this beautiful struggle

sharing the platform

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 12:21:00 +0000

If I had about 40 extra hours in my day with childcare provided, I would not be short on ways to spend my time. My mental list includes a bit more sewing, reading and - to be honest - Bible study. Not in the Kay Arther kind of way, though I'm sure that's fine. But I just have a lot of questions that I'd love to spend time looking at. Such as, you say?

One of them is how geography works within the greater Story. Any good literature teacher will tell you that "setting" is a key component to story (and as I write that, I'm prone to wonder what Don Miller would chime in as well). It's an element often not discussed when we dig out a passage, but one I think that if pondered, would give the Bible a bit more colour (see the Brittish spelling? That's in honour of Adele. I dreamt in her accent after watching the pre-Grammy special on her).

For example, Egypt and Assyria. They take on almost human properties - both ladies, I believe - who appear in Israel's growth process. Egypt is the land of escape and bondage. There seems to be a tendency that when life is difficult in Israel - like, say, a famine - Egypt always has what's needed to survive. There's a real shine to what she has going on. Like baby weight is never an issue and she wears hoop earrings to the grocery store. "Come on over," she prrrrs, "I'll show you how it's done."

But Israel always looses herself there. The shine and sparkle lead to entrapment. She becomes a slave to it all and looses her freedom to decide. Israel eventually ends up on Dr. Phil, where God confronts her and says, "You have the power to decide on your next tomorrow." And with the boost, she finally escapes to freedom again, after a makover in the Red Sea.

Then there's Assyria. She shows up a bit more in the Prophets, which would be my first land of more study if the extra hours really did show up. But when Assyria makes her presence known, it's typically because Israel got all huffy about God and decided to do things on her own. Like a teenager who keeps coming home after curfew, despite numerous warnings from parents that a) you should obey and b) it's not a wise idea because nothing good happens after 11, she suddenly finds herself in jail after a night of joyriding. And Assyria is the one who puts her under lock-and-key. Assyria also takes on that arch nemesis feel, boasting about how now that Israel is doing time, Assyria will go and steal her boyfriend. (Yes, this analogy is veering dangerously close to The Young and the Restless). Finally, after enough tears and letters, God arrives, pays the bail, and Israel gets to go home, but her head hangs a little low, her swagger a little muted.

These characters of Egypt and Assyria simply play the role that God put them in. No more that we can blame Edward Norton for taking on creepy-guy roles like in Fear, can we blame these characters for guiding the story of Israel. But in general, the attitude toward these folks is one of disgust. Because they've not really been alleys in the past, they don't make the Israel's friend list. So it goes for those who build in our sanctification rather than our confidence boosting.

But hidden away in the prophet Isaiah (20:24-45), we read: On that Day, Israel will take its place alongside Egypt and Assyria, sharing the blessing from the center. God-of-the-Angel-Armies, who blessed Israel, will generously bless them all: "Blessed be Egypt, my people! ... Blessed by Assyria, work of my hands! ... Blessed be Israel, my heritage!"

In the day we seem to be leaning toward, God's going to share with the characters who haven't always rubbed us the right way. When we arrive, we won't be alone on the podium. Those competitors who were racing alongside, perhaps even taunting us or trash talking along the way, will get to share in our glory.

Jesus spoke so much about "love your enemy" and it's one of those tough mandates that we enjoy more in theory than in practice. I think the tendency is to leave it other-worldly. Like when someone cuts you off in traffic and, from the safety of your own car, you just "let" them go first. But the tough stuff of loving people who rub you the wrong way, or simply don't help you when you find yourself in a jam, those are the enemies that often don't get love. We might be able to rustle up some apathy, but love?

But if we can't love them now, what makes us think we'll do any better when we share space with them in heaven? God doesn't just rid of us challenges in the celestial world. Heaven is seeming more to me as the place where we've finally "arrived." Today is another day that we're journeying toward What Is To Come. And Jesus made it clear that today is another day that we can live in the ways he's shown us. It's time to let go of the fact that "that guy" or "She" has done something less than edifying to you and realize that they will share the kingdom as well. How will you love them for it?

the plague of profitibility

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 19:19:00 +0000

My chiro may have just ruined me in a glorious, freeing way. I've not been ruined so beautifully since Jesus and I had a heart-to-heart back in 2000. I'm not saying my chiro is Jesus; however, my journey into faith mirrors my recent steps away from mainstream thought. It was a conversation here, an event there. Suddenly the scales fell from my eyes and it wasn't just how I felt, it's how I see the world. It's both joyfully freeing while at the same time saddening. You want to run through the streets expelling such wonderful news, but not be that pushy-pushy neighbor that won't shut up about how she's been healed.

