Category Archives: parenting

February 29, 2012

10 Ways to Celebrate Leap Day

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Sometimes it’s more of a curse than a blessing to have a child with a long memory. My, now 11 year old daughter clearly remembers celebrating Leap Day last time, when she was 7. Those were my homeschooling days when I spent a lot more time coming up with fun and “educational” things to do everyday.

Today, I have a sick child at home, 2 papers due for school (now that I’M the student) and a backlog of household chores that make me want to cry. But I’ve decided that they will still be there tomorrow.

February 29th only comes around once every 4 years. It hardly ever happens. I’m always complaining that I need more time, and here I have a whole extra day! Of course, it usually gets eaten up with the ordinary hustle and bustle. Just one more day in the rat race. What a shame! What a waste!

Why not take advantage of this bonus day to do something special?

Or, if you can’t think of something special, here are 10 silly ideas the girls and I came up with to celebrate Leap Day:

1. Play Leap Frog. The girls remember doing this last Leap Year with our friend Shannon, who was quite pregnant at the time. They were impressed!

2. Sing and Dance to “Jumping Songs”. If you have children, you can let them join in too!

    • 5 Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed
    • If You’re Happy and You Know it Leap Around
    • Jump Your Jigglies Out
    • Jump for my Love – Pointer Sisters
    • Jump Jump – Kriss Kross (remember them!)

3. Declare this to be EXTRA day – and give everyone extra. But only the good things: extra hugs, extra game, extra ice cream, extra Wii time…

4. Hide frog gummies all over the house. These are always fun, because you find candy in weird places for months to come.

5. Buy a box of EXTRA gum and hand it out to everyone you know.

6. Serve food that LEAPS: Kangaroo Steak, Bunny Tail and Jumping Beans for dinner. I suggest steak, mashed potatoes and green beans, but you can be as realistic as you like.

7. Watch Annie and try to work “Leaping Lizards” into every conversation.

8. Make a frog cake, then sing “Happy Leap Day to you!” Or you could be like me and buy an ice cream cake instead!

9. Write letters to yourself for next Leap Day, then put them in a time capsule to be opened in 2016. Futureme.org allows you  to e-mail letters and photos to yourself, and will send it to you at some future date. You can even include pictures. This is so much easier than trying to keep track of it myself!

You can even get an app for your iPhone or iPad – only $0.99!

10. Watch Larry’s Leap Year Lesson. I must admit that I floundered when they asked me why we have leap year, something to do with the earth’s rotation and how we calculate the calendar… Larry the Cucumber cleared it right up for me.

 I’m always looking for more ways to build memories and embarass my children. How do you celebrate Leap Year?

So here’s me, celebrating my made up holiday, because that’s how I want to use my extra time. I wonder what my kids will remember 4 years from now.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in home-making, parenting

February 28, 2012

Negotiations: child labour and other parenting dilemmas

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’ve having my vehicles detailed while I sit here in the sun and write. The exterior hand-wash is not our usual M.O., but the price was right.

We’re more of a wait-until-you-can’t-tell-what-colour-your-car-is-under-all-that-dirt kind of family, at which point we pick the very cheapest alternative at the drive-through car wash. It’s quick, easy AND you can make out in the dim light of the tunnel. Nothing sets the mood quite like the rhythmic thumps of the brushes on the roof – or maybe I’m just a cheap date.

Despite the lack of romance, this cleaning crew is enthusiastic and eager for the work. I’m not sure they’re the most experienced washers in town. The short one may actually be making it worse, spreading a mud and soap concoction all over the car doors. Was she just picking her nose? I’m beginning to question my hiring standards. Plus, she may also need a diaper change.

All this for the low, low price of $3 per vehicle. Both the big girls and their friend P were happy for the work. B was happy to accept payments in the forms of kisses and snuggles, especially since she was more hindrance than help.

The Quest for Cash

Making money is a the new obsession in our house. No, we did not begin capitalist indoctrination of our children early, though Glen did graduate from business school, so he has the skill set in place. We did however, agree to the purchase of iPod Touches, with the condition that they must pay for it themselves.

The truth is, we’ve been looking for a project like this. It is good to have to wait, to save and to work towards a long-term goal. It will mean that much more when they finally hold it in their hot little hands.

Everything comes so easy these days. Not just for them, but for us too. We have everything we need and most of what we want. Compared to the rest of the world, and certainly more so than any time in history, we live like royalty and rarely appreciate it.

