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Perfect, Just Perfect

You might already be aware of this, or you might be fooled by their snappy eyes and winning smiles, but my kids are not perfect. Homework gets turned in late, clothes are left lying helter skelter, directions are repeated ad nausium, there's fighting, and even the occasional lying. None of this is easy to take; it makes me crazy and I respond less than perfectly myself. There's yelling, and stomping, and the saying of ridiculous things like, "If you ever threaten me again, I'll whop your backside." (I'm so much more a fan of irony when I'm not creating it.) Still, it's been slowly dawning on me that none of this is actually a problem per se. I'm not perfect now, I'm never going to be perfect and as my friends told me on facebook a few months ago when I was lamenting the fact that I'm not perfect, it would be scary if I was perfect and they wouldn't be my friends.

Clearly, then, it is not my job to make my kids be perfect either. It ain't gonna happen, ever. Now, being a Christian type person, you'd think I'd have this down and all. I was raised on the need for grace and forgiveness after all, but somewhere along the line I picked up another message as well and it seems to have a louder voice than the grace and forgiveness one. Somewhere I got the message that I'm A) going to have my work as a parent judged by the world at large, B) the standard by which I will be judged is how perfect my kids are, and C) this grading will also reflect how good a Christian I am. Again, you all might know this, but that message is NOT in the Bible. Sure it says to train your children and teach them in the ways of the LORD, but it does not say that they will pick up all of their clothes, never forget to call when they're going to be late, or not eat the Gino's East pizza that you were planning to eat for lunch the next day if you teach them the Shema.

Actually, the Bible says that they also are going to be screw ups and that it's God's problem to fix it, and apparently He finds it to be a big enough job that he's enlisted an entire Trinity to get the job done. I'm starting to think I might make them even more messed up if I keep trying to keep them from making mistakes and from getting hurt.

So starting today, or as soon as I feel up to it, I'm going to quit stressing about whether or not my kids are on the "right" path to being perfect adults. I don't think its a straight line from childhood to adulthood. After all, when adulthood happens seems to be up for a bit of debate itself. When they take crazy detours and even go backwards, I'm getting out of the way. I'll hug, I'll listen, I'll even offer the occasional bit of unsolicited advice, I'll pray and spend time with them, but I'm not bailing them out when they have no clean laundry and I'm not staying up all night to do their homework.

Myers-Briggs

Have you done that test? The one that tells you if you are an introvert or an extrovert, if you like closure or open ended, and if you value thinking over emotion? I've done it half a dozen times or more since I was 19- which was a REALLY long time ago. I don't always get the same score. Well, some things stay the same and some things change. I am always the closure person, solidly, but sometimes I'm a thinker and sometimes I'm a feeler. I think it depends on what's going on in my life at the time I take it, or if I'm taking the test in light of my personal life of professional life. The other thing that has changed back and forth over the years is whether I'm an introvert or extrovert. My mother has a hard time buying the introvert label, but that's because she's never been an unknown quantity to me, nor has she ever seen me in a new situation. I, myself have only been puzzled about why it goes back and forth. I admit, I don't like people, they drain me and make me tired. As my friend Amy says though, "Then I'm glad I'm not people." She's right. I like my friends, my family, and in general my co-workers. People I don't know, not so much. Oddly, this does not prevent me from striking up conversations with people in lines waiting for things. I'm not shy. I'm... I don't know what.

At least I didn't know until two days ago. If you've ever done the Myers-Briggs, you'll know that they define introvert/extrovert as whether you get energized from being with other people or from being alone. I've always observed that the answer in my life is, "Yes." I can get energy from being with people sometimes and other times being alone energizes me. On Friday, while I was swimming laps, which I do because it is by it's nature very much something you do alone, that I get energized by ideas. Sometimes you get ideas when you're in conversation with others and sometime you get ideas when you're alone. That's why I go back and forth; it depends on where the birth of ideas is happening. I decided there needs to be a third category for where your energy comes from, so I made one up. I'm a captovert.

Captovert? I looked up the Latin for "idea," and one of the words it gave was captus. Idea is just one of the meanings of it, the others being -not surprisingly- things like "capture," and "to take hold," or "prisoner." I picked it for my new word though because those are the kinds of ideas that I'm talking about when I say I get my energy from them. (plus, informatio and comprehendo didn't work so well with -vert.) A good idea gives me so much energy that I can even drive for hours in silence if I have a good idea to chew on. It's what I love about swimming laps, all that time to think, and what I love about good conversation, all that thinking out loud.

See!? I was so energized by this new idea, and it's metacognitiveness (after all, ideas about ideas? how energizing is that!?), that I'm all fired up to blog!

One Year Of...

You've seen all those books, right? The ones where people try something out of their comfort zone for a year and then right a book on it and get on Oprah and become quasi celebrities? Some that I've seen are people who buy nothing for a year, buy nothing new for a year, have sex (they were married to each other, don't start with me) every day for a year, be kosher for a year, meet the maker or grower of every product they use for a year, and eat locally for a year. I was thinking of jumping on this bandwagon before it goes off the tracks. If any of you have connections in publishing, here are some of my ideas. Maybe you could help me get a deal on one of them.

Say every little thought that comes into my head out loud for a year. No censoring. I foresee myself being afraid to leave the house after a very short time.

Climb a tree every day for a year.

Blow kisses to rude drivers every day for a year. Smile and waggle fingers at them if they look puzzled. (I considered flip someone the bird every day for a year, but it didn't really meet that criteria of being outside the author's comfort zone. I'm cranky; I could take to this one a little too easily. I tried to stretch myself a little.)

Swim in a different pool or lake or stream or pond every day for a year.

Wear the same outfit for one year, washing allowed, hang out naked while outfit is in laundry; do not line dry in the back yard.

Read/listen/watch zero News for one year.

Play a prank on someone every day for one year.

Something with being snarky... hmmm, there must be something snarky that I could do every day for one year.

Try out a new kind of wine every day for a year. Or a new coffee drink. Or a new kind of ice cream.

That's only 8 ideas; I need more. What've you got?

Ooo wait! I have one more: Leave tongue in cheek for one full year.

Mmmmmm

My friend
Barb
put me on to this blog and I was tired and cranky and avoiding real life today by browsing around on it. I'm so glad I did! It's called
The Rabbit Room
and this excerpt is from a review on it of a children's Bible. I always struggle with finding just the right children's Bible, but this goes way beyond children. It grabbed me and made me want more.

“No, the Bible isn’t a list of rules, or a book of heroes. The Bible is most of all a Story. It’s an adventure story about a young Hero who comes from a far country to win back his lost treasure. It’s a love story about a brave Prince who leaves his palace, his throne–everything–to rescue the one he loves. It’s like the most wonderful of fairy tales that has come true in real life!

You see, the best thing about this Story is–it’s true.

There are lots of stories in the Bible, but all the stories are telling one Big Story. The Story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them.

It takes the whole Bible to tell this Story. And at the center of the Story, there is a baby. Every Story in the Bible whispers his name. He is like the missing piece in a puzzle–the piece that makes all the other pieces fit together, and suddenly you can see a beautiful picture.'

Mmmmmmm, I can't make it any better than that.

Changes in Social Norms

Can you tell by the title that I'm taking a grad class!? It provides lots of food for thought, not always on the assigned topics either. One of the things that I have to do is read other people's posts and respond to them. Last week a woman commented at the end of her post that there is a growing gap between the expectations that teachers have for the appropriate way to treat adults and the expectation that parents have. This lead to several people commenting on the changes in society how disrespectful students are allowed to be. Everyone was very thoughtful and professional in their discussion. I enjoyed it. It also got me thinking...

