The Hippie Housewife

What is it really about?

2013-06-16T23:58:00.000-07:00

It's almost never about the kids.

Oh, it feels like it, all that noise and mess bordering on chaos some days. I stomp around, grumpy and short-tempered, trying to bite my tongue and figure out what exactly it is that's bothering me so much. They're just laughing. It's a good thing. No, it's not really the kids that I'm annoyed with.

Do you know what it was the other day? The blinds. There it was, two in the afternoon, and for some reason the blinds were still closed. It was cloudy and grey outside but even darker in here, and my mood was darker still. Until I noticed the blinds. It's amazing what light can do, driving out the unreasonable moodiness along with the dark.

Sometimes it's the clutter. A few minutes of tidying and the tightness in my chest relaxes. Our days are always more peaceful when our surroundings are in order.

Sometimes I'm hungry. Or they're hungry. Put some food in us and we're good as new.

Sometimes I'm thirsty, and I don't realize it until I'm standing in front of the fridge chugging water like I can't get enough of it. Grumpy? Not me. Not anymore.

Sometimes I just need my five-minute sanity routine. Closing myself in the bathroom, I empty my bladder, splash some water on my face, and run a brush through my hair. I somehow feel more human after this simple moment of self-care and refreshment.

Not every bit of unhappiness is so easily solved, of course, but for those general day-to-day moments of I'm-feeling-grumpy-and-I-don't-know-why, our day can be turned around in only a few minutes when I lean into my bad temper and figure out that underlying cause. And if that's true for me, how much more true is it for my kids themselves? Their own grumpiness so often has a simple underlying reason, if only I would take the time to help them dig into it and then solve it, moving on cheerfully into the rest of our day.

As I go about my week, this is the question I need to keep in mind: what is it really about? Is there something little, something simple, that is causing me to be short-tempered? Is there something I can change in five minutes to improve my mood - a few minutes of straightening up, a snack, a walk to the mailbox, something else? What can I do to let go of that grumpiness and return to parenting with joy and light-heartedness?

Because truly, that grumpy mood of mine is almost never about the kids.

Battling perfectionism

2013-06-09T23:12:00.000-07:00

I am a perfectionist.

I am a perfectionist, and some days I will defend it with all my heart, hands balled into tight fists as I shout, there's nothing wrong with this! What's wrong with perfectionism, anyway? What's wrong with doing the very best you can possibly do in every possible area of your life? What's wrong with that?

So what if I refold the towels my husband (incorrectly) folds? They fit better on the shelf my way. So what if I have to clean and organize my house top-to-bottom before having company over? Our loved ones deserve it. So what if I spend half my life paralyzed by minor decisions? It's worth it to take the time and be sure before committing to something that might not be quite right otherwise.

But when I look at my life, at myself, at my relationships and anxieties and fears, I can't pretend for long that there's nothing wrong with that.

Perfectionism makes me a poor friend. I want to invite you over. I do. I care about you and enjoy spending time with you but what if I don't have the right food in my house? What if I have nothing to offer you, no homemade cookies to go along with our tea, no guest-worthy food to serve for lunch or dinner? What if I don't find the time to scrub my shower before you arrive? And then I panic because I don't know what to make and I don't have time to go grocery shopping today and the kids create a new mess just as I quickly as I clean another one up and my laundry hamper is never empty and why would you want to come over anyway? I'm probably just imposing, and you'll accept politely because you're kind and generous but I know it's really just another obligation to add to your calendar...and so I don't invite you over.

I'm sorry.

Perfectionism limits the kindness I extend to others. You just gave birth, you beautiful mother you, and I want to serve you with meals and thoughtful gifts and oh, I would love to help you in any way I can while you recover. But I don't know what to make, don't want to burden you with another casserole to add to the collection in your freezer. Maybe something warm and fresh? Although you probably have something planned already; I could call ahead to be sure but then you'd feel like you had to tidy up and be presentable (or at least I would in that situation, I'd run around like a mad woman just to be sure everything was in order before you arrived with the meal that was intended to bless me with rest). You are incredible and I'm afraid my attempts at kindness will only end up being a burden. And a gift? You probably have more baby clothes than you have closet space, trinkets are just something else to be dusted, I don't know what books you already have and maybe you'll think this outfit is silly or ugly and who'd put their baby in that anyway? I could help, though. I know that most days, having someone else put on a load of laundry would be gift enough times a thousand, but I'd probably come off awkward or creepy or imposing, as if you need me to do your laundry for you anyway. In the end, I offer a generic-but-heartfelt let me know what I can do to help, but I know you won't ask because I never do either.

I'm sorry.

Perfectionism keeps me from carrying out in body what my heart desires. I want to offer something to those in need but I'm afraid it won't be enough, it'll be wrong somehow, not good enough or helpful enough or offered in the right way. I want to help but I'm afraid my help will be more burden than anything else. I want to send photos of the children to their grandparents but they're just cellphone pictures and they deserve nice bright clear beautiful pictures, and I need to sort them and choose them and edit them and I get behind and it gets overwhelming and so I send nothing. I want to share my thoughts but what do I have to offer anyway? I want to write but what do I have to say that doesn't waste the time of the one who will read it? I want to sew but how do I ever choose just the right fabric for this project? And everything takes so much longer because it must be thorough and checked and rechecked and redone and polished and just so in the end, and even then I'm as likely as not to decide to toss the whole thing out anyway. Not good enough.

I'm sorry.

Perfectionism heaps shame on my family. I know my husband notices when I quietly refold a wrinkled shirt before slipping it in its drawer. I have to nearly sit on my hands to keep from taking over my son's projects - let him fold his own damn paper airplanes, who cares if they're six-year-old quality instead of perfect? I get angry too quickly, do too much myself, because am I the only own who bothers to do anything right the first time? Look, you just swept the floor and there are huge crumbs under the table! Don't you know we have company coming? They'll think we're disgusting, that we can't even concern ourselves with their comfort enough to remove the bits of Cheerios and toast from under their chairs! Oh forget it, I'll redo it myself, just keep the kids out of here or they'll scatter my dust pile across the floor.

I'm so, so sorry.

And after all that...still those thoughts creep back in. Who wants wrinkled shirts from poorly folded clothing anyway? Why wouldn't you put your best effort into whatever you're doing? Why not do everything as thoroughly and as correctly as you are able?

I can read all the reasons why not and still that voice lingers.

I'm sorry.

The lie of perfectionism is that the goal will ever be achieved. I am juggling, constantly juggling, and I can't keep all those perfect balls in the air. I get one just so and another one crashes to the ground, then another and another until I give up and let the rest of them fall to my feet as well. If I can't do everything, why bother doing anything?

It sounds just as foolish and self-defeating in writing as it is in reality, but I catch myself clinging to it nonetheless. I tell myself to prioritize. I assure myself that some seasons demand letting some things go. I remind myself that I am the only one - the only person on this entire planet - holding myself to these impossible ideals. No one else expects perfection in every area of my life. It's all on me.

And yet when I dig underneath the noble-sounding ideals of hard work and a job well done and so on and so forth, it all comes down to the same thing - what will they think? They - friends, family, casual acquaintances, complete strangers, they. They will think I'm a mess. They will think I'm foolish or weird. They will think I'm a bad mother, a bad wife, a bad friend, a bad whatever. They will think I can't keep up with basic housework. They will think I'm unintelligent. They will think I've failed them. They will think...

I just want everyone to think well of me. That's what it really comes down to. Just one more unachievable goal. I don't remember a time when I wasn't a people-pleasing perfectionist...but I do think it's time to figure out how to let it go.

I'll start by leaving these imperfect words just as they are.

A naptime benediction

2013-06-06T23:20:00.000-07:00

Nine months old and every nap the same.

I sit on the couch and snuggle her sweet self as she nurses. One of her chubby hands winds itself in my hair, always, always. She looks around when she's finished her pre-nap meal, eyes searching, more often than not, for the source of brotherly noise she can hear behind her.

I take that as my cue to stand up. She snuggles against me and pops that wrinkled thumb of hers into her mouth, the other hand maintaining its hold on my hair. We walk to the bedroom, slowly and purposefully, and I say the same words every time:

Mommy loves you.
Daddy loves you.
God loves you.
Sleep well, my love.
I'll see you when you wake.
I lay her down, covering her with her grandma-knit blanket. Goodnight, I whisper, as I lean down for one last kiss.

Sometimes her eyes follow me as I leave the room; other times, her eyes are closed as soon as the blanket is pulled over her. I shut the door quietly behind me.

I return to those boisterous boys for our own quiet time. We read a couple of chapters from our current read-aloud - just one more chapter, please? - and sometimes more. Then I leave them to their own quiet activities while I have a short nap of my own. No one whispers words of peace to me as I close my eyes, but I feel peace nonetheless, my last thoughts always a grateful thank you as I allow rest to come.

Sleep well.

What I Am Into - May 2013

2013-05-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

What I Am Into :: MAY 2013

I don't know what it was about May, but it seemed to drag on and on and on. In my mind, it's been May FOR.EV.ER. This has not been helped by far too many dreary rainy days. Bring on the sunshine, June. In the meantime, here's what I've been into this past month.