I know that their friends, and even their friends parents, feel sorry for them. We’ve heard through the grapevine that we are expecting too much. After all, iPod Touch is not a cheap purchase.

Let the negotiations begin

An unexpected side effect of this project is L’s blossoming sales ability. Only 11 years old and I’m pretty sure she could take the Home Shopping network by storm. She is pretty convincing in presenting her new ideas. This one she floated earlier this week in infomercial format: she will work constantly on our behalf for 2 whole weeks, with no money down, only the promise of an iPod Touch!

Observe the colourful visual aid! We didn’t even realize this wide variety of needs were unmet in our life until this point. As if that is not enough, she will throw in a number of bonus chores, above and beyond those listed in the original list, FOR FREE! What a deal!

Other deals we have also declined: selling all earthly possessions on e-bay (only because I can’t stand the hassle of it all – I have no problem with a vow of poverty for the sake of superior technology), advances on christmas/birthday money right up until her adult years, offers to eat less and move out of the house earlier… you’ve got to give her props for creativity.

Nonnegotiable

For the record, we are not in the habit of PAYING our children to work. There are certain responsibilities that are just part of family life. We are a team and everyone has to pitch in. Even Becca sets napkins on the table each night.

Long before this iPod debacle my children have been the recipients of pity and concern regarding their enslavement, or so they would have us believe. Each day they must make their bed (at least that is the rumor, it rarely happens without nagging…ahem… gentle reminders), also they load/unload the dishwasher and make their school lunches. Weekly chores include: sorting laundry, helping with folding, putting laundry away, cleaning the bathroom (C upstairs; L downstairs), cleaning bedrooms and playroom, plus the occasional babysitting/help with B.

Despite the deep pity and horror of our children’s “more fortunate” friends, we are not monsters! Not only do the girls get christmas and birthday money from several OVERLY generous relatives, they also get a weekly allowance. We’ve recently decided to upgrade this to $6 per week ($1 must be used for giving/charity). Fines are levied for poor execution of chores, finding clothing on the ground ($1 per instance, so they are pretty good at keeping it on their body, in the drawer or in the laundry hamper) and whatever heinous crime seems to require financial recompense.

The Deal

Yet, we have heard the pleas of our eldest child and we have relented. There will be payment for SOME extra chores at $1 each. Vacuuming, folding laundry, babysitting, and a few other tasks I am eager to unload. Since writing this, our neighbours have joined the cause also. They paid the girls a generous amount to do various chores at their house and are considering a car wash session (thanks Sandra and John!). As long as they are working for their pennies, I am content.

Meanwhile, L has set her sights on a refurbished iPod Touch for only $130, plus shipping. It makes my thrifty little heart swell with pride!

So here’s me, fully prepared to pay $0.01 per grape they peel and feed to me by hand. I’ve always wanted a maid-servant!

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting

February 21, 2012

Make the Day Special

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I used to LOVE Professional Development Days. No holiday parades, no special traditions, nothing to celebrate… just a regular, old Monday to the rest of the world, but a special treat for me. Perhaps it is a sadistic streak, but somehow it seemed MORE fun to have a day off of school when all the adults still had to work.

*Maniacal laugh. *Maniacal laugh.

Now the tables are turned.

Until today, I have had a flexible schedule and we usually manage to find something fun and special to do on Pro-D days. But now, I have a class I cannot miss, a husband who works in the city and very little patience for this crimp in my routine. We juggled and rearranged and made it work somehow, but I wasn’t exactly feeling the “special day” vibe.

The Everyday

This morning I rushed home from class, wrestled B onto the potty, obsessed about my upcoming Psych paper, debated the merits of wearing pants, lectured on completing homework BEFORE the very last minute, finally got everyone INTO pants, and pulled together lunch for three picky eaters (okay, fine, four picky eaters, but I’m the cook so it’s my right).

Suffice it to say, I felt naps all around would be a fun and special way to enjoy the day.

But they wanted an adventure. They wanted to DO something. They wanted to spend time with me. They were even willing to get out of the house and get some fresh air to do it.

If you have indoor kids like mine, who generally prefer reading, puzzles, crafts, talking on the phone, drawing… basically anything that doesn’t require them to get dirty or break a sweat, you know that you have to capitalize on these moments. It’s rare that I don’t have to force it. I like to set the timer: 1/2 – 1 hour and they are not to come back in until it is over. Sometimes they get into the spirit of things and forget to sneak back in, but all too often the time is spent staring mournfully through the sliding glass door and counting down the seconds. Huck Finn, eat your heart out!