It seems that there is a sense of loss over the automatic respect that adults and authority figures have always commanded in the past. It occurrs to me that those stages of grief that you go through with any loss could apply to this loss too. Actually calling the change in social norms a loss at all is a good first step. Society is changing, and it always will, but it seems like there has only been two choices for dealing with that. One choice would be to charge merrily forward embracing change whole heartedly, and the other choice to cling to the past and fight to keep or return to it. I now think that there may be a third way and that is to truly grieve the loss of the past and then let it go and face the future honestly. The only way we can go is forward, but to force joy and enthusiasm on those who are losing something in the change is unfair. I don't think you get to the acceptance phase of the grieving process until you do the others. So if you're grieving for social norms of the past, go ahead and do denial and anger and sadness, embrace them, but know that at some point you'll have to move forward.

I Like It Because...

If you're my facebook friend, or if you live anywhere in West Michigan, then you know
ArtPrize
is the happenin' event of the moment. I've really been into it, not because I'm a big art fan and know a lot about art, and not because I like to be "in," but more because it's a happy thing that is bringing people into conversation about something other than our state unemployment rate. It was fun to see all the bazillion kinds of art. It was fun to meet the artists and talk with them. And it was fun to see so many people amazed and delighted. I can't remember the last time I saw that.

Tonight I was on this
blog
reading someone's short list of artists to see. At the end he gives his reasons for choosing those artists. It got me thinking about the artists I liked and why I liked them. It was only a few moments thought before I found my common denominator. I chuckled when I realized it because that's what I like in stories as well. I liked the pieces that surprised me, like
Georgia Donovan
and
John Hamelink
. I liked the pieces that made me laugh, like
Giovanni Arce
. I liked pieces that were warm and just beautiful to watch, like The
Beerhorst Family
and
Maggie Annerion's
piece.

I liked some pieces that challenge too. I liked
Fernando Ortiz
and
Denise Milito
/Josh Gormely. But I only like certain kinds of challenges. I like a challenge that is about redemption (see why I chuckled earlier?!) and hopefulness. I don't mind thinking about things differently, but I don't like it when it's angry and shoved down my throat. I saw pieces all over the place that made me reconsider how I saw everyday items, shapes or colors. I especially liked
Thomas Verstraete
for that.

I know sometimes life is hard, ugly and uncomfortable, but I guess don't need art to remind me of what is. It's what's possible that I forget about.

Over 40

There are a lot of things I like about being 40. I love that it is now impossible, I mean not the teensiest shred of possibility for me to be cool and the pressure is totally off. I love that shocked look people give me when I tell them my age because, thanks to my good genes, I don't look 40. It's just not that shocking to be 30 something and also look like a younger, but still 30 something. I feel like being 40 gives me permission to enjoy my jiggly, post three babies, belly. It's not going to be hard and flat ever again and who cares?! I love being in the middle. There are women younger than me that share ideas and energy from another generation and there are women older than me who also share ideas and wisdom from another generation. It's the sweet spot.

Sadly though, it's that last bit that makes not so excited about being 40. I feel like it won't be long until I'm in that generation that's supposed to have spun their life experience into a shelter of wisdom that blesses those who come after them. I'm not up to it! I don't want to loose my elders, my mentors, my protectors. I can't become them; I'm not ready. I can't even see how I'll ever be ready. Both at work and at home I find there are 500 things that I don't know, haven't figured out, can't explain. How will I ever be ready to care for others the way I've been cared for? It freaks me a little. Not a lot, but a little.

From Left Field

I wouldn't want to work for Michelle Rhee, superintendent of the D.C. schools, but I heard one quote from her that really got me thinking. After teaching in Baltimore City schools for a year she said that it couldn't be expected that a person could teach for a lifetime in some situations. At sixty hours+ a week and more hurdles than the Olympics, that sounds like a pretty true statement to me. On the other hand, it doesn't seem fair to put already at risk kids and families in a revolving door of new teachers.

Here's my crazy idea, that is sure to not catch on. What if a county decided to be innovative and convinced all the stakeholders to pool together into one school district including both urban and suburban schools? What if the purpose of this move was to share resources both of the human sort and the monetary? What if teachers could, or were even required to, take a turn of a year or two in the city school and then rotate out to a suburban district? What if that meant the teacher could keep her seniority, but have a chance to work in what is now a different district? What if at different sites with a large at risk population, teachers were expected to work longer hours in exchange for more pay than at other sites? What if it was all just more fluid?

I know, it's a fantasy, but a girl can dream can't she?

Innocence

This thought has been bugging me for several years. Back when Philip Pullman, author of the His Dark Materials trilogy, was a hot and controversial author, I read an interview with him in which he talked about how he thinks people are too tied up in revering innocence. It's probably a stretch to lay the blame for connecting innocence solely to childhood at his feet, but he does do it. He feels people's tendency to over sentimentalize childhood means that people are afraid of sexuality and adulthood. And in fact, in his trilogy he restores balance to the world by the sexual awakening of his main character. It annoyed me immensely. (BTW, right up until that ending I thought they were brilliant books, even if the world view made me a bit sad.) ANYWAY! That's not even my main point.

Yesterday I was watching Abby dance on a little stretch of green in a gas station parking lot because she just wasn't ready to get back into the van yet. As she twirled around and let her arms float where they wanted, of course she was the picture of innocence and AGAIN I thought of Philip Pullman and was annoyed. Her innocence stems from how safe she feels, not her lack of sexual knowledge/experience. She does not fear, really, any hurt or judgment. She acts out of her own desire, with no need to please an audience. No one has rejected her and she has done nothing really to make her want to reject herself. She is free to just Be.

I believe that is the innocence that we, adults, all have a longing for. We long for the safety we felt before we knew how life hurts, how we are capable of causing great hurt, how the world itself just hurts sometimes. I absolutely do NOT believe that most adults are longing for that time of life before they were sexual beings. That's just crazy talk.

I am not Most People

You might already know that I put that title for my status on Facebook earlier today. Lots of people commented, agreeing with that sentiment in one way or the other. Several people even threw in some version of, "Duh!" It was all pretty entertaining.

What's even more entertaining to me is that most of the time I actually think I AM Most People. I'm so shocked to find out that I'm the only person who thinks something, or would say some weird thing or who approach the situation in that way. I generally have it in my head that most people are more or less like me.

Because of that, I'm usually either confused or insulted when I read or hear "Most People," do or think some crazy thing. I think either, "That data has to be completely off base because I would never do or think that," or "How dare they accuse me of such outrageous behavior!"

I always think that I'm the person that They are talking about. I guess this either means I'm outrageously self-centered and I think the whole world is all about me, or I'm very generous and I think Most People are just as wonderful as me. It's so hard to decide.

Packing

I sat on the futon with piles of boys clothes around me and my Sharpie in hand. Even though JD usually packs for himself, I guess because every item needs to be labeled, I was packing his gear for overnight camp. Five days equals 5 pairs of shorts/pants, 5 t-shirts, one sweatshirt, 5 pairs of socks, 8 pairs of underwear, 2 swimsuits and two towels, one bar of soap. And it was at either at the fifth pair of socks, the eight pair of underwear, or most likely the bar of soap that I started to chuckle to myself. Why was I packing all this stuff? I mean, really, no one is going to make him change his clothes the entire week if he doesn't want to. I could probably get by with two of everything, and then only in case of rain. And the soap? Never gonna happen.

None the less, I packed all the above items, plus sunscreen, shampoo and conditioner, and as I packed them I faced the cold, hard truth of why I was going to so much trouble. I was packing them because no self-respecting mother would send her kid off to camp with just a change of clothes. Even though all these clothes will be returned to me unworn, but still reeking, I was packing them up anyhow. Who did I think was going to judge me? My son? Not in a million, he'd think it was hilarious. His counselor, an under 25 year old male? As if. Some other parent? How would that even be possible? No really, there was no one to judge me but the ever vague, They.

