, I don’t have to see the eye rolls, nose picking and fidgeting that I find distracting when sitting on the couch.  

 

So, for today, a “from the back of the SUV” parenting story.  This will probably be an intermittent series as this blog develops.  

 

The other day my son’s preschool teachers strapped him into his car seat and bid us a cheery farewell…as they do every afternoon.  As I pulled out of the preschool pick-up line, my son spoke up from the back of the SUV, “Mom, a kid put his hands around my neck like this at school today (I was able to catch the visual – a full throat grip – in my rearview mirror.)  

 

I have learned to stave off my “mama bear you didn’t dare touch my baby bear” instinct enough that I didn’t immediately turn the car around and storm back into my child’s school demanding explanations from the teachers and calling the little boy to the carpet front and center to hear a piece of my mind.  

 

Instead, from me, a forced casual question (as if strangulation at recess is no big deal):

 

 ”Hmmm..I bet that didn’t feel good.  Why would he do that?”  I queried.  

 

“I don’t know why he would do that,” responded my son wonderingly.  

 

“Did something happen while you were outside?”  I prompted.  

 

“Well….ummm… maybe it was  because I kept poking my fingers in his friend’s glasses.”  

 

(See what I mean….better to ask questions and assume, initially at least, that the preschoolers are not depraved, but acting on some reasonable preschooler motivation – like standing up for their buddy.)  

 

So began a “back of the van” parenting session on being respectful of our friends, not teasing, how our actions have consequences and possible ways to handle these situations.  Some of it might have sunk in, or maybe a foundation for future conversations/situations was laid.  But, as often occurs in these sessions, I came away from this conversation with my own homework.  My son kept insisting – despite the glasses poking and strangling gestures –  evidence…”mom, we ARE all friends, we were JUST playing” when I was explaining how friends should treat each other.  

 

After talking to my husband (who is a boy) and my own mother (who raised a boy), there is truth in what my son said…some of this seems to be “boy” behavior.  So, I have retrieved my buried copy of “Bringing up Boys” by James Dobson to try to gain a little more insight into this species:  boy.  I will say, the book so far makes a little more sense to me now than when I first read it…as the first-time, perhaps overly eager mother of a 6 month old infant boy.

 

So, stay tuned…I’m sure there will be more “From the Back of the SUV”

The Nest: A Home Revealed June 2, 2009

It was storming through the better part of the night last night.  This morning, after the rain finally stopped and the sun broke through, the boys and I ventured into the backyard.  As I went through the yard collecting sticks that had fallen in the storm, I came across this bird’s nest under the big tree in the middle of our yard.  

 

For the past three weeks or so I have known that there was a robin’s nest with eggs in the tree.  It was too high up for us to see, but for the last 4 weeks I have noticed a robin standing daily at the base of the tree looking watchfully around and a little over a week ago, we found a bright blue egg that appeared to have been hatched.  So, I am hopeful that this empty nest served its purpose and that the babies it was built for have hatched and taken flight.  

 

Seeing the nest close up, I was amazed – what time it took to collect and weave carefully together the pieces to make this perfect home.  A home with walls thick enough to protect fragile eggs and hollowed out just enough to coddle eggs and then cozily protect babies until their first flight.   This home was completed in anticipation of the arrival of new life – of babies, who had none of the burden of selecting, planning or building their own space, but for whom careful preparation was made.  

 

I am reminded that there is a home being prepared for me  -  a home that I am not responsible for building, but that waits for me and has all of the elements necessary to hold me, protect me and give me the perfect space to grow, as Jesus said - 

 

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Trust in God, trust also in me.  In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you.  I am going there to prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”   John 14:1-3.

 

I recently saw this verse on the “big screen” – the overhead at our church as it was a subject of our pastor’s sermon.  And, when I saw the verse, I was reminded and comforted by it as a “macro” idea.  That is, it made sense to me that God and His Son have prepared for believers to join them.  But, a question arose in my mind – a thought that how could there be a room in preparation for me in particular?   Sometimes it is hard to imagine how Jesus could be watching and waiting INDIVIDUALLY for each of the millions of believers throughout time – including me.

 

However, as I have seen the preparation that this one small bird made for its anticipated young ones and the persistent and careful watch this bird stood for the past few weeks, I can well believe that my God is preparing and waiting for ME – for each of us individually.  And somehow, amazingly – even more amazing than the bird who knows and prepares perfectly for its young – my God knows how to perfectly prepare for me and the space that I will have in His kingdom.  Incredible, but true – as Jesus said, “if it were not so, I would have told you.”  John 14:2

I Am What I Am May 27, 2009

On Friday I took my 1 & 4 year old sons into the city on the train.  As you might imagine of boys their ages, they are crazy about trains, so the trip was a huge hit, but it is not of this that I write.  

 

We met my husband, an attorney, downtown for lunch and a visit to his office.  (Visiting on Friday afternoon before a long weekend is generally a safe bet if you want to limit your kids’ exposure to your spouse’s coworkers or the coworkers’ exposure to your kids or both – not that this is a concern for me, just a helpful hint others might use).  

 

Anyway, it so happens that my husband’s law firm is now in the same building where my office was when I practiced law.  So, by way of general conversation, I mentioned to my 4 year old that I was an attorney like daddy and pointed out where my office used to be.  He looked at me and laughed, “No!”  he exclaimed definitively.  ”Yes,” I corrected him, “I WAS a lawyer and worked in this building JUST LIKE daddy.”  Another laugh from the 4 year old, a little nervous this time, “you’re just teasing, right, Mommy?”  

 

My son didn’t say it, but I could tell that he was thinking it:  ”I’d have to see it to believe it.”  He wasn’t going to  - or maybe couldn’t – take it on faith that I was who I said I was.  

 

I have hundreds of pictures and hour upon hour of video of my kids at every stage of their lives…so one day I can prove to them that they were small enough to sleep in cribs, that they crawled instead of walked, that they picked their noses in public with wild abandon and that their favorite words were “poop, cheese poop and poopy head.”  But, shockingly, it never occurred to me to get my own pre-mommy accomplishments on video so that I could prove to my future children that I  have…or had…an existence independent of them.

 

It’s funny, on Friday I kind of  wished that I had physical evidence – photographs, videos – of myself practicing law.  It would be so fascinating for EVERYONE really…hour upon hour of me sitting at my desk, typing a brief on the computer, arguing on the phone with opposing counsel over documents, sitting in meetings and taking depositions.  I bet you wish I had pictures too so I could post them here for all to see.  

 

As I began to think of ways to “prove” to my 4 year old that I, in fact, did used to have a life before him – it occurred to me suddenly that my son’s belief  - or lack thereof – doesn’t change the reality that I was a lawyer in a suit and office in the big city.   I was what I was - 

 

As people, a lot of us spend quite a bit of time thinking about our faith – particularly our faith in God.  We think about whether God exists and, if so, what God is like, if God is good and just, how can other things also be true – i.e., if God is good how can there be illness, genocide, etc.  We often focus much on ourselves and our own interpretations of the “God evidence” around us; but, in fact, our faith – or lack thereof – has no impact on God and who God actually is.

 

I’m not sure why, but for some reason, I find this fact – that God is a constant – very reassuring.  Maybe it is because there is so much talk, interpretation and speculation around me about who God is and what He is doing – that God can sometimes seem like a moving target.  The definitions and structures that we use cannot ultimately change the reality that God is who God is …or that God isn’t.  

 

I’m not saying that our faith doesn’t matter.  In fact, I think our faith defines us and the course of our lives…on earth and beyond.  But, our faith – or lack thereof – does not and cannot determine God.  

 

 

 

 

Faith