Some of you may think I’m making this up. I’m not. While you are bribing and pleading and cajoling your children to read or sit still for just a few minutes, I’m doing the opposite. We all have our crosses to bear.

Fortunately, I understand this quiet/bookworm/homebody thing. After all, they probably get it from me.

But, I’m a grown up now. I know that it is good for everyone to get some exercise. I know we must enjoy every precious non-rainy moment the Pacific Northwest has to offer. I know we’ll feel better and they will fight less. So, I set aside my brilliant “napping” plan.

The Adventure

Today’s adventure consisted of a trip to a local playground and some geocaching in our neighbourhood (geocaching is like an online treasure hunt with GPS co-ordinates to follow). As we set out there were high spirits, joking and singing. And then there was me, dragging my feet and cursing the composer of the Duck song. “Heeeey! Bum, bum, bum.. Got any grapes?” If I never hear it again, it will be too soon.

With the offspring happily playing at the park, I did what any modern mother would do. I whipped out my iPhone and started checking up on the world. I could hear them laughing in the background as I clicked links on Facebook. An amazing article on a blog called Enjoying the Small Things.

It was uplifting. It said, “pay attention to what matters most.” It was inspiring. It reminded me to… Dance. Laugh. Enjoy each moment.

That’s when it hit me – I suck.

At life. Today, I suck at life.

Here I am, in a rare moment of sunshine, in the middle of the day, with my happy children who are actually enjoying each other. Instead of appreciating it, I am counting down the minutes until I can get back home to “get stuff done.” Instead of jumping in, I am huddled off to the side fiddling around with my iPhone, reading about other people’s lives.

I felt myself blush as I clicked off my phone, looking around to see if anyone caught my moment of personal douchebaggery.

If so, I hope they stuck around to see this middle-aged lady catch some serious air on the swings. Also, riding the see-saw for the first time in several decades. My almost 12-year-old can actually hold her own against me, though I’m pretty sure I bruised my butt. Just like the mature, dignified woman my parents raised me to be.

We hiked for blocks and blocks to find a new cache at the Royal Legion, which gave birth to a great discussion about veterans, memorials and death. We found a coin from the Rotary Club and talked about serving others.

We picked up sticks.

We crunched through leaves

We sang the Muppets theme song.

We made the day special.

I spend a lot of time feeling like I am the one serving my children; that motherhood is another duty on a long list of things to do. Today they reminded me that life is for living. While the rest of the schmucks slogged their way through ordinary, for those few hours I really lived.

I don’t think I need to wait for another Pro-D day to do it either.

So here’s me, do-do do-do-do, do do-do do… Mahna Mahna!

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in parenting

February 14, 2012

Love: a Modern Day Remix

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s one of the greatest love poems in the world. We read it at our wedding. I’ve heard it at a dozen more weddings since. It’s a classic.

It fits well with Valentine’s Day, full of starry eyed wonder and Sappily-Ever-After… But the real life version is more gritty and down to earth than anything printed on frilly wedding programs. It’s more diapers and disagreements than mushy romance. At least in our house…

Love

is changing the 8,647th pull up and repeating one more time that big girls pee on the potty

is laughing at the same joke like it’s the first time, and not the 31st time he’s heard it

…is patient.

Love

is getting out of bed early to scrape the windshield and warm up the car

climbing into bed with your little sister and playing “snoring duck” when she’s having a rough night

…is kind.

Love

says, “Enjoy a weekend away with your friends. You deserve it. I can go to the game another time.”

bakes cookies for her little sister’s sleepover, then stays out of her way for the evening

…does not envy.

Love

harnesses years of “real” writing experience to play editor and cheerleader for his wife’s blog

says nothing about 3 years of perfect spelling tests, but celebrates her sister’s good grade

…does not boast.

Love

makes the first move to apologize and try to understand where he went wrong, even when it probably had more to do with the time of month than anything else

wears a wig and tiara to play the evil princess at his daughter’s birthday party

…is not proud.

Love

listens when she is frustrated with her crazy family, but knows better than to agree too emphatically or say ANYTHING bad about the in-laws

…does not dishonour others.

Love

plays the same silly game with her sister over and over and over and over again, just to make her laugh

makes all the hard calls because his wife has an irrational aversion to talking on the telephone

…is not self seeking.