On My Nightstand:

Apparently this was the month of Sci-Fi. I re-read Isaac Asimov's I, Robot, which I love for somehow managing to be both intriguing and mindless. Perfect. Then I moved on to Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. It was my first time reading it and wow, intense. Completely absorbing and fascinating. Five stars, all that good stuff.

Now I'm moving onto something a little more standard for me, Ami McKay's The Virgin Cure. I've loved her since reading The Birth House front-to-back without putting it down, so I have high hopes for this one as well.

On the screen:

I finally heard enough about Call the Midwife to convince me that I Had To Watch It. And it's true, I did. I fell head-over-heels in love with the show after only one episode. I adore it for being both tender and raw, sweet and witty, hopeful and realistic. Beautiful. I watched the season finale of season two last night; I'm not sure what to do with myself now. Probably watch it again, because yes, of course.

In My Kitchen:

Our Friday nights have for many months now consisted of a mad dash through dinner, a frantic "we're going to be late again" drive through the city, a lively discussion with our small group (the last remaining piece of our now-dissolved church plant), and finally a relaxing London Fog latte from a fun little coffee shop before heading back home to do the whole bedtime routine. As much as we loved our Bible study, it was the London Fogs that we really waited for each week. (Just kidding.) (Mostly.)

Now our friends have moved and Friday night Bible study is no more. Which means that Friday night London Fogs are no more. The horror!

(That's right, Paul and Julie, I'm talking about you. You see what you've done? Honestly, guys, I don't know where your priorities are.)

So when it's Friday night and you and your husband are both craving London Fogs and driving to that cute little cafe seems a bit excessive just to indulge in a latte, you do what you have to: comb teh Internetz for an acceptable homemade replacement.

Guys. I FOUND ONE.

Which means that every day this week, I have been making myself a London Fog (also known as an Earl Grey Latte) using this recipe, which I love for its all-inclusiveness. The recipe for the vanilla syrup, instructions for an easy microwaved foamed milk, and of course directions for the latte itself are all right there on one page. Easy-peasy; I love it.

It took me a few tries to get the milk to really foam up nicely, but I've now perfected it. I heat the milk in the jar for one minute, put the lid on and shake it like mad, then take off the lid and pop it back in the microwave for another 45 seconds. Warm foamy delicious milk, every time.

In My Ears:

The boy received a shiny red ukulele from one of his many aunties this month, so that's been in my ears. Fortunately, it is actually quite pleasant to listen to. So thank you, Auntie Katie, for choosing a ukulele and not, say, a recorder. My ears are grateful.

What I'm Looking Forward to in June:

We're taking the kids on a much-anticipated trip to Mt. St. Helens this weekend. (Talk about starting the month off with a bang...okay, okay, that was bad.) The boys have a slightly morbid obsession with this volcano, including watching documentaries to go along with the library books they've read on the subject.

As if the mountain alone wasn't enough, we get to meet up with our friends who moved to Oregon last month! The kids are excited about seeing their little friend again, and the husband and I are looking forward to catching up with our former pastor and his wife.

I'm also excited about the prospect of sunshine this month! Rain, rain, go away...

Finally, huge changes are coming as the husband (finally! finally!) graduates, taking his shiny new Electrical Engineering degree with him to his new job! I feel like I can let out the breath I didn't realize I've been holding. He has a job. We're going to have a steady income for the first time in...many years. *sigh of relief* Of course, all of that money will be going straight to paying off those student loans as fast as we can manage it, but still. Steady income. A job!

Well, friends, that is What I've Been Into this past month. What about you?

Linking up to What I'm Into with HopefulLeigh...

Catching Raindrops

2013-05-27T01:47:00.000-07:00

I glanced at the sky as I shuffled three kids out the door, the fourth one snuggled against my chest. Nah, we won't need an umbrella.

We needed an umbrella.

Not that I could have juggled it, really, while holding onto a two year old, a three year old, two soccer balls, a water bottle, and an off-in-dreamland six year old. We made it to the field just as the other six year olds were starting their soccer drills. The boy joined in while the rest of us kicked around the second ball nearby. I was feeling a bit supermom-ish, so I kinda deserved what happened next.

Rain happened next. Buckets of it. Unrelenting buckets of it.

I mentally ranted at the husband. I had wanted to put the boy in circus school, which is indoors, where it never ever rains. He was the one who had to suggest soccer, after which any discussion of all other options was a lost cause. Yes, soccer, that's what the boy really and truly wanted to do. Fine, I said to the husband. But you're taking him. I'm not standing out in the rain every Saturday morning.

So of course I was standing out in the rain that Saturday morning, and with three other kids too.

(Okay, fine. So he was helping some dear friends move. In the rain. It's not like he was at home, warm and dry and sleeping in. But whatever. That's hardly the point.)

As the rain got steadily worse, I did my best to keep the baby semi-dry under my hood while watching the boy play soccer and keeping an eye on the other two. As it really started coming down, I turned to check on the boys again, expecting that at least one of them would be in tears by now.

They weren't.

There they were, faces turned to the sky, mouths wide open and tongues hanging out. They lapped up those raindrops with joyous abandon. They didn't care about being soaked straight through, about water squishing in their shoes, about being cold and wet and umbrella-less. To them, this rain was pure gift.

It's hard to feel miserable after witnessing such delight. Oh, that I would live my life that way, joyous and grateful, face upturned and arms wide open to whatever the day may bring.

"This is the day that the Lord has made;
we will rejoice and be glad in it."
Psalm 118:24

Just writing along with the EO...

Finding the reset moment

2013-05-21T23:56:00.003-07:00

"Come here, baby," I whisper. He's three and not my baby anymore, but I can't shake the habit.

He comes, unsure. I have spent the morning speaking words of frustration and anger and annoyance; what do I want with him now? But I pull a blanket onto my lap and beckon him forward. A grin transforms his face and he climbs up. We sit together, snuggling, whispering, apologizing, forgiving, giggling. Reconnecting.

He wants down now, ready to go play, spirits high and sense of security reinstated. I catch the older one's questioning gaze and lift up the corner of the blanket in invitation. He, too, grins his acceptance. I kiss his hair and shift to make room for his long limbs, grateful that six isn't too old to curl up on my lap. Again, we take a few minutes for whispered reconciliation and reconnection; again, we end with giggles and a renewed sense of tenderness and camaraderie.

* * *

It had been a rough morning. Too little sleep, too many arguments, too much whining and yelling. There had been spilled milk and spilled paint and spilled tears when my own reactions were too big for the moment. Sometimes those days happen.

But there it was, a simple moment of reconnection, a deliberate choice, and our day turned around. Frustrations still arose but we handled them with more grace, connection reminding us that we're on the same team rather than working against each other. When I choose peace, they soon follow close behind. When I choose love and gentleness, they do the same. I cannot expect from them what I refuse to do myself.

And always, always, that moment is there when needed, ready to reset the course of the day. I only need to choose it.

Weekend Reading {vol. 98}

2013-05-11T15:23:00.000-07:00

Wild Food, Wild Knowledge @ The Parent Vortex

Just as we might grow our own food or collect wild edibles from the forest, we can organically gather the knowledge and experience we need to grow and mature in the world. We can answer the question about what to do each day based on our own needs, not our expectations of what other people think we should do. We are free to decide what is really important to us, what we are able and want to eat or do. We are omnivores in many ways. And with the freedom of omnivory comes the responsibility to choose wisely. When we could eat anything, how do we choose to feed ourselves things that aren’t toxic? We should be asking often, “Can I eat this? Should I do this?”

Wherever it Rises @ A Deeper Story

I am overly compassionate to the spiritually disoriented and unfairly critical of those under the steeples. We needn’t be unanimous in the Body of Christ when we’re all redeemed by the same mercy. I might not agree with your every position, but neither must I disagree simply to mark my own territory.

Love for the truth can so easily become arrogance. It is shockingly simple to lose the thread. For times I’ve disparaged old forms without honoring the faithful Christ-followers who shouldered the church in their generation, please forgive me. Your leadership raised me to love Jesus. I will certainly get a dose of my own medicine one day, and if I am half as humble and tender as you are, it will be a miracle. Oh that your wisdom would leach down into my fiery, zealous heart.

Bad Mother @ The Loving Parent

So I must love myself unconditionally, as they love me unconditionally. There’s no point in me beating myself up about how I behaved. What’s done is done. NOW is a new moment. I can use the experience to connect to a part of myself that is normally hidden, to see it, acknowledge it and integrate it so that it no longer has the power to rear its ugly head. I’m learning that I don’t have to love all aspects of my behaviour to unconditionally love myself. I must give to myself that which I (try to) give to my children: nurturing, loving guidance and a safe space to reflect.

Momastory - A guest post from Julie @ Momastery

Now that I’m a parent, I get it. I get how you can love with your whole soul and still make mistakes.

And my kids...they keep getting bigger and more complicated. They’re growing up faster than I can deal with. I will not lower my expectations of them in terms of kindness, respect and hard work. This will cause problems sometimes. I’ll try not to yell, but I’ll probably lose my temper at some point. I will make mistakes and so will they. We’ll apologize and start over. And while I’m not always good at being their mom, I will wake up every day trying to do this job better. I will never give up and I will never stop doing that, even if we are parted.