As I packed and thought about being judged by Them I realized I've made more then a few parenting decisions based on, "What would people say?!" Mostly that works out to my kids' benefit. I hold my tongue and don't yell at them in public for instance, but still, whenever it happens, it feels a little dishonest. I really want to be the same person inside and out, at home and away. But I'm not always, so maybe, it's a tiny defiant act of honesty that has me refusing to pack a comb.

Harry Potter Review-No Spoilers

Loved it. It was funny, it was a little scary, it was sad. And then it was those bits all over again. Lots of things were much better than I expected- more Snape time, thank goodness. They always rip him off. Much more Ginny, of course, and I do love her :-)
Lavender Brown, disgustingly great and Cormac McClaggen as well.

The best though was Jim Broadbent as Slughorn. Can't say enough good things about him. SO FUNNY! What a face :-)

The added scene was pretty good, although it does prove again that Harry is a bit of an idiot when it comes to making choices. It gives you a chance to Lupin and Tonks, and have yourself creeped out by Bellatrix. That woman is VILE and Helena Bonham Carter gets a chance to throw a regular Bellatrix fit that's pretty impressive.

Only two really big changes from the book. Both I can live with, but one did make me wonder how they'll handle it in 7. The other, was a bit disappointing, but the really important bits of it were kept in, so I guess I won't complain too much. Snape's best line of all times is left out though and Alan Rickman would have delivered it so brilliantly.

It was also really fun to go at midnight with all the crazy people in costumes and stuff. We made friends :-) JD was very funny, saying, "I"m so excited!" about every 10 minutes. He was dressed up as well. I just wore my "Some of my best friends are fictional," t-shirt. The whole crowd was giddy and happy. How can you not like that?
Anyway, this movie was certainly the most non-reader friendly. You can take that as a plus or minus! So, go, go see it; you'll enjoy it.

In Which My Metaphor Makes Me Confused

I really like to get two things done at a time if I can, so I decided to ride my bike to Kohl's when I needed to return something. It's only a bit over six miles down to Kohl's and I've ridden more than that before. Piece of cake. Before I head out I tell Heidi my plan and see if she wants to go along. She can't, but she's all supportive like always. Anyway, I tell her that my plan is to go straight down the Beltline because I'm pretty sure that I'll get turned around if I cut through town. Ok, good plan, and off I go.

I barely got out of my neighborhood before I changed my plan. The Beltline is straight and boring and loud. The traffic moves fast and there's nothing interesting to see because I already drive on it all the time. Surely, if I go down Maryland and then cut over to the Beltline at Robison before I get to EGR, which is the tricky bit, I'll do fine. No worries. I enjoy the leafy greenness and the quiet of these roads. I marvel at the nice houses of the rich people and the up to down hill ratio is pretty good. I arrive safely out at the Beltline with no troubles.

Then, as I'm coasting down a REALLY long hill on the Beltline, all I can think is, "How the heck am I going to get back up this hill?" So, I turn onto a bike path down by EGR. There are a few lakes in EGR that make the roads and paths all twisty turny and so it wasn't long until I was completely turned around. I did know what street I was on, so I figured I was fine.

How on earth did I think I was fine!? The road I was on goes east/west. I KNOW it goes east/west because I cross it all the time when I'm going north/south! And yet, I just kept peddling along convincing myself that I was going south. Even when the sun in the sky signaled the obvious I convinced myself that it wasn't a very clear sign because it was too close to noon. I crossed a street that I used to travel frequently when I lived in another part of town. This corner should have turned me around, or at least finally forced me to admit that I was going west and not south. Nope. Somehow I just figured that this corner, since I knew it well, must mean that I was all right. Wow.

Not until I had gone two full miles out of my way did I finally have to face facts. Reluctantly I turned and headed south, knowing I was going to come back quite a long way east. I had actually gone so far west that I was further west than when I'd set out from my house.

Now, I really am this nerdy. I started thinking that gosh, this bike ride incident is a good metaphor for life. You know, how when you make a wrong turn in life it's so hard to admit it and you just keep going farther and farther in to trouble. It's so hard to get off the wrong path. You keep convincing yourself that it's the right path and than anyone or anything that disagrees with what you want to be true is explained away or just flat out ignored. Eventually, of course, you do have to do the hard work of getting back on the right path, and it's a lot harder than an extra two miles by bike. The damage you've done to your soul, or your heart, or your finances, or your relationships, don't bounce back, but they can be healed.

I was feeling all wise and everything when I reached my destination, took care of my business and then set back out to go home, by a more direct route of course. My self satisfaction lasted all of about five minutes. I didn't get turned around again. Worse. I realized that if I hadn't gotten turned around before, I would not have such a good idea of how to take a much more beautiful and satisfying way home. I would be stuck slogging up that hill on the Beltline instead of meandering through the pleasant neighborhoods of EGR. Since I had gone the wrong way, I was now clear on the right way.

That was very confusing. Making the wrong choice actually wasn't all bad. I was where I was because I'd gone the wrong way and where I was was pretty good. Should I regret that I'd gotten on the wrong path now? Or should I celebrate? Was this true in life too? Should you regret the bad paths that you go down and work really hard to stay on the right path in the future? I puzzled over it the whole seven miles home. And here's what I came up with: Nothing.

Well not quite nothing. I don't know which path comes out better in the end. I don't think I'll ever know. I hope, though, that I've realized that no path needs to end in despair. There is no path that can not be redeemed. I like that. It makes me feel safe. I've found it to be true in life and on bikes.

I found this in my journal from March of this year...

The longing for God is a vast and empty darkness. Its cold and unsettling. It picks at my edges even when I don't want to consider it. The silence is unnerving, rising up to crush me. Sometimes the longing for God's presence makes it hard to breathe.

When I feel this way I forget or dismiss the history I have with God. I forget all the times and all the ways I've been saved. I forget how God always calls me back. I forget all the times he's spoken to me, the times when I've needed guidence and he plainly showed the way.

I know that God is redemptive, compassionate, and good. I know that god speaks truth and is faithful. I know that he has a sense of humor and that he weeps.

I'm Blaming Newsweek

We've been way deep into Harry Potter at our house for the last several months. Rachel has been working her way through the series for the first time and is nearing the end of book 7. Actually, that's about a blog post all by itself. Ah, what the heck, I don't have an editor, so excuse me while I meander. ***Spoiler Alert*** I will be revealing key plot points from books six and seven so, skip down 'til you see JD's name if you don't want to know.

A few weeks ago, after a very tearful afternoon when she first read that Dumbledore had died, Rachel brought me into her room to show me something special. On a little set of drawers that she used as a desk was an odd little grouping of what could easily have passed for junk. The first thing she showed me was a little white angel that was hovering over the whole ensemble. The center piece was a small, wooden, purple box. In front of the box was a tiny ceramic tray covered in multi-colored plastic jewels. They were set out like a token of remembrance. She opened the box and showed me that it contained a piece of paper. On the paper was just one word, "Dumbledore." She had created a tomb for Dumbledore, she told me. I suppose since he only exists as words on a page, it's not that crazy that she would "bury" words on a page. Apparently a person doesn't have to be real to be beloved. I haven't figured that out for myself yet even.

Because she took Dumbledore's death so hard, I've been very vigilant as she's worked through book 7. She took it with her off to Grandma's and I checked in on where she was in the book each time I talked to her. Luckily she was super busy at Grandma's and didn't get to anything too tragic there. She did have this very perceptive comment to make though, "Oh! And Hedwig! Wasn't that awful that she died when Harry was mad at her?!" I'm certain that Rachel and I will be revisiting that insight over the years.