Love

shrugs her shoulders and sighs, “Oh well” when the baby gets into her stuff, yet again

…is not easily angered.

Love

says, “Honey, I’m just glad that you’re okay. That’s all that really matters.” when she dents the van, AGAIN

also when she gets ANOTHER parking ticket

and when she screws up the budget by charging something to the wrong account, for the THIRD time that month

…keeps no record of wrongs.

Love

says, “Be happy! Mmm-happy!” and encourages hugs and kisses all around when her big sisters are fighting

…does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth.

Love

tells their friends, “She’s so smart and doing really well. She has Down Syndrome and that’s hard work.”

checks the locks at least twice before bed each night, just to be sure

puts his wife to bed and takes over when the flu starts winning the fight

…always protects.

Love

hands over the reigns when it’s time to buy school supplies, clothes, Christmas presents, groceries and pretty much anything the family needs, even though his instincts are telling him to hide every penny away for a rainy day

(a rainy day may or may not be code for “a really cool concert”)

…always trusts.

Love

buys a single rose for each of his daughters on Valentine’s Day

takes each of them out for breakfast on their birthday

and treats them with love and respect every day in between, so that one day they will expect the man in their life to do the same

…always hopes.

Love

is 20 years of the good times, the bad fights and the ugly cry… and still going strong

…always perseveres.

Love never fails.

I see it in the four faces that surround me every day. We are not perfect, not even close.

But when we choose to love each other, it’s always seems to work out.

Happy Valentine’s Day to my favourite people!

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in marriage, parenting

February 10, 2012

Mom Shrugged

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

My daughter threw up this morning. She leaned over her bowl of Mini-Wheats and puked up her daily vitamin. Half crying and half choking, she looked up with an air of bewilderment as we rushed to her side.

Nothing breaks my heart quite like that sad little face and the pronouncement of “owie tummy, Mommy.”

I should have noticed sooner…I should have scooped her into my lap…I should have bought more ginger ale…I should wash our hands more often…I should feed her more vegetables…I should buy organic…I should give her the latest trendy-hippie-health-freak-immunity-boosting-super-food…I should know what that is…I should have kept her home from school yesterday…I should put her in the bath…I should scrub the tub out more often, it’s gross…I should stay home from my class this afternoon…I should have finished my paper yesterday…I should worry less about rearranging my day and more about my little girl…

And the guilt game plays on and on and on… just like every other day in the life of a Mom. Though to be completely fair, I was an expert player long before my children came along.

A modern day Atlas, with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my reach often exceeds my grasp. I’d like to end poverty, cure the Aids pandemic, reorganize the storage room and teach my daughter to read, all while maintaining my ideal weight. I’d like to write a book, master every spiritual discipline, earn a PhD and design a Martha Stewart home with paper mache and a $10 budget. I’d like to teach seminars like: Flawlessly Understanding the Entire Bible, Effortless Parenting to Produce Perfect Children and, most impressive of all, How to Potty Train Your Special Needs Child in a Single Day (because I really should have figured all this out by now). I’d like to be everything to everyone.

So I feed myself a steady diet of comparison and perfectionism (and chocolate; there’s always chocolate).

While I may huff and puff and sigh about my problems with guilt, I still hold onto it with an iron grip. On some level I must believe that it is the engine that drives me. It’s a bad habit I keep returning to.

According to Greek mythology, Zeus condemned Atlas for his support of the Titans in their war against the Olympians. As a punishment, he was sent to the western edge of the earth and forced to hold the sky on his back. He literally became the axis upon which the heavens rotated.

I can relate. It’s hard being the centre of the universe.

This week was a complete write off. The flu took it’s toll. I spent entire days in bed. I missed meetings. I wasn’t there to pack lunches or drive kids around or check up on homework. And guess what? The world kept on spinning.

I am learning to ask for help, to accept it graciously and to put down burdens that aren’t mine to carry. Every day I must resist the siren song of pride and insecurity, and remember that boundaries and limitations are a blessing, not a curse. I find my worth, not in perfection or accomplishment, but in being the unique person God designed me to be.

The chorus of “should” begins to quiet when I remember my inestimable value.

I am just doing the best I can. And that requires no apology.

So here’s me, posting my life-writing paper as a blog post, because I just don’t have the energy to write anything else.