And all I can hope is that they know, as I did, that I love them with my whole heart. No matter what.

Sunny days

2013-05-10T11:25:00.000-07:00

There's sand in the bathtub and the hamper and little boys' pockets. I pour it out of their boots, shake it out of their socks, and sweep it off the floor only to sweep it again. On particularly good days, I even help them rinse it out of their mouths. It sounds like pop rocks candy as it crunches between their teeth.

There are pill bugs in leaf-filled jar homes, fruit flies dancing around my compost bucket, and beetles crawling across my computer screen. I'm just waiting for the day I wake up to a line of mocking ants marching across my kitchen floor. I hate those ants. And then I'll line the doorways and baseboards with cinnamon and try to ignore the twinges of guilt as we mash the remaining ants beneath our fingers. So much for my pacifist leanings. I offer my sincere apologies to our Aunt Jo, who would be absolutely horrified to hear about the mass ant murders that take place here on occasion.

There is the heady smell of flowers in the morning, sunshine in the afternoon, and barbecued dinners in the evening. The cherry blossoms have already fallen into pink carpets and turned brown under passing feet and strollers and wagons. Everything is bright and colourful, backed by a hundred shades of green. Every breath feels like praise - thank you, thank you, thank you.

There are picnics at parks and visits to the farm and the zoo. Bare feet delight in the cool grass and the warm pavement. There are squeals as tiny toes test cold ocean waters at the beach. The sun comes out and a whole new world of possibilities seems to open up for us.

The door opens after lunch and doesn't close again until bedtime. We've fallen into a nice routine. The babies - mine and the daycare child - lay down for their first nap mid-morning while the rest of us have a bit of quiet. The babies wake up just in time to join us for lunch, then there's a quick tidy and we all head out into the yard. It's early afternoon by then, so the baby sits in the only bit of shade there is, right in front of the Japanese maple tree and rhododendron shrubs. The boys roll down the sloped yard in oversized toy dump trucks for as long as my nerves can stand it, and then out come bubbles, sidewalk chalk, hula hoops, whatever catches their fancy that particular day. We all enjoy the sun until it's time for the sweet girl's afternoon nap. The rest of the afternoon is filled with books, crafts, and the continual coming and going of boys (and their accompanying dirt) through that ever-open door.

There are early suppers and evening walks, nightly baths to wash off the day's activities, and more laundry than seems possible. Such is almost-summer, and an easy trade-off it is for all this warm sunshine.

Notecard giveaway winners

2013-05-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Lauren and Estelle for being randomly selected as the winners of the Peace, Beauty, and Joy notecard giveaway!

Lauren and Estelle, I am unable to get in touch with either of you directly via your profiles. Please contact me to claim your prize.

It was absolutely lovely to read through all your comments about letter writing. Thank you to Peace, Beauty, and Joy for this fun giveaway, and do head over to their Etsy shop if you'd like to order some notecards of your own!

Peace, Beauty, and Joy (and a Weekend Giveaway!)

2013-05-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

I get rather disproportionately excited each day when I slip out to check the mailbox. The air is fresh, the day is bright, the quiet is refreshing, and there's always that tiny thrill of hope that maybe the mail will contain something exciting.

It usually doesn't, of course. Bank statements and junk mail, mostly, with the occasional magazine for one of the boys.

(They always turn to the back to read the jokes first. Knock knock. Who's there? Billy. Billy who? Billy the goat, that's who!)

But sometimes there's a card or a letter just for me, all my very own, from a dear loved one, and it about makes my entire month.

I know that if I get that excited about a handwritten letter, chances are good others enjoy them too. As such, I'm always on the lookout for lovely artisan cards to keep stashed away, ready to pull out for whomever might need a little something in the mail. I'm always scooping them up at craft shows or slipping them into my cart on Etsy.

I was excited, then, to see this beautiful new Millefiori card collection from Peace, Beauty, and Joy. The notecards, featuring turtles, geckos, frogs, and chameleons, are even more striking in person than in their Etsy shop.

The professionally-printed cards are rich in colour and smooth to the touch. The detail on the Millefiori patterns is incredible. I love it.

I'm a big fan of blank cards, perfect for any occasion or no occasion at all. Personalization is available, though, for one line on the front of the card and up to ten lines on the inside. The high-quality cards are lovely to write on and come beautifully packaged.

The boy immediately asked for one of his own as soon as he saw them, eager to write a note to his grandparents. The cards held up beautifully to the marker - his chosen writing implement for the day - without bleeding or showing through the back of the card. Not that you're likely to write your own notecards in marker. Still. Good to know, right?

Peace, Beauty, and Joy would like to give two readers a set of 10 notecards with matching white envelopes! To enter, simply leave a comment below.

Giveaway will close on Sunday, May 5th at 11:59 pm PST. Two winners will be chosen via random number generator and announced the following morning. Good luck!

Contest closed; congratulations lauren and Estelle!

Dear pastor who laments church shoppers

2013-05-02T00:40:00.000-07:00

I was at your church that Sunday when you criticized church shoppers. My husband and I were there with our three children to see if we could find a home in your community. You know. Church shopping.

I understand your concern. We're a culture that doesn't value pushing through the tough stuff, a culture that values the freedom of wings over the growing of roots. And probably we criticize too easily and leave too quickly and focus too much on what we can get instead of what we have to offer others. I get it.

But we're not in this place because we didn't like the music at our old church. We're not looking for a new church home because our feathers were ruffled by a hard-hitting homily. We're not here because we want the church to serve us and entertain us and meet our every need.

We're church shopping because our deeply loved church home closed its doors. Our cherished friends moved back to their home country. We were, in so many ways, mourning very deep and real losses as we sat down in your church that Sunday - and all we heard was shame.

What you didn't offer, however, were any solutions for those of us thrust against our wills into this very place. You mocked the post-service question, "how was it?", but what else are we to ask each other as we leave your church and consider whether we might be able to put down roots there? You criticized any consideration of music, preaching, ambiance, congregants, really anything at all, but are you truly suggesting that we close our eyes and hearts and simply walk into the nearest church and call it home?

This process of finding a church home has been both immensely challenging and deeply painful for us. We didn't want this. We didn't choose this. But we continue our search because we value, as you do, having a community in which to live life together. Instead of extending grace and understanding to those of us on this road, you heaped more shame upon us for not easily stepping into a new community. What place, I wonder, does discernment and wisdom have in your vision of what it means to choose such a community?

These past weeks haven't been easy. Each Sunday, we have been surrounded by strangers. We have answered all the usual questions, week after week, and left exhausted from the emotional toll of this process. We have walked into each new building only to be met by someone shaking our hands and informing us that they would take our children to Sunday School. (Where else do we do this? Where else do we hand off our children to complete strangers and assume that they will be fine?) We have been to churches too large for our introverted selves to feel comfortable in, churches that our children have loved simply for the massive screens overhanging the fog-filled stage. We have been to churches with scarcely any other children at all. The service at the first church we visited began with a woman's testimony of a half-hour lecture she had given to her friend on the gift of spanking, and how by the grace of God, her friend was brought to tears and convinced of the mandatory place spanking has in the biblical raising of children. So that was awesome. And by awesome, I mean oh hell no.

And you're suggesting that in our search for a home filled with both love and truth, we should question nothing?

Maybe it's shallow to leave the church and discuss the music, the message, the atmosphere, or our general gut-level reactions, but we can't help but give at least some consideration to these things. If the baby can't even stay in the service because the band is rocking out too loudly for her comfort, well, it's just not going to work out for us. If you come on too strong, demanding that we hand over our children despite our (and their) polite refusal, well, it's going to freak us out a little bit. And if the best testimony you can give of God's work in your life is your ability to convince another mother to hit her children, well, we're going to think that's a pretty sad sort of God to worship in the first place.

It hasn't been all bad, not at all. We've met some lovely people, witnessed some lovely services, worshiped in holy places. But what we haven't yet found is a place to call home. We're certain we will, but in the meantime we're stuck in that much-maligned role of church shoppers.

Please. Extend us some grace and encouragement as we walk this road, and I promise you, we will commit ourselves wholeheartedly to our new community when we find it.

In Peace,

A Church-Shopping Family

All the reason I need

2013-04-29T21:58:00.000-07:00

I try to slip into bed quietly, but every night she stirs anyway. She squirms over until her forehead is pressed against mine and I breathe deep, inhaling her perfect baby scent. That moment, every night, is one of the most beautiful moments of my day.

And that right there? Is all the reason I need.

In that moment, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, it matters not why we chose to welcome her into our bed since the day she was born. I'm not thinking about breastfeeding success or healthy attachment or even just getting some extra sleep; ultimately, she's there simply because I love having her there.

Oh, I appreciate those other reasons during the less magical moments. It gives me peace to know why we decided this was the best choice for our family. I think of those reasons on the nights - because yes, they come - when I don't want to be touched. I remind myself of them when I want to shove my husband off one side of the bed and the child off the other side and do a happy dance right there in the middle of all that the gloriously empty space.

Just keepin' it real, folks.

