The Ways of Boys

I am number 4 of a total of 5 girls. My childhood home was all estrogen, all the time. Due to this, I've had a Ripley's Believe It or Not-style fascination with the ways of boys in general. As if males were an anomaly. Because in my family they were. What do they do? More importantly in this case, why do they do it?

Jesus answered my lifelong curiosity with some boys of my own. Well, I guess it really started with getting married, but that's different.

Side bar: Let's just quickly qualify the point that I am differentiating within the general topic of "males" based on relationship. I had friends, cousins and other outside male relationships like that. And I willingly married one but, qualifying it on relationship, my definition included "man" and "romance" and "flowers" and "love notes", etc., in other words, its biased.

All that to say, my everyday understanding of boy begins with my 6 year old, especially non-verbal son. So, as I have questions like "is this a personality thing or do all boys NOT talk EVER?" - my son isn't the one to ask for insight into himself. And this comes into play especially with school. And here is where I thank difficult circumstances for the much better outcome: I got book on the library about boys and their brains!

No, seriously, that's the punchline. Author Michael Gurian had done years of brain study on boys and men and the male brain. THANK YOU, SIR! And has come out with some books to talk about what makes boys so unique and great (because, frankly, they get kind of a bad rep if you think about it).

I've read through (ok, skimmed for the pertinent parts) 3 of his books about adult male relationships, how boys and girls learn differently and the need for boys to have a higher calling. Very, very interesting stuff. I've changed some of the ways I relate to my son, but especially in the ways I try to motivate my son or give him greater meaning. My 9 yr old daughter has even come back to me to tell me a tip or two she has used in her relationship with her brother. Bottom line: useful.

So, do you have a boy in your life? Go out to your library (of which I'M SURE you already have a card, because you support your community) and get The Wonder of Boys.

[End Public Service Announcement]

Birthday Holiday

9 years ago I was much dumber.

I was surprised by a pregnancy. And 9 months later, after a long, difficult labor and emergency C-section delivery, I had my first baby in my arms. A little girl who was more beautiful than I deserved. I was happy. I was NOT ready. And like most new moms I was starting down a road of low levels of consistent stress. Everything was a 1st. I didn't have much experiential understanding. You know that gauge inside every mom for her child that reads "Happy & Healthy" on one end to "Dangerous & Life Threatening" on the other? My needle was all over the place. Was that fever ok or terrible?

Thank you, God, for your graciousness. Its a gift, not a reward.

My daughter turned 9 yesterday. In some ways, she is someone I want to be when I grow up. If I were her age, I'd want to be her friend. She's THAT great.

6 years ago (and 2 weeks) I was a bit more ready for baby #2. It seemed there actually WAS room in my heart to love another baby! And yet, I loved this little boy uniquely. Probably because he was a whole new, unique person. I was also more relaxed. It was easier to just love without caution. I found that I loved my little family and I wasn't sure that I would. I mean, I really really love them. They are still my favorite people. In the whole world.

But something unlocked in my heart with this last baby.

I don't just appreciate new life now, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!

I am deeply moved by the face of a newborn. Its not just "hope" or "the future" or "life", its deeper and stronger and bigger than those words. Its bigger than any of the words I know or have used before. I feel...intense about new life. Its become a cherished gift to me.

Which makes children an incredible honor.

My baby is 1 today. (yes, I have all September babies, go ahead and giggle)

We tried for more than a year for him. A very long, sad year. And the other two had been praying for a baby longer than that (before Mommy was even ready!). He is cherished by this family. I don't think we've ever been upset with him. Frustrated, sure, but we are just so thankful for him and his whole self that spilling, hair-pulling, lego-wrecking and the demand for Mommy's attention is all worth it.

Bottom line. They are all so worth it. All the babies. Everywhere. And that's smart.

Put Your Hand To Something, Honey!

Inspiration! (I love that the word for a creative light bulb over our heads is the same word for breathing in - genius!)

I'm a creation creative advocate. Ignore the grammar issue and stay with me, we're going somewhere.