Today I knew that she was getting close to the dreadful chapter called, "Malfoy Manor." I actually hung around in the same room just to be nearby. Sure enough, first she smacked her hands on the table, then she jumped up and continued to read while standing and it wasn't long until there was actual pounding on the table. I was laying (or lying, whatever) on the futon and called her to come over and snuggle with me. She had a good cry about Dobby and we talked about what a good elf he was and that if he was going to die he would want to die saving Harry. Then, crying myself, we read the burial scene together. I read it aloud and she listened and cried.

Whew! After all that emotional exhaustion, I'm actually quite glad that we have JD around. It was just the three of us for dinner and we were discussing Harry Potter in general, quizzing each other and making comments about different characters. We talked about the evil that is Lord Voldemort and how he had a talent for sewing disunity among friends. I thought to seize on that teachable moment. I opened with,
"The Dark Lord of our own world-"

"-Dick Cheney?" interrupted JD, followed by ages of hysterical laughter at his own wit. Eh, what are you going to do? Like I said, I blame Newsweek.

It's Their Story

I went to see my children's VBS program last Friday and arrived quite a bit early. We were in Bay City at the church I attended while I was growing up. I've been back to visit several times a year since then, but I hadn't been out to the cemetery in many years. My grandparents and great grandparents are buried there, as well as many names that I know from family legend and people who were a part of my own growing up. It wasn't a sad visit at all, more of a sweet trip into the past.

I think it was all that nostalgia that put me in a philosophical mood as I sat down outside to wait a little longer before going in for the program. My mind wandered over my own childhood and the many good memories that I have of it and I thought of my own childrens' childhood and wondered how they would remember their story. And that's when it hit me. Their stories are being written right now and they are uniquely theirs; they're not my story at all.

I have a part in their stories, obviously, and we may even have vignettes in common in our stories, but their stories will have whole chapters where I don't get even a mention. Right at that moment they were finishing up a week that they had spent at Grandma and Grandpa's without me. Later this summer they will head off to camp and possibly to the other grandparents.

I let my mind wander over this idea and I realized that even at home the three kids have little adventures, little secrets and games that are just for them. I don't really know what they do and say upstairs in their rooms or outside in the tree fort or when they tear off over the sand dune at the beach to their secret fort there. They go to school and church and interact with and learn from all kinds of people. We are already separate people whose distinct stories run together and twist around one another, but none the less remain distinct.

I'm not sad about this at all. I'm pleased for them; it's exciting for me to realize that their story is already underway. I sometimes think that I'm waiting for something, some one to say, "And they're off!" I think because I'm a parent, a teacher, a grownup, I've gotten the wrong headed idea that your life really starts when you get off on your own and are responsible for yourself. I think that all I'm doing now is teaching, leading, preparing them for "someday." Of course I am doing those things, but the kids are not in a holding pattern for the duration of all that preparation. They're living NOW. NOW is the most important time to them, NOW is when their stories are being written, their tale is unfolding already here in this moment.

I think this realization gaive me permission to just enjoy the present for it's own self and to stop focusing exclusively on each moment's impact on the future. On some level the future is irrelevant anyway, it never gets here. The other thing that this has set me free from is worrying about some big future separation looming for my children and me. We're already separate and still seem to be doing pretty well with staying connected.

It IS Funny, and You Will NOT Go to Hell For It

I was asked to weigh in on a dispute a few weeks back. It seems as though there was a bit of a disagreement about what is funny and what is inappropriate to laugh about. The argument was about the disappeared AirFrance flight. No one thought it was funny that this flight had disappeared and that people were likely dead, of course. The bit that was humorous to one party was the lengths that the media went to to place someone famous on the plane. A former dancer from River Dance and a relative of ex-Brazilian royalty- or something like that. Come on! That's funny! It's funny because it is ridiculous that it can't be an important story without a famous person, and ridiculous is funny. If you don't laugh about the ridiculous, you're doomed to become bitter.

I can't think of a situation that doesn't call for humor. I personally like to joke that I'm at my stand-up best in a funeral home, although I don't do to badly in hospital rooms either. If you've ever been through a round of lay-offs, school closings, what have you, then you know that jokes are indispensable for survival. I'm not talking about bitter, mocking jokes, angry outbursts disguised as humor. I mean more the kind of jokes that find the ridiculous in the situation and call it out.

I'm not saying it's not a tragedy, I'm just saying that if you can't find something to laugh about, well, actually I think I'm saying that if you don't find something to laugh about then you'll find you're already in hell!

If I Can Just Teach You One Thing This Summer

Listen, if the only thing I can teach you this summer is to clean up after yourself, it will still been a satisfying summer. I think that I will have done you, your future family, even future society a great service. I'm pretty sure that this skill surpasses balancing your check book, reading a contract, doing laundry, even vacuuming- which I do adore. I'll even go so far as to say that if some day you drop out of school, but you know how to clean up after yourself, you'll still do alright in life.

Really. After all, if you know that you have to clean up after yourself, you'll know that you first have to look around and see that: A) there's a mess and B) you made that mess. This means that after you drop out of school and it doesn't work out so hot for you, you won't need years of therapy to come to the conclusion that your parents are not the source of your problems, and are not responsible for taking care of you now that you're a loser. You'll see that you made the mess and now you have to clean it up.

Odds are though that if you learn to clean up after yourself this summer, you probably won't drop out of school. Most likely you'll end up gainfully employed some place where your coworkers will be thrilled that you don't leave your lunch things all over the staff room. And that's just for starters. Of course they'll really love it when they don't have to dodge what you're shoveling as you try to avoid admitting that you made the mess and that you should clean it up.

It gets even better. If you grow up to have some position of power, this skill of cleaning up after yourself is going to make you a rare and much sought after breed. If you bring down the company with your bad decisions, you will do whatever has to be done, even make personal sacrifices, to clean up the mess. Your employees will love you, your share holders will love you, and I promise, taxpayers will love you too.

I know right now in 2009, it looks like a big pain in your neck, or whatever, to have to clean up after yourself. But believe me when I say from the bottom of my heart, "I only do this because I love you."

Things I Never Thought I'd Be Able To Do, But It Turns Out I Can

I never thought I'd be able to...

drink cold coffee

drink red wine

hang underwear on the clothesline

use OB tampons

enjoy pulling weeds

go a whole summer without turning on the AC

enjoy the fantasy genre

bite my tongue

spell the word tongue

let them believe what they want and not worry about it

see their point of view

keep girlfriends for more than a few months

keep order in my class and my cool simultaneously

work harder

let it go

talk to my kids about sex

feel peace

be a work out 3-4 times a week kind of person

admit that I'm wrong

be one of the cool kids

not care if I was a cool kid or not

let go of my cynicism.

I guess you just never know, do ya?

Coming Back Around

I couldn't make it to church that Sunday morning three years ago. I was exhausted, crushed in spirit and with no strength of any kind left. I had gotten home at one or two in the morning from spending hours, days even, at the hospital. On one hand all that time was not worth it; there was no happy outcome. On the other hand I knew, unfortunately from past experience, that I would never be sorry that I had been there, that I had had the privilege of sharing that grief, of crying together, of taking my one and only chance to hold that baby. When I finally did get up and get going on Sunday, I could still feel the weight of her in my arms.

Later, in the evening, I decided that I actually needed to go to church. I felt a pull that I couldn't fight, and so, by myself, I drove out to Grandville. I don't remember who the teacher was, what he taught, whether we sang at the beginning or at the end. I only remember one moment. At some point the worship team began the song, "How Great is Our God." I was sitting at the start of the song, when the words call, "All the world rejoice." It was a fork in the road. Would I, could I rejoice on this day? I know, "No," seems kind of obvious, but in another corner of my mind I knew that if I could choose to see God as great, I would be headed down one path over another, that I would be choosing one faith over another.