But those more objective head-level reasons aren't the real ones. The real ones are all heart, baby. I simply love snuggling with her warm and solid little self. I love kissing her soft hair and ample cheeks as she breathes the deep breath of sleep. I love watching her Daddy quietly lean over to kiss her goodnight before turning off the lamp. I love it when she drifts off with her chubby hand resting on my arm or her pointy toes pressed into the soft skin of my thrice-stretched belly. I love hearing her giggle in her sleep and being able to comfort her without a second's delay when she cries out suddenly.

She's delightful during the day, but something about the nighttime adds a special bit of magic to her.

And I wouldn't miss it for all the extra bed space in the world.

Just writing along with The EO...

Weekend Reading

2013-04-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

Lectio divina: paying attention @ Simple Mom

One of my favorite definitions of prayer is that it is the practice of paying attention. Not merely that you must pay attention while you’re praying, but that prayer itself is the act of attending: to God, but also to the beauty – and ugliness – before us.

Paying attention is the precursor to so many critical virtues: how can I be grateful or compassionate or wise or loving if I have not first paid attention?

...I cannot multi-task when I’m practicing lectio divina. It doesn’t miraculously quiet “monkey mind,” but this small act of reverence is also a powerful form of resistance. I will not let technology and bad habits encumber my spirit. I refuse to accept that my attention can only and ever be divided.

If we cultivate our ability to pay attention, I haven’t a single doubt that we will indeed be astonished. We won’t merely tell better stories; we will live better stories.

Opening Up the GD Toolbox: Connection @ Dulce de leche

I described every time I could remember being frustrated with my own little sister when I was his age, and how terribly unfair it seemed to me that she would provoke me until I retaliated and then got in trouble. I gave every detail I could remember of our squabbles. He listened and became more and more engaged. I could see him biting his lips to hold in a chuckle as I recounted my exasperation and some of the vengeance I had taken.

My first inclination was to moralize and say what I should have done. It took every ounce of self control that I have not to turn it into a sermon. And I am so glad that I didn't. He began to thoughtfully offer suggestions to avoid conflict. I countered with things that she might have done to continue annoying me. He dug right into the challenge and brainstormed creative ways to handle it peacefully. Then he hugged me tight and told me he loved me.

I could see the tension leave him as he began to believe that I really, truly understood his side of it.

Faithful Parenting – Jennifer McGrail @ Parenting Wild Things

I have made mistakes as a parent, to be sure. I will continue to make mistakes. But when I’m there in that moment, on my knees, at the end of my proverbial parenting rope, the answer is there: More patience. More compassion. More kindness. More mercy. More Jesus. The Bible is, at its a core, a book about love, redemption, and grace. Love and redemption and grace so deep and so wide that we will likely spend our entire lives trying to understand it. The only way we can even begin to understand it is by living it. And there is no better place to start than with our own families, and with our own children.

[Also meriting particular mention is Faithful Parenting – Luke and Jill Harms, another selection from Parenting Wild Thing's Faithful Parenting series.]

Every Spiritual Home (a Riff) @ Internet Monk

A miraculous thing can happen to grown-ups on a faith journey. We come to appreciate moments from our past faith community, as different as it may be from our current one. We may recall a special Sunday school teacher who taught us the “sacred writings” in our childhood.
That is why when people join our church, we always say, “We give thanks for every community that has ever been your spiritual home.”

[With thanks to our pastor and his family as they move on to a new ministry in a new city this weekend...we will miss you greatly.]

Pick up your baby! Do to them what you would have done to you! @ I Take Joy

All of us, at some time or another, have been taught the golden rule, “In everything, therefore, treat people the same way you want them to treat you, for this is the Law and the Prophets”. Matthew 7:12

And yet, it seems we forget this when we raise our children. Many moms have been told, “You will spoil your baby. You need to establish discipline now. You need to show your baby who is the boss.” And so moms become afraid to do the wrong thing - they do not want to raise a spoiled, selfish child, and so they start out feeling they need to be a policeman figure in their children’s lives instead of a mentor, guide, trainer, lover, encourager.

[Also, Sally's follow-up post Peace, Rest, Grace to all you Sweet Mamas! is beautifully encouraging.]

Why Dove’s “Real Beauty Sketches” Video Makes Me Uncomfortable...and Kind of Makes Me Angry @ Little Drops

Brave, strong, smart? Not enough. You have to be beautiful. And “beautiful” means something very specific, and very physical. Essentially every movie and tv show and commercial shows us that, right? It doesn’t matter what other merits a woman posses, if she is not conventionally attractive, she is essentially worthless (go watch Miss Representation for more thoughts on this). And my primary problem with this Dove ad is that it’s not really challenging the message like it makes us feel like it is. It doesn’t really tell us that the definition of beauty is broader than we have been trained to think it is, and it doesn’t really tell us that fitting inside that definition isn’t the most important thing. It doesn’t really push back against the constant objectification of women. All it’s really saying is that you’re actually not quite as far off from the narrow definition as you might think that you are (if you look like the featured women, I guess).

Beautiful Catastrophe: The Death and Rebirth of Becoming a Mother @ BlogHer Moms

You’re sitting in the house a few weeks after your perfect baby is born...Your belly is still sagging. Your boobs are exploding. You’re bleeding still, maybe, but you’re definitely leaking milk. There are big pools of it on your bed and couch and everywhere. You don’t really sleep, but rather fade in and out of a half-sleep, alongside your baby, checking him every hour, acutely aware of his breath, as if it were a freight train roaring through the room: Do I hear it? Yes, I hear it.

You remember when your body was just your own and you were thinner and felt contained and like the owner of your boobs and vagina and life. You remember having a couple shots of tequila or maybe a cigarette with some friends, and you did it like it was nothing, never knowing it was somebody who was going to stand like an old friend some day, a thousand miles away.

We were free and young and somebody else.

But now, we’re mothers.

Today you are six

2013-04-16T22:09:00.000-07:00

You woke up this morning to balloons everywhere, because it's your birthday and birthdays demand balloons. Or, at least, you did, last night when you asked me if there'd be balloons like there were on my last birthday and I just smiled and winked and said you'll see. Balloons on the walls, on the floor, on sticks (which I regretted all the day long, four kids here and all those sticks just searching for someone's eyeball), even stuck in the jar of yellow tulips currently brightening up our kitchen. Yes, my love, balloons just like there were on your last birthday.

Ah, my love. You chided me recently when I called your brother that - you can't call him "my love" because he's a boy, and only girls can be "my love" - but you had no answer when I asked you why. You're deciding that some things are "girl things" and some things are "boy things", and that's okay because it's all part of figuring out who you are and where you fit in in this crazy world. You had a friend inform you not long ago that pink was a "girl's colour" and so you decided that your favourite colour was now red instead. At home, though, where you're safe and free, you still asked for pink icing on your cake as you shared your sparkly strings of beaded necklaces with your little brother. The two of you made fine royalty with your "jewels" around your neck and your wooden swords in hand.

And so a pink cake it was. Chocolate on the inside, because of course, and quinoa too because your mom's a little weird, sorry. The dinosaur sprinkles on top finished it off perfectly. We baked it and decorated it together; you even pointed out where you wanted me to place your candles. You chose spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread for dinner, then hummed happy birthday to yourself as I lit the candles on your cake. You blew half of them out as soon as I set it in front of you, the rest of us only just beginning to sing, and you blew out the remainder when the song was over. Your Oma and Opa joined us, making it a real party around the table.

We'll pick up the party again on Saturday, head over to the pool because being six means you can finally, at long last, go on that waterslide you've been eyeing ever since you were three. Yes, half your life you've waited for this day, and I can't wait to watch that first much-anticipated slide. You asked for your dearest friend and her family to join us, and they said yes even though they've moved out of the city; we are truly blessed with the best sort of friends, aren't we?

It struck me today that turning six meant we were already a third of the way to 18. I only get to do this whole raising you thing two more times over and then you're an adult, and I know my role doesn't end at that moment but it will certainly change. These first six years have passed just as quickly as everyone warned me they would, and I have made so very many mistakes. But oh child, you are a delight. Helpful and kind, thoughtful and loving, some days I wonder at the person you are becoming in spite of my failures. I notice the way you let your little brother help open your gifts so he doesn't feel left out, the way your biggest smiles are always saved for your baby sister, the way you write little notes to those you love, so many other things that show you for the caring person you are. You ask hard questions and my answers never quite feel like enough, but you listen so seriously all the same.

Right now you're laying awake in your room, ever my night owl, listening to music while your brother sleeps beside you. Your tastes are eclectic; today it was Great Big Sea and The Beatles, while tomorrow could just as likely be Fred Penner or a Curious George audio book. Your first mixed CD is still your favourite, though, because bagpipes and hymns and Christmas music and 50s rock should definitely be played at every opportunity.

You, this firstborn child of mine, are the most fascinating creature I have yet to meet. Thank you for leading me so gently through all these motherhood firsts. Happy birthday, my darling. I love you so much more than I can say.