If God's first handshake to us, the first impression, in Genesis was "God created" (Hi, I'm God. I'm so creative I am The Creator), then I'm guessing that the creative element of being human is a big part of the "image and likeness" tag we wear.

That established, I'm a real cheerleader for creative endeavors.  

Put your hand to something, honey!

Do something new. Create something. Do a craft or bake a cake or install flashy rims on your car but do something with your hands. Write. Imagine. Because (and here's where we put the big equals sign) it will yield (or =) the reward or fruit of a certain...nearness...to God. (there's gotta be a better word out there, but I'm in a rush - the baby's asleep)

In my opinion, it opens up the doors to greater knowledge, understanding and emotional connectivity to eternity since the greatest concentration of image and likeness would seem to be found in our spirits and thus tapping our creativity means tapping into our spirit.

So. This is a super article about writing.

Go on. Get started.

Who's The Boss

I homeschool my children.

Homeschooling is a weighty lifestyle and value choice. Its deviant in that it breaks from a cultural norms and like other deviations requires great effort.

My sister does not homeschool her children. She weighed and considered and chose to use her local public pre-school. And while it would seem that we are odds on a very deep, lifestyle value level, we still manage to remain friends.

I love her very much. She loves the Lord, like I do. She loves me. In this case, while I am beyond convinced that I am making the better choice for my children's education, I do not pretend to know what's best for her children. Though, believe me, sometimes a voice in my head tells me I do.

In caring for each other, we will challenge each other's choices and thus, values. And while, there must be a peaceful medium between hands-off neglect and judgmental control, I do not claim to know where it is.

And so I wrestle with the Lord and His ultimate purposes for others and myself while in between those two places. I wrestle with people who are right all the time and those who can't make a decision. And I have no hard and fast answers. These are just things on my mind these days. But I still want to know.

Separation Anxiety

I dropped my daughter off at camp this week.

She's 8. It was the first time she was going to an all day event. It was only 5 days long.

But sure enough, day 2, I dropped her off on my own. No family in tow, just her and I. I kissed her sweet braids and she trotted off (she's has the funniest, floppy run. this one'll never be an athlete). I went back to the car. Lonely. I went grocery shopping. Lonely. I bought more treats that I usually allow. Lonely. John noticed the treats and figured it all out.

I reflected like I haven't reflected before. Probably because I haven't had that much quiet before. I saw each of my little ones getting more independent as they get older. Then the day where they love some stranger more than they love me or their dad, for the first time. They'll marry that stranger and then my job will be....over.

I mean, I get that it won't be OVER over. Just different. But, let be honest, it'll be over. Being mom is my job. I love this job. I have other passions and callings that will probably become more of a primary focus at that point, but still. That's a big transition.

So, for a while there, I missed my little ones. And their little kisses, hugs and affections. I missed their little laundry and the way they fit on my lap.

Camp's over. She's back. I HAVE little ones now. But I was grateful for the vision of the future to help me live very much in my today.

I Forgive You

I don’t know what it is. Getting older. Having children. Or something else just outside the reaches of my comprehension. But more and more these days I’m quickly reaching the end of my shiny façade and facing the desert of what I am not.

I have a sin-nature.

I know that you’re probably thinking, “get in line, Patsy McPityParty”, but let me expound. If I pause, I can almost see my sin nature. Like a grumpy old lady. Like Debbie Downer meets the Cat Lady from the Simpsons. She’s snarky with a raspy voice. Probably from decades of smoking…metaphorically speaking.

And since today’s episode is about forgiveness, I’ve given you that background so that when I use a phrase like “forgive yourself” you can see her exaggeratedly mimed violin-playing, and her voice saying, “Go sell your snake oil somewhere else, Dr Phil!”

I was minding my own business in church, right? I was in and out with the baby. I was only catching the highlights of the message and none of the more interesting nuances – half listening. There is an altar call regarding unforgiveness.

Me: “I’m cool on this.”