1 Comment   |  tags: , , | posted in parenting, personality

February 1, 2012

To iPod or Not To iPod

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

…that is the question!

Yesterday I came home to find my eldest offspring not only loading the dishwasher, but wiping the counters after cleaning the entire kitchen. She told me she was in there anyway doing her chores, so she might as well pitch in. There was hugging, possibly tears. I congratulated her on her consideration and responsible attitude. I congratulated myself on my kick-ass parenting skills.

Later that evening, she sat down primly and asked to speak with me. “I was hoping I could have some clarification on the iPod issue.” That is a direct quote. I have to give her props for waiting a while after the cleaning and for her oh-so-professional delivery. Also the repeated use of the word “responsible” in her subsequent speech.

In summary, “Can I get an iPod Touch please? I will save up my money and pay for it myself. I know you said you would discuss it with Dad, but it has been 13 hours since I last asked and a lot of things have changed since then. For instance, I am now very ‘considerate and responsible’ (this is my paraphrase). Please see the exhaustive list of reasons I have written on the blackboard explaining what a good idea this is.”

Can I please get an iPod Touch?

It is the only question that matters to our 9 and 11-year-old this week. Two of their best friends have them. Apparently so do “like, EVERYONE I know Mom.” Which I sincerely doubt – I know one family that doesn’t even have a home computer or *gasp* email. Technophobes aside, this is an issue for us already, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise.

I think back fondly on the good old days when times were simpler. Community was face-to-face: “Gather round kinfolk, it’s time for ye old hymn sing.” And problems were straightforward. “Pa, them coons done et all our muffins agin. Git the shotgun!”

“Ma, Old Yeller’s done got bit by a rabid coon! NOOOOOOOO!”

Okay, so even pioneer days weren’t a fantasy of perfection. Life isn’t Little House on the Prairie, for which my husband is infintely grateful. Especially after an entire chapter about making candles and two on maple syrup.

I blame myself.

As I sit here writing my blog on my laptop, with my iPhone close at hand, I am keenly aware of why my children are geared toward technology. And I can’t blame them.

For those who do not have their very own walking catalogue of features to sing its praises, the iPod Touch is not a phone. It is everything else.

This weekend, they used their friends’ iPods to make an adorable movie (complete with soundtrack), take pictures, listen to christian music, play games (some educational, some silly), email a friend, and watch stupid animal movies on youtube.

Nothing evil, nothing scary – except for, maybe, the youtube videos. That talking dog is creepy.

We have a lot to discuss. Can net nanny be put on an iPod? Can we turn off the texting function? Or all internet? Are we ready for them to have their own e-mail address (with copies of everything sent to us)? How much screen time is too much? How closely should we moniter it? How long will it take them to save up the money? What if they start making talking dog videos?

Insert answer here.

I left space here for the thoughtful, balanced, wise answer. But I don’t have one. For now the answer is no, but I’m not completely against it. Perhaps I should let them know the cleaning helped?

We’ve talked to a number of other parents we respect and their advice ranges from:

“Yes, this is a reasonable purchase for your pre-teen. With the appropriate boundaries and monitering it can be a useful tool. Earning the money themselves will be a good experience. Plus, they will stop fighting over your iPhone (okay, that last part is from me).”

to

“Are you kidding me? Useful for training as obese couch potatoes and cyber bully fodder. Buy them a candle making kit instead. And the box set of Little House on the Prairie while you’re at it.”

And both sides sound reasonable to me. I’m not sure…

So here’s me, flummoxed.

What do you think? We respect every parent’s right to decide this for their own children, so use your nice words. Should children be allowed personal technology? What kind and at what ages?

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in media, parenting

January 30, 2012

The Vomit Diaries

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have two stories to tell. The first one is true. Not internet forward true, but really, truly true. I know because I was there.

The second is one our pastor told in church today. He read it from someone who heard it from someone else, so the thread of truth is slightly murky. But it’s a good story nonetheless.

Story One

Nine years ago, I found myself on a flight from Toronto to Calgary with my two small daughters. Armed with fishy crackers, colouring books and 14 pacifiers, I was sure I could handle a two-year-old and a five-month-old on my own.

By hour three, we were running perilously low on smarties and I had detected an unholy smell in our section. With a sigh and a prayer for strength, I buckled the baby into her carrier, grabbed the diaper bag and wrestled my overtired, and extremely ripe, toddler out of her seatbelt. As I stood, I lifted her up under her arms and propped her on my hip, then shuffled my way into the aisle.