Diaper Cover Conversion: Velcro to Snaps

2013-04-10T22:38:00.000-07:00

Baby girl has officially outgrown her smaller prefolds and diaper covers, but I've been reluctant to bring out the bigger size. I knew the velcro was nearly non-functional on all of the diaper covers, and I just didn't want to deal with covers that didn't close securely. So I put it off. I've been using disposables in the meantime, but of course that means both more waste and more money.

Also, more blowouts. Gross.

I am not a fan of Velcro or Aplix diaper closures. The Velcro/Aplix gets full of junk, they don't fasten as securely as snaps do, they catch on things, and they just end up being a frustrating mess (and yes, I do use the laundry tabs). I replaced the velcro on half of them when my last baby was in them, but it didn't hold up well and I didn't even bother with the remaining ones. Why replace the velcro only to do it again for the next baby?

I tried to ignore it a bit longer, but then I watched poor girl crawling along the carpet one day. Because the velcro no longer closed all the way, the end of the tabs caught on the carpet each time she moved. She sounded like our old cat as she walks across the room, rip rip rip, nails catching the carpet with each step. The velcro had to go.

I debated for a while. Bummis now sells snap-closure covers (kudos to them!), but I didn't really want to invest in new covers when these ones (Bummis Super Whisper Wraps) were, velco aside, perfectly fine. The elastic is great, they don't leak, and if I could just fix the velcro they'd be perfect.

So if I wasn't going to replace the covers, I needed to figure out the best way to fix them up. Our local fabric store has recently added some cloth diaper making supplies to their stock, but the snap pliers had poor reviews. So even though it meant I couldn't pick them up locally, I went ahead and ordered the KamSnaps pliers and a few (*ahem* hundred) snaps.

While I waited for my snap pliers to arrive, I unpicked the velcro from the diaper covers, including the laundry tab. It all came off quite easily. I snipped off the velcro on each side of the front piece, as it was sewn directly into the diaper seam and I didn't want to mess with that. I just clipped it as close to the seam as I could and called it good.

Once the velcro was removed, I noticed that the diaper tabs were showing quite a bit of wear. There was some stretching, the polyester fabric was rubbing off the laminate in places, and some of the removed stitching had left noticeable holes behind.

I had bought a small amount of plain PUL from the fabric shop, so I used that to reinforce the tabs. I simply cut out the rough shape of the tab and hand-stitched it on.

(Yes, I hand-stitched it. I tried to use my sewing machine, but apparently PUL is finicky to work with and I didn't have the correct needle. Machine-sewing would, of course, have been much faster, but I don't have great swaths of time in which to do this sort of thing and having to set it all aside to make another trip to the store simply wasn't going to happen. For future reference, have a #9 ballpoint needle handy if you want to use your machine to sew with PUL.)

I used a double layer of PUL on the tabs, which made three layers of PUL in which to embed the snap. This served the triple purpose of covering the holes left from the old stitching, strengthening the tabs, and providing greater reinforcement for the snap. Use polyester thread rather than cotton to prevent wicking.

Then came the big day: The snap pliers arrived. Made my day. It's the little things.

I used a strip of a cereal box to make a template. I set 6 holes for the snaps 3 cm apart on the first diaper. I wasn't unhappy with it, but after trying it on the baby, I decided a slight bit more flexibility would have been useful, so I set 8 snaps 2.5 cm (1 inch) apart on the remaining diapers. Then I tried the cover on the baby again, used a pen to mark where the tab snap should go, and set one snap in each tab.

Done! The snap pliers worked amazingly well. Each of the 48 snaps set perfectly the first time. No regrets at all over this purchase. All in all, it was still cheaper than outright replacing the covers, and I have so many other projects that I intend to use the pliers on as well (starting with a few of these adorable dress-to-romper conversions). Oh, the possibilities.

Need more details? Check out these excellent tutorials:
Cloth Diaper Conversion – Velcro to Snaps Tutorial
bumGenius Snap Conversion

Linking up with Your Green Resource...

Weekend Reading

2013-04-05T23:51:00.000-07:00

The sacred messiness @ Simple Mom

As you start this new week, may you choose to see that the little interruptions in your life that need nose wipes, diaper changes, homework help, or one-on-one time on the couch are not, in fact, interruptions. They are the sum of your days. These beings called to your care are your current calling, and while they’re not the only part of your calling, they’re enough to not wish away the little inconvenient tasks inherent with parenting.

And So I'll Heal @ Rosmarinus Officinalis

I struggle to find the balance with you that I never had with my own mother. That respect of who you are, that valuing of your voice, that freedom to oppose me without shame. I want to be your safe place. I want you to walk away from our conversations feeling filled and comforted...You have filled me and broken me in so many ways, and I feel God’s hand in the filling and breaking and I pray for the healing to come.

And heal I will. Because you are worth it. He is worth it. I might be able to chin up and stomp forward without truly facing the ghosts, but I’ll be damned if my anger and grief is going to come out sideways onto those I love best. And so I’ll heal for all of us.

10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling At My Kids @ The Orange Rhino

So I share with you the top 10 things that I learned from my Orange Rhino Challenge where I promised to not yell at my 4 boys for 365 days straight...

10. Not yelling feels awesome.
Now that I have stopped yelling, not only do I feel happier and calmer, I also feel lighter. I go to bed guilt-free (except for the extra cookie I ate that day, oops) and wake-up more confident that I can parent with greater understanding of my kids, my needs, and how to be more loving and patient. And I am pretty sure my kids feel happier and calmer too. I know everyone wants to read, “I stopped yelling and not only do I feel great, but also my kids are now calmer AND perfectly behaved.” Well, they aren’t. They are still kids. But, yes tantrums are shorter and some are completely avoided. Now that I am calmer, I can think more rationally to resolve potential problems before meltdown mania. But forget perfectly behaved kids for a second. My kids are most definitely more loving towards me, and now tell me quite often “I love you Orange Rhino mommy!” and that feels more than awesome, it feels phenomenal.

The Absurd Legalism of Gender Roles: Exhibit C – “As long as I can’t see her...” @ Rachel Held Evans

Piper argues that a woman can teach a man so long as her teaching is “impersonal,” “indirect,” and “removed” — essentially, so long as it is easy for him to forget she is a woman.

Regarding a woman who has written a biblical commentary, he explains: “She’s not looking at me, and directing me...as woman. There is this interposition of this phenomenon called ‘book’ that puts her out of my sight and, in a sense, takes away the dimension of her female personhood, whereas if she were standing right in front of me and teaching me as my shepherd...I couldn’t make that separation."

As a woman, I find this profoundly dehumanizing.

No, as a human being, I find this profoundly dehumanizing.

Piper is essentially arguing that so long as he does not have to acknowledge my humanity, so long as I keep a safe distance so he is unaware of the pitch of my voice and the presence of my breasts, he can, perhaps, learn something about the Bible from me. So long as I am not “in-his-face” (his words) with my femaleness, it will be easier for him to treat me as someone worth learning from; it will be easier for him to treat me like a man.

What I Am Into - March 2013

2013-04-02T23:05:00.001-07:00

What I Am Into :: MARCH 2013

On My Nightstand:

I finished Kathleen Norris's The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work", and it was consistently lovely throughout. There were so many beautiful gems of wisdom, and I'm certain I'll be picking it up again and again in hopes of letting a bit more of that wisdom sink in deeper.

I also read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, which has been on my shelf waiting to be picked up for years. I needed something a bit more mindless than the non-fiction books I've been slogging my way through lately, and this was perfect. It was a quick and easy read while still being engaging.

The boys and I are currently reading The Burgess Animal Book for Children as our daytime read-aloud. We finished Holling's Pagoo last month, which follows the life of a hermit crab from birth through adulthood in a fictionalized but highly accurate and detailed manner. The illustrations in Pagoo were incredible, and one chapter was never enough. The Burgess Animal Book, while lacking the beautiful illustrations, is similar in its presentation of scientific facts through storytelling. Quite enjoyable.

On the screen:

Well, I finally sat down and watched the final two Twilight movies. It had to be done. While there was some improvement between the first movie and the last, it wasn't enough to prevent a good deal of cringing and mocking. Sorry, Twihards.

As for TV shows, we're pretty much squealing over the return of weekly Doctor Who episodes. WE LOVE YOU, DOCTOR!!!

Speaking of the Doctor, the darling husband was away recently and returned bearing gifts for each of us.

(Except the baby. He totally skipped over her. He's basically the worst dad ever.)

(Just kidding.)

Anyway. Returned bearing gifts, yadda yadda yadda, and I now drink my far-too-frequently-consumed hot chocolate out of a mug with a heat-sensitive vanishing TARDIS. Which is basically awesome. So there you go.

Oh! One last one, because more happy laughter is always a good thing: Paint. Go watch. Laugh. Watch some more. Laugh some more.

You're welcome.

In My Kitchen:

These coconut oil chocolates had been calling to me from Pinterest for a full eight months, so it was About Time when I finally made them last month. Totally worth it. They were so fast and so delicious. Perfect to keep on hand for guilt-free satisfaction when those chocolate cravings hit!

Also gracing my kitchen right now is a jar of tulips. They make me kinda ridiculously happy every time I walk by them. It's the little things.

You know what's not in my kitchen? The half bag of surplus Mini Eggs left over after we stuffed the Easter eggs yesterday. What can I say? Those things are like beautiful little pieces of Easter crack. No regrets.