There is lingering and its not moving on very quickly. So I have a quick chat with HS (Holy Spirit) making myself available to whatever He may want to show me about unforgiveness. Because, in general, I’m a good girl and I try.

So here’s what happens: it starts quietly and gently with…why can’t I get over what that person did? I can’t even seem to hang out with them anymore. I can’t even be in a conversation about them without the conscious choice to hold back mean words.

But I’ve prayed about forgiving them. I’ve tried. And its not working. In other words, I’m so angry with them I can hardly be around them. Why?

In the lingering altar call people get up and share promptings from the Holy Spirit. I hear someone mention “taskmaster”. And I think about the taskmaster in my head that criticizes me at every turn. So I run down a list of authority figures in my life. Is it their voice? Nope. It’s a tormentor. Like a spirit. Like a religious/control spirit or something.

Then I realize that its not a religious/control spirit. At least not one outside of me. Its me. I’m my taskmaster. When I do something careless, I can’t let it go. I don’t like me. I’ve said about myself, “I can’t stand me sometimes.” It was in the form of a joke, but it doesn’t make it less true.

And maybe the first time I was stung by criticism it was from an authority figure or someone I respected. Maybe I heard it first from someone else. But no one is saying it to me now. No one is verbally abusive to me. Except me. Even if it had begun somewhere else, I had taken the reins now.

I was my cruel taskmaster.

So I got prayer. I joined a line of other people who were asking for prayer in this area and just dialogued with the Holy Spirit. In this case I didn’t have to do anything weird or tell all my stories. I just received prayer and forgave myself and gave me grace to be me. I felt warmth all over me and then I felt full of love.

I felt ok with my weaknesses. But mostly I was glad to realize that I now loved dearly those ones that I had struggled to even be positive toward.

Now I haven’t put a lot of scripture in here to support my experience. And while I’m still not into Christian Self-Help, I gotta tell you: freedom from bondage feels good.

Living Like An On Call Firefighter

As Disney's Johnny Appleseed can attest to "Oh, the Lord is good to me..."

This week my 8 and 5 year old homeschool shut-ins have followed Daddy to his summer art class job. He has the precious (and monetary) opportunity to teach elementary age children at a local performing arts school/non-for profit. Just two hours a day having fun with Modern Art techniques (I think, I get the eras mixed up sometimes. He's saying things like "Pop Art" and "Lichtenstein" and no one should ever have to spell that.)

When they get home, I hear about their new friends and how much fun they're having. John comes home busting with pride at our children. This is the equivalent of them taking interest in the "family business". They are having so much fun and I'm so happy for them.

....Oh, what am I doing with all that time? Nice of you to ask.

I'm bored. I'm home alone with the baby. I mean, we ARE laughing, napping and cudding a lot together which, honestly, I really don't mind because this guy is so friendlly that sometimes I feel I need to remind him, "listen fella, I'm your favorite person, remember?" But its very remniscient of having a first baby. We're glued together until he naps and then I scramble around doing everything I have to do at a furious pace at which I drop it all becasue he's crying. When did I get so bad at this again?

I had to try to take a shower twice yesterday. And by that I mean, I got in, got soaked, did 2 of the 50 things I do (don't judge, its only a rough estimate), whereupon the baby began to cry (yes, I take every opportunity to use the word "whereupon") and I had to get out, dry off and tend to him. I had already acively procrastinated this shower a day (or more, don't judge) and it took that much more will power to get back in later.

This week: food is not getting cooked. Laundry is not being washed. The house is not getting clean. Now, these don't automatically happen in my house anyway (don't judge, Jesus is watching you), but they are especially non existent this week. It could also be due to the fact that as soon my family walks in the door we are shoving food in our mouths WHILE shouting orders to get an activity bag together because we're late for the babysitter and all the full events this week WHILE we walk right back out the door. I agree, that doesn't help the disorder of my house.

But it sure does remind me a lot of when I was home alone with my first baby with the schedule and lifestyle of a Firefighter.