For the first verse and chorus, maybe even into the second verse, I wrestled.

I felt guilty, "Is it right for me to make this choice when those I love are in despair? How can I say this, live this, without seeming like I mock their pain?"

I felt how impossible the choice was. "How can I face the parts of my own heart that ask how a great God, the one who 'formed you in the secret places,' put a baby together wrong, so wrong that she can't live?"

Yet, "How can I call it faith at all if I only believe God to be great when life is great? Do I really believe in a God whose business is making my world right, to my specifications?"

Still, "How can I be a comfort to my friends if I take the side of the God who seems not to have come through for them?"

And finally, "How can I have the strength for the coming days, weeks, years, on my own? I need a great God. Desperately."

So I stood; I sang; I took the path of belief. I decided that I would lay myself in all my weakness before that great God, just as I was. I would hold out my friends in my hands and plead for His greatness to fall on them. I would do it often, crying for many months and years as I did so. I felt like I came to that same fork in the road time and again, that I wrestled that same argument in my head time and again, and for some reason I kept choosing the path of belief. The evidence was never clearly there, the questions never clearly answered, the doubts sometimes deafening, but a still, small voice called with such encouragement down that path of belief, that I had to keep taking that path.

That path, I now see, brought me to yesterday. Yesterday my husband, son, and oldest daughter were all baptized at that same church, not the kind of baptism where you reach a certain age and that's just what you do, but the kind where you make a choice for yourself. The kind where you declare a chosen path. I was moved by my children's statements in particular that I (and their dad) had been important in teaching them the way of Jesus.

After the baptism there was one more song, and of course (or why would I be posting this?!) it was, "How Great Is Our God." As has happened every time we've sang that song over the last three years I was instantly transported back to That Sunday, and That fork in the road. This time though, I could actually to see how great is our God. This God had carried me and my extremely fragile faith with such tenderness and protection, that somehow he could still speak to my children through me. Instead of having my anger and bitterness eat away at their faith, somehow that faith had grown to a place where they could trust Jesus enough to make a public declaration to follow him. Instead of becoming a cynical house, we had been a house of faith. I didn't do it. I was carried. I let myself be carried, true, but my involvement ends there.

"Name above all names
Worthy of all praise
My heart will sing how great
Is our God." -Chris Tomlin

Classists

JD was tortured at school a few weeks ago by, "classists." I know this because he announced it emphatically as he banged into the house one afternoon. Further questioning revealed that classits are people who are prejudiced against people from other classrooms. An example of this is when the group playing kickball shouts at those approaching to join kickball, "Don't let anyone from Miss S's class play!"

Don't you wonder where the kids got the idea that a whole classroom was bad? Some of those same kids had been their classmates last year, with no problems that I was aware of. What is it about human nature that makes us want to carve the world up into acceptable groups of people and unacceptable groups of people?

I might even know a few adults who are still classists. Sometimes it's kids from other classrooms, and sometimes it's kids from other neighborhoods, but either way, they still shout, "Don't let them play kickball!" You like to think people outgrow cooties, but they don't always.

Here's Where Sarcasam Will Get Ya'

Tonight after reading to the kids I was trying to get them all settled down. Reading is supposed to do that, but it doesn't always work out that way. Abby is a Queen Staller and Attention Grabber. JD doesn't really have to be in bed when the girls are and has a tendency to raise the energy level in the room. Anyway, there was the usual squabbling about dumb stuff; tonight it was about Abby looking at the pictures in the book after I told her she had to wait until we read the next chapter. I walked away to turn off lights down the hall and as I headed back Rachel said, "Mom, you need to have another baby so Abby stops getting all the attention!"

"Yeah!" chimed in JD, "She needs some one to push her out of the way like we were!"

"Don't you think the baby would just get all the attention and then you'd be no better off?"

JD answered, "Not if it was a boy, then it would be alright."

Rachel makes random affirmative noises and general begging, whining noises along with this that I don't really catch.

Eventually I say, dryly, "Fine. I'll try to get pregnant tomorrow."

Abby finally enters the conversation with this show stopper, "I don't think so Mom. You'll need a man to put a seed in you and that means Daddy would have to do it."

JD and Rachel burst into embarrassed giggles. Rachel starts rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

Abby continued, "I don't think Dad would say yes. I think he would think it wouldn't be that fun."

"No? You don't think so, huh?" I'm totally cool about the whole thing as I grin conspiratorially at JD and Rachel.

"Yeah. I'm getting a really gross picture in my head."

I look at Rachel. She has an absolutely horrified look on her face.

"Who would want to put their hand in someone's belly and plant a seed!?"

Whew! I think it's time for prayers and lights out!

Open Letter

Dear Dr. James Dobson and Mr. Christopher Hitchens,

First, I'm sure you're surprised that I would write the two of you a letter together. I'm sure you can't imagine what I would have to say to both of you. Likely, you see each other as opposites with little or nothing in common. Probably you're surprised that someone might have both of you on their radar since you seem to mainly attract people with narrow radars.

Actually, I would suppose that's a point of commonality. It might even be a point that opens up into what I have to say to both of you. You are both on my very last nerve. Both of you are so sure of yourselves and your beliefs; you're almost god like in your confidence, confidence that is slyly cloaked in publicity humility. Neither of you ever seems to listen to anyone but yourselves, and occasionally other people who agree with you. If you do listen, or should I say seem to listen, it's really only for the purpose of marshaling your counterarguments.

What really kills me though is how aggrieved you are about your status as the oppressed minority. Both of you feel railroaded by view points and cultural agendas that you find repugnant. How you can both stand there and make such a claim with a straight face while simultaneously railroading me with your view point and cultural agenda is beyond me.

How can you be so cock sure? Has life not taught you that you don't have all the answers? NO ONE has ALL the answers; some things are unknowable. Maybe it's because I hang around kids all the time; they are awesome for reminding you how little you know, but I very rarely think I've got it nailed down. Even when I do feel like I have it all nailed down, there's a little voice in my head that lets me know that it won't be long until the nails start popping out of the boards, usually to strike me right between the eyes.

I guess that I too am guilty of being over confident about something. I am certain that I don't now and won't ever be able to explain life quite as confidently as either of you gentlemen do.

Rock on.

peace, and i sincerely mean that,
tonia

Random Thoughts on Literature

I don't think the attraction to fairytales and their princesses is that women want to be rescued. I think we all, even little girls, want to be worthy of rescue. A good prince would show you that you are worthy, simply by your very being.

Donald Murray quotish, "Sometimes you have to free yourself to tell the Truth of the story by changing the truth."

In the debate about whether or not all reading is good reading, I defer to Mark Twain, "All things in moderation, especially moderation." I think we all need to have variety in our reading diet. We need things that comfort and warm us and we need things that shake us up and disturb us. I don't think it's fair to validate what you love by devaluing what other people love. I might have some work to do in that department.

Lamentations

For Lent this year I read all of Lamentations. It was horrible. I believe that's what the author was going for though, so I think my response is appropriate. Lamentations is about a lot of things, all horrible. One of them is how the people of Jerusalem were repeatedly warned to change their ways. They hadn't and now there was catastrophe all around them.

You might wonder what those people were warned about. From what I can tell they were warned to care for those less fortunate than themselves, to follow God's ways, to "seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with their God." They weren't called to religious activity exactly, in fact, Isaiah warns against just that way of living, they were called to a humble way of living in the world.