The next part of this memory plays in slow motion. She leans forward slightly, just over the seat in front of us, opens her mouth, and vomits all over the poor man’s head. I spin her around as quick as I can, spewing vomit on myself, the baby and the seat behind us.

My eldest child is a prolific puker. It’s kind of amazing.

I’m sure it was an unpleasant awakening for the man in the front seat. And he was not impressed. He began yelling and cursing and screaming for the flight attendants. They rushed over to clean him up and tried to calm him down, while I apologized profusely.

He did not accept.

Standing there dripping vomit and smelling so bad, we all three started to cry.

Worst flight EVER.

Story Two

My second story is somewhat similar. A mother and infant boarded a plane wearing sparkling white dresses. The baby looked up eagerly with each person who walked by: “Dada?” As she began to fuss, Mom pulled out a bottle of orange juice. This apparently was the best way to pacifiy Baby Girl, especially when the plane hit some turbulance.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. As the flight grew increasingly choppy, the next part seems inevitable – sticky, orange vomit from head to toe.

I’m sure she wiped it up as best she could, but that didn’t help much. By the time the plane landed, Mom was frazzled and overwhelmed. As they disembarked, the baby looked across the tarmac and shouted “Dada!”

There stood a young man, also dressed in pristine white dress shirt and pants, waiting for his family. I imagine the handoff was a quick one, as Mom dashed off to clean herself up. Most of us would hold that smelly, sticky child at arm’s length; perhaps find some way to cover up the worst of it. But not this Dad.

He eagerly scooped that vomit covered child right into his arms and held her close. With a smile on his face, he kissed her head and snuggled her all the way through the airport.

I’m struck by the contrast in these two stories:

the censure of the disapproving man

VS.

the embrace of a loving parent

It reminds me of the two gods I have believed in.

The first is a distant stranger, angry and disgusted by my mess. This god requires polite, well-behaved followers. I must carefully control each word and action so as not to offend. Mistakes will not be tolerated. I am small, insignificant and afraid. I would never approach a god like this; instead I would hide, sit behind and desperately scrub everything clean. But it’s never good enough.

This is the god most good church people expect. And he makes sense to me.

The other guy, the one who barely notices the filth, seems weak and permissive. Isn’t God supposed to be pure and perfect? Aren’t we?

I am reminded of a third story.

I’m pretty sure vomit played a part in this one as well, so it fits. There were years of hard core partying, homelessness, depression and scrounging rotten food from the slop. It got messy.

The father in this story Jesus told had been rejected and publically humiliated. He had every right to be angry. But when the prodigal son slunk back home, his Dad ran to meet him, sweeping him up in his arms and holding him close.

The God of the story is a delighted Father who longs to hold me close, no matter what state I am in. This Daddy-God is not horrified by the ugly parts of me. Nor is he surprised when I screw up. He wants me at my best, even those clumsy attempts and lopsided efforts that don’t quite work. AND He wants me at my worst, with my slimy, sick failures and vomit encrusted regrets.

This is the God of the Bible.

So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves.

Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children.

Now we call him, “Abba (Daddy), Father.”

Romans 8:15

So here’s me, messy and screwed up… and loved, always.

How do I react to the mess of others? When life gets ugly, which story do I resemble?

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting, spiritual

January 17, 2012

The Great Boot Debate of 2012

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Call it karma. Call it genetic predisposition. Call it reaping what you sow. I call it parenting the child I deserve.

She is me. In so many ways, good and bad. A smaller, spunkier version of myself. And usually that seems like a good thing.

When I was 12, I put my foot down… right into a snow bank. What self-respecting 7th grader would wear ugly, clunky snow boots when they could be rocking a pair of thin white sneakers with flourescent green laces? So what if I had to walk 3 blocks to the bus, knee deep in the snow? What is a little suffering in the name of fashion?

Moms just don’t understand. After as much arguing and weeping as I dared, she decided to let me try it my way.

It took almost a week for my toes to thaw out.

I grudgingly wore my boots the next day. Lesson learned. Sigh.

Me 2.0 has had several upgrades. She is funnier, more creative and, oh happy day, even more stubborn. Excellent.

This morning was a blow out. Her black boots with the silver stars no longer fit. It takes her 20 minutes to squeeze her feet in and she can’t do the zipper up at all. I have 2 pairs that are a bigger size, but apparently the Hannah Montana pair her sister loved are “so embarassing” and the other pair “don’t work at all”.