In My Ears:

Where to start? I went a little crazy with an iTunes gift card I'd been hanging onto since Christmas, and NoiseTrade had some excellent offerings this month as well.

Let's start locally. Guys, you have to listen to this album, and then buy it, and then listen to it over and over again. Because it's just that good. Or, at least, it's perfect for me right now. I turning into one of those old folks who can't handle all the noise in music these days. Tom Wuest is so beautifully mellow and simple and calm. There's no irritating rattles or overwhelming drums or anything. Just lovely lyrics and simple instrumentation, perfect for quiet devotional time or personal worship. I'll definitely be checking out his other two albums as well.

Josh Garrels and Page CXVI both had albums on Noisetrade in March, which was of interest to me since both have been on my radar lately. While I have some favourites from each of them, I can't say I'm super enthused about any particular album as a whole. Still, Josh Garrels' "Farther Along" is one of my current top ten songs, so that's definitely something.

But back to albums I'm super excited about, I absolutely adore A is for Adoption on NoiseTrade. This incredible album, which I listened to basically all the way to Edmonton, is a compilation to celebrate the life and adoption of Marcus James Norsworthy (which was made official last week, praise God!). All of the artists and bands featured have donated their songs to help to raise money for Marcus's adoption expenses. Download the album, leave a tip to support the Norsworthys, and then head to their adoption blog to find out more about their story.

Okay, I'm almost done, I promise. Just two more.

I won the second volume of Hidden in my Heart: Scripture Lullabies in a giveaway recently, the news of which I received just as I was considering buying it myself! So that was neat. The CD is beautiful. I love having it playing in the background during the day. I always get ridiculously excited over kids' CDs that are actually enjoyable to listen to - as in, I listen to this one even when the kiddos aren't around. That's good music, that is.

Finally, and on a completely different note, there's my guilty pleasure: P!nk. What can I say? I think she's awesome. I went to purchase her most recent album, The Truth About Love, and discovered that I'd missed hearing about her release of Funhouse a few years back. Two new albums to rock out to after the kids are asleep? Yes, please!

(Okay, I'm going to cheat on my "just two more" promise and toss out that I've also been enjoying some Sandra McCracken and Sara Groves lately. Check them out too if you haven't already.)

(Alright, I'm done now. For real.)

What I'm Looking Forward to in April:

This is really the boy's month. He turns six (six!) in just a couple of weeks. He starts soccer this month, which he is so excited about. (I was rooting for circus school, personally, but then his dad mentioned soccer and there was no changing his mind after that. What is it with kids having minds of their own? Sheesh.)

Other than that, it's kinda of a downer of a month, with a couple of farewell parties as our church officially shuts down and our former pastor and his family leave the country. It's a strange and sad feeling, having nowhere to go this Sunday, our first one on our own. Disorienting, I think is the best word to describe it. So we'll be figuring that all out too, which I guess could be something to look forward to (but not likely, if past church hunting experience is any indicator). Still, God is God and He is always faithful, never changing, our rock in this disorienting season.

Well, friends, that is What I've Been Into this past month. What about you?

Linking up to What I'm Into with HopefulLeigh...

Where my hope is found

2013-04-01T22:35:00.000-07:00

I drove the kids 1145 kilometers to spend a week at West Edmonton Mall with my family. It was worth every "I spilled my water bottle!" and "I dropped my crayons!" and "I'm still hungry!" and "He's touching me again!" along the way. It was worth the long days and late nights. It was worth braving the cold and snow instead of relishing the west coast warmth. The amusement park and the water park, mini golf and bowling, sea lions and penguins, good food and better desserts, and most of all time spent with loved ones, it was all worth it.

But I missed Holy Week.

I really missed it, missed observing it in an intentional and community-filled way. I thought of it, gave a brief nod to it as my eyes closed at the end of each full day, but it was little more than that and I felt its absence.

We returned late Saturday night and all any of us wanted was a quiet day at home. Still, I'd missed enough, so I forced myself out of bed and all of us out the door for a Resurrection Sunday service. It wasn't our church and it wasn't perfect, but it was us there, it was resurrection celebrated, and it was good for that reason alone. Christ is risen!

And then, just as we were settling on sushi for supper because being gone all week hadn't lent itself to being ready for a proper Easter dinner, we received an invitation for supper. Again, the wrestling between no, just some time to ourselves, please on the one hand and yes, Easter with cherished friends and new ones as well on the other, and again the latter won out. And it was Very Good.

Today, though, Easter Monday, we kept all to ourselves. We celebrated the risen Christ in ways both traditional and uniquely ours. Not the Easter bunny, we're stodgy like that, but egg hunts and gifts and games and desserts and Much Ado About This Which Is Everything. Yes, we celebrate it joyfully because it is the greatest hope we have, sin and death defeated! Praise God.

We celebrated with sunshine and Easter dresses and too much candy, and some of us didn't quite make it until bedtime.

It was a good beginning to the joyous season of Eastertide. And now the celebration continues!

Weekend Reading

2013-03-22T23:25:00.000-07:00

You're Gonna Miss This @ The Organic Sister

You’re gonna miss this
And I know how trite that sounds
When it's not my kid
kicking and screaming on the floor

But please
Please listen to me
Cuz you’re gonna miss this

Amy's Letter @ A Deeper Story

Here are our questions. We’d like to know if you’re going to use us. Will our church be your opportunity to right all the Church’s wrongs, the ones you’ve been jotting down over your vast ten years of experience? (Sorry, I’m one of the ornery ones) Is our church going to be your opportunity to finally enact that one flaming vision you’ve been hell-bent on since seminary, that one strategic model that will finally get this Church-thing straight? Or might we hope that our church could be a place where you settle in with us and love alongside us and cry with us and curse against the darkness with us and remind us how much God’s crazy about us?

In other words, the question we want to know is very simple: “Do you actually intend to be our pastor?”

I’m trying to be as straight as I know: will you love us? And will you teach us to love one another? Will you remind us that we are to live well, not produce well? Are you willing to fail before you cave to the pressure to succeed? Will you give us God — and all the mystery and wonder, will you preach with a twinkle in your eye?

Public Shaming is a Better Example of "If it feels good - do it" than Teen Pregnancy @ Brené Brown

Last week New York City unveiled its public education campaign targeting teenage pregnancy. Taking a page from the Georgia obesity campaign and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, the campaign features pictures of tear-stained toddlers admonishing their teen mothers for ruining their lives.

The ads are painful, and in a moment of sheer frustration and anger, I thought about ditching this article and just sending both Reeves and Mayor Bloomberg pictures of tear-stained pregnant teenagers staring out and declaring: “Please don’t attack my self-worth. I’m already struggling and desperate for love and belonging.”

Here’s the rub:

Shame diminishes our capacity for empathy.

Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.

The New Pope, Luther, and Our Need to Take Aim at Ourselves @ Echoes and Stars

The reason I was ill at ease about evangelicals making light of the papal process and then using Luther to defend it was this. Luther was taking aim at his own tradition. Not the tradition of his neighbor alone. Luther was not trying to start a new religion or denomination or sect. He was trying to reform the church already there. Luther was Roman Catholic, if you will. Not Lutheran.

Here is what I think, you wanna be like Luther? Set your aim on all the silliness with evangelicalism. The legalism. The celebrity. The concerts disguised as worship. The worship disguised as concerts. The marketing ad nauseum. The legalism. The calls for radical living from pastors with iPads and iPhones who live in the suburbs with 3 bedrooms and 2 baths. Set your aim on the cover-up of sexual abuse. The legalism. Set your aim on a theology that questions everything and stands for nothing. The pastor as CEO. The pastor as rock star. The legalism.

Yes means yes...and everything else means no.

2013-03-20T00:37:00.001-07:00

With the verdict announced on the Steubenville Ohio gang-rape case, there has been renewed outrage at the way this case was handled from the beginning.

The 16-year-old rape survivor's own community is divided, with some citizens vocally defending the rapists and making light of the rape report. That would be outrageous enough on its own, but many of the media reports have been following in those citizen's footsteps.

Much has been said about how the verdict has destroyed the lives of these two young men, with the rape portrayed more as a bad career move than a heinous crime. Excuses have been made for the rapists and the atrocity of their actions has been minimized. The survivor has received threats, and the media is quick to stress that she was drunk and at an all-night party. Many of the comments on social media are far more blatant in their victim-blaming.

The Mays' apologies show an equal lack of understanding and remorse. Trent Mays apologized for taking and sending the pictures which led to his arrest and conviction (but not for the rape itself), while his father apologized to "Ma’lik’s family, the community, the school, everybody else" for putting them through this. The other offender, Ma'lik Richmond, did apologize directly to the girl and her family.

People talk about a "rape culture" because too often, the blame is placed on the victim - after all, "boys will be boys" and "teenagers will be teenagers". Women are asked why they were wearing those clothes, in that location, drinking that beverage, leading him on. Offenders are excused on the grounds of being drunk, being young, getting carried away, and besides, it wasn't really violent. Women are told to get over it, move on, let it go. (Don't you know what it will do to his life if you pursue this?) Men are told they are slaves to their desires. Rapists hide behind churches, militaries, and arcane laws. Women are told to prevent their own rapes.