Now here's the leap. We, now in the twenty-first century, are being called to do the same things, and I also believe that we are being called to be better caretakers of God's creation. We are being called back to one of the commands given to Adam and Eve. I think what's messing up the receiving of the message is that the prophets don't look like you'd expect. Some of them aren't even Christian. But I'm thinking Baalam's donkey wasn't Jewish either.

Those prophets who would have us use less energy and create less waste warn that it will be catastrophic for somebody if we don't. And how do many people respond? By arguing whether or not it's even true! I imagine that the people of Jerusalem did the same thing before the Babylonians invaded and leveled the place. At that time there were plenty of prophets that promised only good times to come. People listened to those who made them feel comfortable making the choices that they were already making. Weird how the Bible doesn't apply to us here and now, huh?

Perhaps it doesn't matter whether the prophets are right about the coming catastrophe. It's plain to me that we aren't living the way God as called us to live in respect to the creation, and the consequences of that reach far beyond global warming. I don't claim that God is going to rain down judgment on us if we don't start being more energy efficient; I'm going to claim that he won't necessarily shield us from the consequences of our choices, and that if a catastrophe does come on us or our children or grandchildren, saying that God should have sent more appropriate prophets is going to be small comfort.

Overheard From the Backseat

I caught this exchange between my kindergartner and her friend as I drove them home from school today.

Abby: Squeezy Baby is my favorite doll. I got her from my Uncle Rick.

Erin: You have an Uncle Rick? I have an Uncle Rick too!

Abby: Is his name Rick?!

Erin: Yes, his name IS Rick!

Abby: Do you call him Uncle Rick?

Erin: Yes!

Abby: Me too!

Erin: We both have Uncle Ricks!

Abby: Is that the big guy I met in your basement?

Erin: No, that's my Uncle Johnny. Does J-J-J-Johnny sound like Rrrrrick? No.

Some KInd of Help

I don't give a lot of homework, but the homework that I do give is actually important. I also offers kids choices and/or flexibility. For the most part, it's only as boring as you choose to make it. Despite that, there are still little buggers who won't/don't do it. Even the ones who go to homework club after school don't get it done. That's a real puzzler to me.

The consequence for not doing your homework is finishing it at one or more recesses. That means I miss my lunch "hour." I've been doing it for months and there are still the same few who are in every day. I suspect one of them of just wanting to spend time inside or one on one with an adult. While appreciate his issues, I've been getting tired.

So. I decided to get some other teacher friends to team up with me. I asked three of them if they wanted to take turns running a lunchtime homework club that would keep kids from all of our classes. Two were takers and since my class actually has two teachers we could cover all four days that we need to cover. Good news. We were up and running this week.

This whole set up got me thinking and then sent me off thanking the people who teamed up with me. I thanked them for letting me take their kids over my lunch time. Letting me do that is important because it really illustrates something about helping that I've know for a long time, but I feel like it's a big secret. The thing is that if you don't let me help you, then I can't ask you to help me, and I REALLY need help. If you're too strong to need any help, then I'm just a sad sucker who can't get by. That's too hard to live with, so instead, I try to be super strong just like you are and get by without any help.

The truth is though, I'm not super strong. I get tired, burned out and depressed when I'm on my own. While I need alone time, I don't want to move through life alone. I need a team. I suspect that you do too, but you don't want to be the sad sucker either. So, how 'bout this, you ask me for help, without keeping score, and at some time the seesaw will tilt and I'll need your help. Or, if you'd rather, I'll ask you for help now, trusting that eventually the balance will shift and I'll be the one giving help. Just promise me that my trust is well placed.

Ironic

A while back there was an email hubbub involving some parents from my kid's school. It was really between just two people, but they both kept choosing to reply all. It was not appreciated and someone finally cut them off.

One of the people is a professor or some kind of instructor, at a university. The other person is a stay at home mom. She may have been involved in the business world at some point, but I don't think she is at the moment. Anyway, professor guy started it, sort of. He had an objection that I thought he raised in a calm and clear voice. Mom objected to his objection and reacted emotionally and with confusion. He didn't react as well the second time as he did the first time; now he was mad. Unsurprisingly, she also got madder. And this is where she ticked me off. At this point (and for reasons I'm completely clueless about because this comment has nothing to do with the debate) she told him, "I guess it's only in the real world that people are accountable for their performance, not like in education where you can just bumble/muddle/something like that along and no one calls you out." (quote not exact, it was a few months ago)

As I listen to the debate on how to bail out the banks and other companies,I realize that no matter how it is eventually handled, the many culprits of bad choices and blind greed, are not going to have to pay for it. They will not be held accountable.

Maybe they'll loan me some money when I get fired because my undernourished, in food and experience, students only make a year's growth while they're with me, but still aren't caught up.

Busy Contradicting Myself

Yep, I absolutely just said, one post ago, that I wasn't about bringin' the news. That is completely true, in that I don't want to bring you news about myself. I do however need a place to post this video of Rachel's mystery guest project so that I can share it with her far flung fans. I apologize for the crummy lighting. I should have just asked the teacher if we could set up on the opposite side of the room, facing the window instead of in front of it. I was worried about being too demanding, but you see the result. I put a couple of still shots in with better lighting so that you can see the objects and details that are in shadow in the video.

Here's The Thing

To: All You Whiners (you know who you are)

From: The Blogger

Re: Frequency of Posts

The thing you have to understand is the purpose of my blog and the not purpose of my blog. The purpose of the blog is to write/organize/share my thoughts. In order to do that several things have to happen.

The first thing is that some event, either experienced first hand or read about, has to occur. Then that event has to catch my attention and get me thinking. This next step is what takes so long. Once I start thinking, I often have to ponder and "perc" on the subject for awhile. The more political/theological/social/emotional the subject, the longer I have to think. (If the topic is purely humor, then it's best if I just sit down in the moment and pound the thing out. I'm pretty sure that over thinking would kill the humor for me.) Once I've really settled on what my point is, then I need to find a few, or actually many, uninterrupted minutes to craft the thing. I can't do it while I'm making dinner or whatever. I need solid blocks of time. Unfortunately, those solid blocks are in hot demand. People in my house actually think that I should pay attention to them and give them solid blocks of time as well.

Sadly, there are also a few obstacles that can pop up along the way. Sometimes I get in a funk and all my thoughts are dark and stormy. I don't mind posting on a few of those topics, but after awhile it gets to be even too much for me. Then I have to wait around until the sun comes back out. Depending on lots of things, that can sometimes take a really long time.

The not purpose of my blog is to update you on my life. My life is boring and uninteresting. I like it that way. I love what I do with my time, but I'm pretty sure that it doesn't make a riveting read. I like to play with words and ways of saying things, but I have to be inspired to do it. The every day moments of my life only inspire me occasionally- when they get me thinking about some larger idea. Posting the news is not for me.

I love you my most faithful blog readers, and you whiners are actually the most faithful. I think that is called by the name of, "irony," and irony is something that I also love.

Very Sincerely,
tonia
the blogger

Business Plan

You know what would be a great idea? If Victoria Secret opened a bar in their store. I was actually at Kohl's tonight so that wouldn't have really helped me. Then again, if Vic's had bar, I might have gone there instead. After all, I had to walk right by there, or slink by as the case may be.

Back to Kohl's. I really could have used a drink when I discovered that Kohl's no longer carries the bras that I like. As in, I like them so well that I have been buying them for years and, here's the best part, don't even need to try them on! Now, I was wandering in the carnival fun house that is the intimates section. At least I was alone, no kids, no perky cast member telling me lies. Speaking of which, if I were at Vic's and they did have a bar, I'd have had to make it a double at this point.

Which brings me to, well, to me, and my doubles. "The Girls," I like to call 'em. I have strict rules for The Girls. They must not jiggle around; they must stay inside their designated area, no oozing out and creating what looks to be four of them; no touching each other or the chest below them; that creates a creepy, sweating feeling. That's it. Three simple rules; I don't think I'm asking too much here.