With over a foot of snow in the school yard, we are out of options. We only have about 1-2 weeks of snow each year, so there is no way I am buying another pair. The school is not as forward thinking as my mother with her let-them-suffer-that’ll-teach-em philosophy. So she has to wear them.

By the time we were walking out the door (15 minutes late, mind you), I was in full froth. Almost an hour of relentless bargaining, whining and outright wailing had taken its toll. In my loudest Angry Mom Voice, much louder than I intended, I yelled “THEY. DO. NOT. FIT. YOU!”

YOU… You…you….echoes through the neighbourhood.

As my howling 4th grader throws herself into the van, I look up to see two sets of neighbours loading their own kids into their vans. Trying to pretend like they weren’t looking. Fantastic.

No one can push my buttons like this kid. I’m pretty sure she was put on earth lest I become conceited about my life and my superior parenting. And she is doing a fine, fine job.

After school, we talked about it. I apologized again (this time with my teeth unclenched) and I told her a story about the olden days when florescent colours were cool and I longed for sneakers in winter. I’m sure we’ll be recapping this discussion again tomorrow morning, but I think I’m ready for it.

The boots might not fit, but she does. Here, with me, always. I thank God for her, especially those rough edges that remind me so much of myself. My children are the best curriculum He’s ever given me. As I teach her, I am learning too: to be teachable, to choose substance over appearance, and that life may be full of necessary unpleasantness, but a good attitude can make all the difference.

I see the best of myself in her also, and am amazed.

I wonder, when God looks at me, does he see himself?

Creative.

Compassionate.

Kind.

Patient (okay, probably not that one).

One day when my little girl is all grown up, she will spit on her thumb to wipe the schmutz off her child’s face and come to the shocking realization: “I’ve become my mother!”

Oh sweetie, you’ve been there all along!

So here’s me, counting down the days until I can start giving my grandchildren ugly, clunky boots. Then I will sit back and watch the fireworks. And I will laugh and laugh.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in parenting, personality, spiritual

January 15, 2012

Unspoken Things: Is This Grief Normal?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m like a badly dubbed foreign film. The words sound right, but the voice is all wrong. My lips keep moving long after the words are said. It feels laughably false, but they keep on watching anyway.

If I go through the motions, I may actually start believing what I say. It’s not lies or misdirection, simply an unspoken truth that lingers in the air.

I am desperately sad that I cannot have another baby.

There, I’ve said it. And very few will understand. It seems I am speaking a foreign language after all.

“ANOTHER? You want ANOTHER child? Seriously?” the woman shrieks at me, wide-eyed and astonished. I wish I had just left it alone. This is why I stick with the abridged version, the words they expect, familiar phrases that mean less than nothing at this point. No one wants to hear about this crazy hope I have been clutching for years.

Even my dearest friends, who love me and listen patiently, do not understand.

I love the life I’ve been given. I adore my three beautiful daughters. I have been absurdly blessed. And I feel greedy wanting more of it, but I can’t seem to reason my disappointment away. I have tried and tried.

I still remember the parade of doctors that came to my room: GP, OB, Nephrologist and even a few nurses. They began to cautiously broach the subject in the days after B was born. I had made no secret of my desire to have a big family, at least four (and a whisper in my head adds “or five, or six”). Add that to my “religious” demeanor and I can see why they were worried that I wouldn’t listen.

No more babies for me.

My kidney would not survive, and neither would I.

I didn’t give it much thought at the time. A twinge of sadness that I would not feel the wonders of pregnancy again; a sigh of relief that I would not feel the wonders of pregnancy again. Of course we would adopt. It had been discussed since we were starry-eyed teenagers planning our perfect life.

I’ve been holding tightly to the dream ever since. My husband, not so much. As we enter our third year in the process, almost a full year with our name on the list of approved homes, it has finally occurred to me that this may not happen.

No more babies for me.

After all the classes, workshops, paperwork, praying, homestudy, endless discussions, hopes raised only to be dashed again, waiting, waiting, waiting… we are near the end. We aren’t on the same page anymore.

He’s been good to do this for me, though now I wished we hadn’t even started. It was something he felt we should do, but had no actual desire for. But adoption is a team sport. And when push comes to shove… well, I just can’t keep pushing.

I know this isn’t a real tragedy. I’ve lived through that before, the complete and utter devastation of it.