And these two young men? They seemed to truly believe that because what they were doing wasn't "violent", it wasn't rape. This is where the idea that "no means no" fails. Instead, it's time we started to stress that "yes means yes," and everything else means no.

Source: theriotmag.tumblr.com via Andrea on Pinterest

Is the person unconscious? That means no.
Is the person too drunk to form a coherent sentence? That means no.
Is the person hesitant? That's a no.
Is the person reluctant? That's a no.
Is the person uncertain? That's a no.

And the person's reputation? That's irrelevant.
What the person is wearing? Irrelevant.
What the person had been drinking? Irrelevant.
Had they been flirting with you? Irrelevant.
Did you buy them dinner? Irrelevant.
Did they leave a party with you? Irrelevant.
Did they come back to your place? Irrelevant.

Yes means yes. Everything else means no.

Weekend Reading

2013-03-16T21:17:00.000-07:00

Debunking the myth of consistency @ Steady Mom

Being consistent means being there. It means responding when you need to respond, in the way you need to respond. It means taking the time to figure that out, to address each child as an individual. It means treating our children the way we hope they will one day treat us. It means acknowledging that we can't solve our kids like mathematical equations, we must relate to them from the heart.

Roman Catholicism – An Appreciation @ Internet Monk

The fact is, there is much that I like about Roman Catholicism. The better I get to know it, the more I find to like.

I admire a tradition that sees the culture of the church in history as confident and defining on its own, without having to resort to endless envies and imitations of pop culture in order to feel relevant.

Who's really surprised that 7-year-olds are putting themselves on diets? @ xoJane

The real question is when did the realization strike that being bigger and rounder was something I should remedy? Because at 4 I did not see my different shape as a negative thing, just an interesting difference. I suspect the change happened, curiously enough, sometime around my seventh year, as that is the period in which I first remember becoming aware that my body was a thing I hypothetically could - and therefore should - change.

By 15, I was still keeping a diary. And I was still talking about my weight. In an entry that also mentions the “diet pizza” I had for lunch (I believe this was the Jenny Craig era of my ill-spent adolescence) I wrote, “I wish I had a boyfriend. I wish I was thin. I wish I had a 4.0 average. I wish I wasn’t wishing for so much. I’m pretty happy as I am.”

I couldn’t have articulated it then, but this was the cognitive dissonance that informed so much of my relationship with my body, well into adulthood, and the same is probably true for many of you reading this as well. My happiness was not the goal. My happiness had pretty much nothing to do with it.

The message that I had successfully digested and internalized, along with so many of my dieting and weight-obsessed peers, was that I MUST care, even if I didn’t care. I had a role to play, a very particular socialized feminine role, and it demanded certain things of my self-image. I MUST worry about my weight, and learn to hate my body, and eat diet pizza seemingly made from cardboard and plastic, even if I feel mostly okay with myself in spite of everything.

Church Culture: Out of Sight, Out of Mind @ Jezamama

Instead of partnering and coming alongside parents, [churches] try to lead the charge. We check our kids like coats to a children’s attendant and then proceed to our own adult thing. We have learned to worship God separately: adults in the grownup spaces and the children in their spaces (which is often “out of sight, out of mind”). We bring home the brown paper bags filled with their work, craft or lessons – and it ends up in the trash.

Until a church culture makes the least among us a priority, seen as a blessing, instead of a distraction to be tolerated; families as a whole nourished and trained; the youngest among us considered first in the making of our budgets and planning of our spaces instead of afterthoughts in our vision...we are going to miss it. We are going to miss this amazing opportunity we have to love many young ones and their future children in the name of JESUS.

What Attachment Parenting is Not

2013-03-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today in our Attachment Parenting Series, we will be discussing four of the most prevalent misconceptions of Attachment Parenting. If you have written a post on Attachment Parenting misconceptions, please do share it with us in the comments below!

Introduction

Many objections to Attachment Parenting come from one of four common misunderstandings of the philosophy. Before exploring each of these misconceptions, we will begin with a brief review of what Attachment Parenting is.

At its core, Attachment Parenting (AP) is the promotion of a responsive, relationship-based approach to raising children. It encourages the parent to respond sensitively to their child's needs, seeking ways to build and strengthen a mutually-trusting parent/child relationship. The specifics and application of AP principles will vary according to the unique needs of the individual family.

With that basic understanding in mind, we will move on to what Attachment Parenting is not.

Attachment Parenting is not permissive parenting

Permissive parenting is characterized by low behavioural expectations coupled with a failure to follow through with enforcing healthy boundaries for the child. This lack of healthy boundaries is most commonly due to an unwillingness or perceived inability to deal with the child's feelings and their negative expressions of those feelings. However, children thrive best within a framework of healthy boundaries. Without these limits, the child will act out in search of them, seeking their safety and predictability.

Another form of permissive parenting disguises itself as punitive parenting. Rather than calmly and consistently enforcing age-appropriate boundaries, this style of permissive parent allows the child to repeatedly overstep boundaries until the parent explodes with frustration and overreacts, coming down strong to get the child's behaviour back in line. This inconsistency is confusing for the child.

Attachment Parenting, conversely, seeks to gently and consistently enforce developmentally-appropriate expectations for the child. While the primary focus of AP is a strong parent/child bond, this bond is not achieved through indulgence or a lack of healthy boundaries and expectations. AP decries punitive methods of discipline, embracing instead a form of positive discipline that relies on teaching and problem solving rather than punishing. It does not, however, reject discipline altogether.

Likewise, AP does not seek to prevent the child from ever feeling strong negative emotions or from expressing those emotions. It does, however, provide the child with both a nurturing response to those feelings along with the tools required to cope with and express those feelings in a healthy and socially acceptable manner.

Attachment Parenting is not helicopter parenting

Also known as "smothering" or "overparenting", helicopter parenting demonstrates an unwillingness or inability to step back and allow the child to develop independence and self-reliance and, along with that, to experience challenges and failure. Although the motivation of helicopter parenting is often love, concern, and good intentions, it typically arises from a place of fear within the parent.

Attachment Parenting, conversely, affirms healthy, age-appropriate independence. It is precisely the trust and security of the strong parent/child relationship that provides the child with the confidence to grow into an emotionally healthy individual. Early attachment fosters healthy independence.

Because AP develops a strong cue/response cycle from infancy, parents are deeply attuned to their child, including the child's strengths and weaknesses. With that knowledge, the parent can encourage the former and work to build the latter. The child, meanwhile, has been assured since birth that his needs and requests will be appropriately responded to, thereby giving him the security and confidence he needs to explore the world in an increasingly greater depth and breadth. By providing the child with a safe home base from which they can explore the world, AP is more compatible with a (common-sense, child-appropriate) free-range style of parenting than it is with helicopter parenting.

Attachment Parenting is not child-centered

Child-centered parenting is a combination of permissive and helicopter parenting. As with permissive parenting, the child's desires are catered to in order to prevent any negative feelings or expressions of those feelings. As with helicopter parenting, the child is routinely rescued from all potential challenges, failures, or consequences. The child is the center and focus of the home.

Child-centered parenting can be a common downfall for the AP parent who, having acknowledged that a baby's needs and wants are very much the same thing and being accustomed to meeting their baby's needs in a sensitive and responsive manner, carries the same attitude over into the toddler and older years. Even though the child's wants and needs are no longer one and the same, the parent continues to act as though they are.

Attachment Parenting, however, is not child-centered, but rather family-centered. AP affirms the child as worthy of respect as a person in their own right, but likewise the parents' needs are acknowledged and respected as well. The parent is neither martyr nor tyrant in this scenario. A family-centered approach develops in the child an awareness of the needs of others, as well as respect for others' property and boundaries. AP also affirms a functioning support network of family and friends, with children benefiting from developing healthy relationships with other individuals of all ages.

One of the primary principles of AP is balance, without which the practice is unsustainable. This balance should be present with the child (attentiveness without indulgence), with the partner (meeting the needs of the relationship without neglecting the needs of the child), and within the parent (meeting the needs of the individual). Failing to validate and meet, as far as possible, the needs of all members of the family will quickly lead to resentment, exhaustion, and burnout.

Attachment Parenting is not (necessarily) Natural Parenting

Natural Parenting (NP) is a philosophy which seeks a natural and holistic approach to health, diet, education, ecological footprint, and general lifestyle as it relates to family life. Most definitions of NP also include AP, while other definitions focus solely on the health and ecological aspects with no effect on the parent's level of responsiveness or attachment to the child. In such cases when NP is defined as including AP, the values of AP would line up with NP, but not all aspects of NP would be related to AP. In that sense, NP would be a wider umbrella definition, with AP falling under it.

Although the two philosophies often overlap, the core focuses and goals of NP and AP are different. NP may promote breastfeeding, for example, because it is the biologically normative way of feeding an infant and has the lowest ecological impact. AP, on the other hand, would encourage breastfeeding as one of many tools that strengthen the mother/child bond and develop the healthy cue/response cycle that leads to greater communication and connection between the pair.