There are a lot of brands to choose from at Kohl's, and each brand has a lot of styles and a lot of promises. Most cannot deliver on those promises unless you have the kind of chest that doesn't actually need their product in the first place. I also noticed that those are the sizes that get cute, fun, sexy bras. Once you get into the sizes for the "must haves," there's a more serious tone. What is up with that? See why a fortyish woman who has nursed three babies and hasn't been a "nearly" size in many a year might be wanting a drink?!

And now we come to The Wonderbra. (If I knew how to make that little trademark symbol here I would, because that is what it is actually called, but maybe you knew that.) I'd heard of the Wonderbra and I was intrigued. Frankly, The Girls have been slipping lately, if you know what I mean. Also, it came in black, which I have been wanting for a while, and in my size, but with out four inch wide straps and three hooks in the back. It was almost cute.

I took it to the dressing room and disrobed for the fourth time tonight. (Again, a margarita would go a long way here.) I put the bra on and turned to the mirror. Pretty good, but unfamiliar looking. I pulled my skinny t-shirt back on over it. (That's one of my tests that I always do, that and jumping up and down.) Sister. Mary. Francis. I have not seen my chest in that formation in about twenty years, ok, fifteen, whatever. They were standing right out there at high attention for all the world to be awed by. If you didn't look at my face, or lift up the shirt and see the post child belly, you'd have thought I was 20 again. I turned and got the side view. Nice. Back to the front. Still nice. I pondered. I debated. I changed back into my clothes. Should a fortyish woman try to look twenty? Is that ridiculous?

I put the bra on the I-guess-I-don't-really-need-this rack. I headed out the door.

Less than 10 steps later I turned around and grabbed the bra and some matching panties.

Now I'm home with them and thinking I'm pretty sure I'll look good and feel good when I wear them, but I'm even more certain that, right now, I still need a drink.

My 100th Post!

100 feels like it should get some special attention. We all do that with different 100s. First graders even celebrate the 100th day of school, which I would never do because it just serves to remind you that you're only just past half way and it absolutely feels like you should be much farther along. But I digress- imagine that. 100th anniversaries of things are always big events. I think that means we all have a little Monk inside us.

In honor of my 100th post, I'd just like to share what I've gotten out of blogging:

*A big head; people tell me all the time that I'm funny and smart. I'm not sure I'm fit company anymore.

*An idea of what I think about things. I often don't realize what my point is exactly until I'm midway through a post. Then I have that "Aha! I didn't realize that I thought or felt quite that way exactly!"

*Back in touch with old friends. Most of them realize that their worst fears are confirmed; I haven't changed a whole lot. Also, if I weren't on blogger I might not have found the blogs of some far flung friends and family, and I'm really enjoying their stories as well.

*A weight off my chest. When you're as opinionated as I am and not good enough to write for publication, the weight of all those ideas can really bring you down. I find that there are many things that I don't stew about like I before I posted them.

*I feel like there should be a fifth one. It's so much more round and goes so nicely with 100. Then again 100 is divisible by four into nice neat quarters, so I guess I can leave it at that.

BlackBerry Life

I was reading an article in Newsweek about the cognitive challenges of using a Blackberry. The constant interruptions while working make you less productive, impair your memory, and also impair your ability to make decisions.

The point of this was hammered home for me as I was interrupted no less than 25 times while reading the article, not by my BlackBerry; I don't have one, but rather by my two lovely daughters. I had the hardest time keeping track of where I was in the article and what the thread of the story was.

My whole life can be like that; school is the same way. Some mornings and most afternoons I have a hard time getting attendance taken because I have to walk diagonally through my classroom to get from the door to the computer, opening me to at least 12 interruptions. I'm so stressed about always having the secretary need to call or email me about the afternoon attendance, that I've even started dreaming about it! And don't get me started about the phone ringing during my lessons!

I have been known to have an emotional breakdown in my kitchen because not only can I not complete any one task without interruption, but often I am not allowed to complete any one thought. I might be on the verge of some great world saving invention, but we'll never know because I can't finish the- !

I love my technology. I often can't decide which I like better, my ipod or my DVR. I am clearly not a technophobe or a Luddite, but I'm going on record right now: I don't see myself ever getting a BlackBerry. Three children, one husband, one dog, twenty-five students, and assorted family, co-workers and friends are all the BlackBerry that I can handle.

Rescession Proof

I was in the post office on Thursday and I overheard a snatch of a conversation about the recession. The customer's business was being affected by changes in the postal system that were being caused by the recession according to the postal worker. I'm not sure why I had this epiphany right at that second, but suddenly I had an idea for a recession proof job.

It doesn't require any special schooling fortunately, but having some sure doesn't hurt. It doesn't require and special skills or talents either. You work with what God gave you and you fudge the rest. Another plus to this job is that it can be REALLY fun to get into, but not always. Sometimes you have to go through quite a few hoops to land the position, but once you have it, it's yours. You have to be shockingly bad at it before they'll fire you.

The hours on this job can be kind of rough, but if you're employed, should you really be complaining? It's also not uncommon for people in this position to find themselves completely unappreciated in one moment and then lavished with praise only a moment later. It can really give you whiplash. You can go from wanting to run away, quit and change your name, to marveling that God would find you worthy of the position. It keeps you humble at any rate.

Sadly, you might not find this recession proofness of this job all that comforting; it doesn't pay a dime! Welcome to motherhood!

Further Evidence That I Am Backwards From Other People

Today is Friday the 13th. Today is Friday the 13th in what are already dark and troubled times. Today is Friday the 13th at the tail end of an incredibly busy week and at the start of an incredibly busy weekend.

And yet.

This morning I found 10 dollars in my pants pocket.

I found all the tiny items that I need for Rachel's Valent-tiny party.

The Orkin guy came early, gave us a clean bill of health and got out of here in time for me to go to they Y and squeeze in a workout before Kindergarten pick up time.

My outgoing email, which was torture last night, was resolved today with the ease of a Cullen driving a Merecedes. (ed. note to tonia- not everyone knows who the Cullens are! tonia's note to editor and others- it means it was fast and perfectly executed; I'm sorry you still haven't read Twilight.)

All of Abby's shows that had been lost with the switching of the dvrs were replaced by the time she wanted to watch one with her lunch. She waits all week for this privilege, it would have been very sad.

I'm getting to actually post on my blog (almost without interruption; here comes Ab)for the first time in ages.

And best of all, tonight is Rose's Buds' Sleepover Valentine party!

What Would You Have Done?

I took a class with Kent Dobson in January at Mars Hill. It was about dualistic thinking. I know, just want every girl wants to get into! Luckily, I'm not Every Girl!

According to Kent you can't really know if you would have come in on the side of right at various times in history. His example was the civil rights movement of the 60s. You don't really know if you would have been on the side of equal rights for all. You might have picked the side of the status quo.

Mostly, I think Kent is right; you can't know. On the other hand, I think there are some things that you can look at in your life right now that might give you a hint.

Going back to the example of the Civil Rights Movement, I think you can take an educated guess as to how you would have chosen then by how important not rocking the boat is to you right now. Is it important to you to do socially correct things that socially correct people do? Do you have an image that depends on only associating with the right people?

When I was younger I went through a Holocaust obsession phase. I always imagined that I would be the sort of person who would hide Jews. My parent raised me to see the Jews as God's Chosen People and to do what is right regardless of what is going on around you. Yet despite that, I think I would have been a "bad" German. I'm very afraid of getting in trouble with those in authority. I really don't like to do what is illegal. I think I used up all my "bucking the system" strength in my early days.