But in some ways this is even lonelier. I feel guilty for being this sad about a normal thing. So I minimize the longing and paint a happy face on it. I’d rather keep it to myself. It’s so much worse when I share and they stare at me blankly. Or, worst of all, act like I’m crazy for feeling this way. Because deep down, I wonder if they’re right.

It’s time I face it, so I can move on. I want to dream new dreams, but first I have to grieve the old one.

We all must learn to lament,

otherwise “year by year,

as we deny and avoid the pains and losses,

the rejections and frustrations,

we’ll become less and less,

trivial and trivializing,

empty shells with smiley faces painted on them.”

Eugene Peterson (Leap Over a Wall)

So here’s me, and this is my lament. Because God hears my secret disappointments… especially when no one else understands.

What about you? Do you have a grief that people don’t understand? How do you mourn for hidden hurts?

19 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in adoption, grief, OneWord 2012: Dream, parenting, spiritual

December 21, 2011

Holidays = Holy Days?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Right now I am watching a man named Captain FeatherSword dancing around in a lacey shirt singing “Ring-a-ding-a-ding! Ring-a-ding-a-dong!”

Some sort of nerd-girl Christmas porn? No. It is, however, the soundtrack to our Christmas vacation. We are watching “Santa’s Rockin’ Special” for the 3,463rd time. All so B won’t wake up her big sisters in the next room.

Someone should get some sleep. Sharing a room/bed/oxygen with B at night has not gone completely smoothly. Sure, it’s cute when she pokes the soles of my feet, giggles and then quickly pretends to sleep… At 10:00 it’s freaking adorable, at 11:00 it is mildly amusing, around midnight it begins to lose its charm. By 4:00 a.m. it is the most annoying torture known to man. I’m considering petitioning the Hague to add a special addendum to the Geneva convention to that affect.

Daddy to the rescue! Of course he managed to get her to sleep in only 15 minutes. Plus, he’s hardly ticklish at all. Totally unfair.

Since he also let me sleep in, even though he is still working all day long from the hotel room while we do fun holiday things, he is pretty much my hero! I shall call him Captain and he can ring-a-ding-a-dong anytime he wants.

Everyone has a role to play in the family holiday, like our own bizarre pageant played out year after year. This year’s cast also includes:

L as the oldest child and cousin. She is the babysitter, helper and all around gal Friday.

C bringing some teenage-like angst to every situation. Catching a smile on camera is the Holy Grail of holiday photographs.

My 90-year-old Grandma who naps most of the day, then apologizes profusely for being such a burden to us all. Mostly I’m jealous of her ability to doze off with impunity.

My Mom who dotes on all the grandchildren and expects others to do the same. She is deeply offended when waiters and store clerks do not respond appropriately to her questions. “Isn’t this the most adorable child you have ever seen?”

My Dad who provides the ice cream. Anywhere, anytime is a good time for ice cream. Also, the first real food for 2 of my 3 children thanks to Grandpa.

My Aunt who remembers all the old stories. Out loud. Especially the ones you may want to forget.

My baby sister, a younger, cooler version of myself (although equally dorky about all things sci-fi), who had the nerve to grow up. Now she is a mom. I only forgive her for making me feel so old because my nephew is the snuggliest, smiliest baby in the world.

My brother-in-law who brings some Latino flair and energy to our staid, polite Canadian family. Plus, he provided the aforementioned nephew for me to enjoy. He can stay.

My nephew who spends his time eating, sleeping, eating, pooping, eating and posing for pictures. I may be even more envious of him than Grandma.

As for me, when everyone asks “what’s the plan?” their heads all turn to look at me. So, I guess that makes me The Boss. As it should be…

So it’s not exactly perfect. Our car just broke down and we are now arranging to have it towed, first to the Canadian border and then home. Glen is dealing with some work drama and taking a lot of important calls in the bathroom while we frantically shush the kids. Grandma is having some health problems “down below” – I’m not sure what that means, but I’m sure she’ll tell me in excruciating detail.

This may seem like an excellent time for a meltdown (and I have considered it), but it’s actually the perfect setup for Christmas. Cause it doesn’t need to be a Silent Night to be a Holy one. That’s the beauty of the story. All is not calm and all is not bright, but that’s exactly where Jesus shows up. In the middle of the crazy: God With Us.

So here’s me, hoping to sleep in heavenly peace tonight!

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12 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in christmas, parenting