Despite this overlap, NP is not a requirement of AP. While NP may encourage a parent to use cloth diapers for ecological, financial, and health reasons, AP would have nothing to say on the topic, as the type of diaper used on a child has no bearing on the attachment relationship. Likewise with other such NP-related topics as organic food, natural materials, vaccinations, and philosophy of healthcare.

While there is value in NP ideologies, the distinction remains important for those parents who may be drawn to AP, but eschew it instead because they have no desire to live what is colloquially referred to as a "crunchy" lifestyle. Such parents should be assured that it is entirely possible to embrace an AP philosophy without also taking on a natural/"crunchy" way of living.

Summary

The heart of AP is rooted in a strong parent/child relationship. From the mutual trust and respect that arise from this relationship, the parent comes along side the child to teach and guide them to maturity. AP encourages both parental guidance on the one hand and child-appropriate freedom on the other.

There are parents who affirm an AP method of child-rearing and yet also parent in a permissive, smothering, or child-centered manner. However, AP itself affirms none of these practices. Permissive parenting lacks the enforcement of age-appropriate boundaries, smothering lacks the natural development of healthy independence, and child-centered parenting neglects to balance the needs of others with the needs of the child.

AP is incompatible with the above parenting practices. It is, not, however, incompatible with Natural Parenting. The misconception arises when AP is mistakenly understood to require a natural lifestyle. While most natural parents embrace AP, and many attachment parents embrace NP, neither one requires nor depends on the other. It is entirely possible to parent in an AP manner without embracing the "crunchy" NP lifestyle as well.

Recommended Reading:

The Attachment Parenting Book by William and Martha Sears
Where's My Center?: A closer look at child-centered parenting and the continuum concept by Scott Noelle

One down, three to go

2013-03-08T01:54:00.000-08:00

The husband has flown halfway across the country and I'm sitting here with my laptop in this silent house.

I tell people he's away, add a little grimace - just me and all these kids - and I mean it but I also don't. I secretly love having the house to myself for these few days. My introverted self relishes the post-bedtime quiet, the freedom, the do-as-I-please wide-open possibilities. Just for a few days, mind you - by Sunday I'll be glad to have him back - but in the meantime, these evenings are all mine, baby.

What's more, you would think that having a second perfectly capable adult around the house would decrease my workload, and yet, unexpectedly, the housework feels lighter. There aren't any fancy meals happening around here when he's away. I had the most gloriously delicious egg and cheese sandwich for dinner last night, and it was made all the better by the complete lack of post-dinner cleanup. No scrubbing rice out of pots or sauce out of baking pans, no dishpan hands, no spaghetti stuck to the floor. Just toss the plates in the dishwasher, rinse and dry the cast iron pan, and boom. Done.

And the laundry! That endless mountain of laundry, basket full to the brim only minutes after I finish the last load - except right now. Who knew one person could add so much laundry?

Then there's my no-nonsense bedtime routine, because I adore my kids but by the time bedtime rolls around I'm about thisclose to completely losing my calm. That wonderful man of mine, he's taken over the whole bedtime thing while I hang out with the (not-so-)wee babe, but oh my does he drag it out some nights.

Me? I'm all about getting down to business. Clean. Snack. Toilet. Pajamas. Teeth. Into bed. Then it's fifteen minutes of our bedtime read-aloud (currently The Lord of the Rings, which means that Frodo and company get approximately five feet further along whatever path they are presently on during those fifteen minutes, because oh my goodness Tolkien, get to the point already). Then the lights are out and we murmur prayers into the darkness before little brother falls asleep. Big brother still loves those bedtime chats as the younger one breathes deeply beside him, and that about saps the last of my energy for the day. Lovely times, yes, but you better believe I'm gritting my teeth through some of them, just waiting for that moment of exhale as I slip out of the room at last.

But then my own bedtime rolls around...and passes. Midnight, 1:00, 2:00, I really should get to bed. But it's so quiet and there's no one else to suggest it, so I just keep sitting here. At last I slip under the covers but I've spent all evening thinking and there's no one here to interrupt those thoughts, no one to stop their continuous flow and so they go on (and on and on) as 3:00 comes and goes.

Less work during the day. Less sleep at night. There's the trade-off.

Only three more sleepless nights to go.

Weekend Reading

2013-03-02T22:41:00.000-08:00

What Dressing Up Like a Rock Star Taught Me About Shame and Grace @ UnTangled

“You do look ridiculous, Kelly. And you are beautiful and beloved.”

The voice of Grace wasn’t challenging the story I had been told by my shame. It was reminding me of the rest of the story.

This is how the voice of grace works. Its brilliance eclipses the genius of our shame-whispers. It doesn’t try to disprove the voice of shame. It doesn’t do a “Yeah, but.” It does a “Yes, and.” It disrupts all the internal debates, undermines all the second-guessing, and avoids all the interior conflict. It just says, “Yes, that may be true, but this is definitively true.”

It’s the brilliant, counter-intuitive, scandalous voice of Grace, whispering its truth at the edges of your being:

“No matter what, you are beautiful and beloved.”

How My Kids Didn’t Ruin Mass @ Carrots for Michaelmas

It’s the moments when I think my kids are the ultimate distraction that my parish family shows me that they are gifts of God’s grace. When the baby is fussy and the toddler is grumpy and loud and I think that surely the homily is going to be a desperate plea for our family to high tail it out of the church so everyone else can enjoy Mass in peace, the priest says, “Look around you. Look at all the babies and children in Mass today. As I’ve been hearing the sounds of infants and children this morning, it reminds me of the amazing gift of new life. What a blessing. I am so glad they are all here.” Gift? Blessing? My kids could have passed themselves off as small dragons this morning, and you heard their whispers and shrieks as echoes of God’s grace?

Working Out "Quiet Time" @ Growing an Olive Tree

So often I wish I could sit and soak up scripture all day long, but the needs of living in this present age persist. My Mary heart has to turn to necessary Martha work.

I can't sit and read the bible all day, or lay on my face bathing in the Spirit under the fragrant sound of worship music like I could when I was single, or married without a child. Even the discipline of getting up and starting my day in with bible reading has become more of a memory than a reality as little hands paw all over me the minute the sun rises, "Can we get up, Ima? The sun's up now. I want cereal and cow's milk."

When Right Now is Just Right @ Redemption's Beauty

Two questions to define someone, three if you answer married. What kind of work do you do? Are you married? What does your spouse do for employment? That’s it.

There isn’t a steeple overhead and we’re not sitting on pews but I’m seeing a picture of His church. A gathering of His beloved: the broken, the discarded, and the destitute in need of a Savior. I don’t have a pulpit but I want to get up and tell them that they aren’t defined by a number, a job description, an illness, an injury or a marital status.

And neither are you. Like Esther, you are more, so much more.

Beautifully ordinary

2013-03-01T23:41:00.000-08:00

Baby girl was sick this week, skin hot with fever as she lay in my arms.

It hurts a mother's heart to see her baby that way. My usually cheerful baby was a burning snotty drooling mess who wanted only to be held, always held, and there was little other comfort I could give her so I did. For two days I held her, carried her, laid with her, listened to her breathe, watching and waiting for that fever to break. During the day she was in my arms. At night she slept on my chest. There were stretches of inconsolable crying (hers) and far too little sleep (mine). It felt like those early weeks again - they seem so long ago now - when the rest of the world faded away for a while. Just us, skin to warm skin.

It was a unexpected rest for us, waiting for her to feel better. The boys were quieter. We stayed in, drew pictures, read so very many good books. I made meals but most other things were left quietly aside as I sat in my Christmas-present-to-myself chair, rocking my fever-warmed baby as she dozed on and off. I rocked and prayed, rocked and prayed, arms full and little else I could do. It was good to rest, in a way.

Sometimes I feel that way about nursing my little ones. Too often we give birth and then feel the pressure, whether internal or external, to get back on our feet - dishes, laundry, everything else - without giving our bodies the rest they need. But no one else in this house can breastfeed my baby. That's all me, love. She cries and I sit, put my feet up, graze her forehead with my kisses as she suckles. Rest. She demands it of me and I can only comply.

And yet still there are moments when I balk at the task. My body wants to curl in on itself, be alone and untouched for some small span of time that somehow never feels quite long enough, and then I feel ashamed. I should be grateful. I am grateful. So much so that some days bring tears to my eyes just watching them - just watching them! - because how could I have all of this, all of them? But there it is: some days I just don't want to be touched.

So it was during day three, fever faded but her desire to be held not diminished in the least. Just sleep! Just go to sleep! Let me put you down! And there again, that same shame at my selfishness in the face of her need. They are refining fire, the three of them, revealing and then burning away the impurities within me. I only wish it wasn't such a very (life)long process.

I stepped back, accepted what was, and we rested for another day.

She slowly regained her cheerful disposition along with her energy. I used the last of mine to wash blankets, bedding, and pillows, and then it was my turn to recover, slipping in naps when I could and keeping meals simple. Funny how only a small handful of days can stretch so long, but at last things feel ordinary around here again. The boys run and the baby squirms and then we contract, exhale, quiet, before expanding again, in and out, in and out, our little daily rhythms.

Ordinary feels so very beautifully good today.