I have a little hope that I might have chose the side of good because I also hate to do what is immoral, but would the difference have been as clear to me then as it is now?

In most ways is doesn't matter what you would have done if you lived in the past because you can never find out, but I believe spending time imagining it can give you some insight into a better way to live now. There is still plenty of injustice to fight and plenty of good sides to choose. Oftentimes it's just a matter of risking one's own discomfort, and the choosing or not choosing to that is awfully revealing.

Joan of Arc I Am Not

A friend of mine made a comment yesterday that really got me thinking, and since Abby is home sick, you get to mull over my thoughts with me.

I made the observation at lunch time yesterday that the downside to my decision to quit making Sunday Dinner is that there are no leftovers for Monday's lunch.

"You don't make Sunday Dinner?!" came two shocked replies.

"Not anymore," I answered, "I found that I was getting bitter and resentful as I worked away in the kitchen all afternoon and everyone else enjoyed the relaxations of their choice."

"But you're the Mom! That's what you're supposed to do. That's what I spend every holiday doing," one of the earlier repliers said.

"No, I'm not supposed to, unless I want to," I continued. "After all, nobody likes a martyr. I cook for them often enough the rest of the week. They are all very well fed."

I pondered away on that conversation the rest of yesterday and on into today. Part of our difference of opinion is probably that I came of age in the 70's and she in the 50's. Part of the difference is also our personalities. This friend works very hard to always be good enough, to be worthy. I'd like to be good enough, but I'm usually to lazy to work at it.

Please notice that I'm using the word, "be" here. We both work very hard to DO good, high quality work. Our work ethics are very equal and we each appreciate the other's commitment to teaching and learning. The difference between us is that I'm less inclined, although not completely immune, to determine my own intrinsic value by how hard I work for others.

I think children believe themselves to be valuable just because they exist. I think that when we were all children we also believed that we were valuable just for existing. Somewhere along the line that belief gets shaken, and it gets shaken more in some than in others.

I don't know if it's all women, or just Moms who are particularly susceptible to needing to martyr themselves in order to be worthy. Also, I don't think that everyone seeks to prove their worth through martyrdom. Some people seek to prove their worth by beauty or position. Either way, it seems destructive to me.

For certain, I haven't found the way to be content just to be loved by my Creator and tickled pink by His delight in me. I haven't figured out exactly what it is that I try to do to prove that I have value.

Maybe it's blogging.

Ginger- This One's For You!

I know what I don't want. I don't want to just survive from Sunday to Sunday without any conflict or stress. I don't want to say, when asked, "How you doin?" "Gettin' by," or "Keepin' busy!" There has to be more.

I only sort of know what I do want. I don't know quite what it would look like, but I do know what it would feel like.

I want to go through a week and have connected at a heart level with someone. I want to have discussed deeply and pondered intensely. I want to have turned a thought around in our minds like you turn that first swallow of coffee in the morning, slowly tasting both the sweetness and the bitterness.

I want to have stretched and grown just a little. To have seen something differently from the way I saw it before. I want to come to a new understanding of how your life is, or mine, or even a stranger's life.

I want to have relished some small and unexpected surprise. It might be an "Aha!" or perhaps an over looked treasure of Nature's. It might be a giggle that bursts out through tears. Perhaps it will be a small triumph that I never saw coming, but had hoped long and hard for.

That fact that I can want all these things tells me that I am already very blessed indeed. I must have the food and shelter that I need. I must be warm enough and safe enough. It seems almost selfish to want more, but my soul cannot get by on good food and a house in a good neighborhood. My soul cries out for it's turn and I'm going to have to bring the bottle to that baby or I won't even be able to "get by."

Bigger

Last Saturday, as beautiful, fat snowflakes floated down behind swirling, colored panes of glass, I listened to the familiar sounds of Mass being done in Spanish. I'm not Catholic, but have been to and even participated in enough Masses to be familiar with the rituals and rhythms of it. I was in town for the horribly sad funeral of a student, his brother, his parents and two cousins. I was surrounded by members of the community where I work, but rarely see outside the setting of school.

Because I don't speak Spanish, there were long portions where my mind wandered and I just watched the people around me. I was a guest here, an outsider, and yet I wasn't. Here I was with people I know, sharing something we had never shared before. Here I was worshiping a God I know well in a language I speak but a very little. Here were the expected songs of the Mass lifted up with an accordion and a south of the border flavor.

Slowly I felt my heart stretching. Despite all my efforts not to box God in, I had. I had forgotten to see God living in other times and places where I never go. I had forgotten to hear the prayers that He hears in all the languages in which he hears them. I think in my mind I knew that He is present to all no matter where they are, but I hadn't felt it in my heart. He seemed bigger in that church with that group of people. He seemed more beyond me, more "able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine."

I also realized I had let the people of my school community become one dimensional as well. I had reduced them only to "student" or "parent." They are worshipers, mourners, seekers, journiers. Their joys, sorrows, desires and doubts are much bigger pieces of who they are than are homework assignments or reading scores.

Parts of the Mass were done in English, but for that day, God spoke the most clearly to me in Spanish.

John Adams Was Half Right

"Why was it that a nation without wars to fight seemed to lose its honor and integrity. . . war necessarily brings with it some virtues, and great and heroic virtues, too". . . "What horrid creatures we men are, that we cannot be virtuous without murdering one another?" (p.609).

This is a quote from John Adams, by David McCullough. My friend
Barb
posted it on her blog. Like her, I found myself musing on it off and on over the next few days. I was just going to comment on her blog, but I was afraid it would get too long and then she would say, "Getcher own blog woman!"

I'm currently reading Three Cups of Tea which is about fighting a war against ignorance and poverty. It's about not giving those who would inflame hatred a foothold. It seems to me that the first part of John Adams quote could apply here, without having to resort to the second half of the quote.

It seems to me that most people, men and woman, long to be heroic and virtuous. At the same time we want to feel safe and comfortable. Most of the time safe and comfortable trumps heroic and virtuous. When a war comes along safe and comfortable are thrown out the window any way and to get them back we have to be heroic and virtuous.

I think the reason that most people don't feel drawn into a "fight" against poverty or disease or some other desperation is because we don't feel our own lives or liberties hanging in the balance like we might during a war on our home soil.

So, if we could somehow change the view of things, that "their" fight really is our fight, that people outside of our comfort zone are our neighbors, then we would feel unsafe and/or uncomfortable and we would rise to be heroic and virtuous.

I know life's not fair, really I do. I've seen the Princess Bride a hundred times. But every now and then things do even out a little, sometimes you get a little good back to balance bad you went through before.

Abby was born at the beginning of what turned out to be an awfully dark year. I can barely even remember that year; it's all sort of gray and fuzzy. She's my baby and I had hoped to be able to savor each little moment that you get that first year and hide it away in my mental scrap book. I'm sure that I did/saw/experience all those special first year moments, but I can only remember a few of them. I cried at her first birthday because I knew I had lost my chance.

Now Abby is in Kindergarten, another milestone year, and this time I think I'm getting my chance. This is the year of losing your baby teeth and learning to read and write. This is the year of heading off without Mom to play with friends and then coming back home to cuddle in her lap. There is funny joke telling and elaborate story spinning. There are all those around the house things to learn to, like how to bake and fold laundry. It's a big year.

Since the older kids are in school, I get lots of time with Abby all toby myself. We get to go on afternoon dates that cater to just her desires and play the games that are just perfect for a five year old. Abby is a funny kid and I have the time to just enjoy her crazy sense of humor and her unique perspective on life.

All those treasures that I missed the first year I feel like I'm getting back in the sixth year. I don't even mind that they're not the same treasures. Each smile, each moment is so beautiful, sometimes I feel like my heart might break from joy.