So, to what have I converted? Am I a member of a subgroup of sorts, like vegetarians or Episcopalians? Not really. No, rather than having membership in some new body of people, I'd rather identify what I see and believe about my healthcare options. Which can basically be summarized as: I'm tired of being a consumer of "healthy things" instead of living a healthy lifestyle. And our current system is set up for consumption, not change. (Again with the direct mirrors in the spiritual world).
Everybody wants to be healthy; I'm sure there's a rare person out there that truly cares nothing about it, but on the whole everyone wants to live without pain, for as long as they can. However, rarely do we want to do the work of change. I've said before that there are 2 levels of change: wanting to change, and wanting to do the things that bring about change. The first is easy. The second can be excruciating. Instead, we want our productive culture to produce something that will do the work for us. We'll buy food packaged with promises to lower cholesterol or increase metabolism. When that doesn't work, we head to the professionals and let them write a script for the heavy-duty version.
But my friends - and this has been my biggest revelation - healthiness is more than what we buy. Believe me, I'm plenty aware that there's a whole health food racket out there willing to sell us the organic version of the same stuff that got us in this mess. But that's the American way. If something can make us better, then it simply must be packaged and sold for profit, right?
In this journey with Baby C and her sensitive systems, our buying habits have changed for sure. I'm hoping Panera will forgive me someday and maybe even reconcile on a more limited basis. But healthy living doesn't depend on a product or a manufacturer. We must depend on a variety of sources to keep us going. Just like buying Addidas doesn't do the workout for us, putting "all natural" or "reduced fat" in the cart won't keep us thin or healthy.
I'm not pointing fingers. Doctors don't go into their line of work to become pill dispensers - they're put in that role because it's what the market economy asks them to do. On the one hand, I'm saddened that I can't expect to take my daughter into her PCP and s/he ask, "well, let's see what we change by changing her/your diet or environment." Instead, the script pad comes out for Nystatin. On the other hand, how many of his/her patients are coming in and asking to be put on an extremely limited diet without things like donuts and muffins, as an attempt to get rid of a rash? No, our system is one of consumption because we don't come to get healthy, we come to buy a product that will fix us.
This new lifestyle of eating has been a lot of work. A lot. So when I raise my flags, the cries of "who has time to do this?" is a fair question. People opt for quick and easy because that's the preference of how they'd like to spend their time. And that's fine. If people want to take a pill instead grind nuts for flour, this beautiful land called America is the place to be. I'm just saying that I've decided to opt out of that.
I believe there are other ways of life, and in my (limited!) experience, they're more effective. We know the effectiveness of drugs because the drug companies have lots of money to do studies to prove to you how effective they are. We know that Cheerios "reduce cholesterol" (I have no idea why I seem to be picking on cholesterol reduction. I've never had a battle with it and the word is impossible to spell correctly on the first try) because General Mills has the cash to run a study on it and then the marketing team to tell us about it. Do we know the effectiveness of nuts and broccoli? Nope. Raw food producers probably have enough of a task at hand keeping prices low enough to warrant buying fresh without adding in a marketing budget. They're stuck with a prayer that time-honored knowledge, broccoli is good for you, will do the trick.
My journalism professor for news writing used to tell us to "follow the money trail". It's advice that extends beyond the newsroom. If you follow the money, you begin to learn the hows and whys. Most decisions have an economical drive, which is why our food has changed in the past 100 years. And it's not a new idea that money rules. So these powers-that-be have their hands in government decisions, such as recommending how much or what we, or our babies eat.
So a lot of the steps I'm taking now are unconventional. Weird. But that's because no one has come up with a way to package and sell it. But don't you worry - someone will. And it won't be pure. It'll be the same song, different tune.
When I started to read up and fall in line (to some extent) the emergent church movement, people asked what was different. Many made adaptations, but it was the same thing, with candles. That's not emerging. The change wasn't in what was purchased or structured, but in how the world was viewed. A stream came out of that movement that had branding and structure and raised financial support. Gone was the sense of emergence; it was just... the newest fad.
I think the same will go for efforts at living healthy. Someone will put a logo on it and try to make a profit. That's when your buzzer should go off. Not that I won't buy the product or take part in the service. But rather, my hope is that I won't blindly believe it will fix everything.
Just like a one-time prayer and attendance on Sunday won't fix my spiritual life, switching brands won't increase my life expectancy. But rather it's the constant efforts - even the failures - that bring us a step closer to the goal. It's leaving behind a way of life that, quite simply, wasn't working.
So, onward we go. Hopefully with a healed-up system that allows us to enjoy the best the world has to offer. At least, that's what the package said.

petition 3:14am

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 12:03:00 +0000

We, the parents of infants and toddlers, do hereby petition you, God, as creator of Earth and director of the "way things are", for more sleep on behalf of parental units.

The required patience for 3-year-olds who dilly-dally before going to bed seems to be a baseline standard. And a pre-requisite of infant feedings through, oh, 4-6 months, has been deemed excusable.

But 3 hours of subsequent crying-quiet-crying-quiet?

Wakings every 2 hours?

Perhaps we should appeal to the wisdom of Mother Mary, who knows our plight. Then again, she was probably a co-sleeper and will pull some "I slept in a barn, so as you climb back onto your Serta you can just get over it" card.

So we will resort to reason: if being asked to lovingly redirect our children instead of dragging them upside down in an effort to get out the door in the morning, please provide a standard of 5-6 subsequent, uninterrupted hours of slumber. When cleaning messes, doing 800 loads of laundry and picking up toys that have 512 pieces is part of the standard job description, we feel that REM provisions would be adequate.

And if you could hold off on the sinus infections until we're sleeping through the night, that would go a long way to show a bit of good will.

caring for the 97%

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 01:00:00 +0000

(This post began last night, 2/1, after a FB update defending PP... now, nearly 24 hours later, SGK has reversed a decision to de-fund Planned Parenthood, thus enraging nearly anybody with a moderate opinion on abortion. A guest post is in the works on "Why I Won't Buy Pink" - and now that I publicized it, it'll materialize, right? - but these thoughts are less on Komen and more about the PP controversy).

A friend posted a FB status in support of Planned Parenthood, emphasizing the numerous woman's health issues that it serves; PP gets its legacy as an abortion factory, but according to it's own information, 3% of services gear toward the Big Divider.

(I found this on a Moveon.org link, but it states the source came from PP directly. Take that for whatever you're going to believe anyway). So, because PP includes as 3% something a large group of people don't like, funding has been cut (and then reinstated?) that will hurt the other 97%. (I have since been directed to this post which rearranges the numbers a little to a different direction).

So, I decided to get nosey. I was on the PP site looking at the abortion information, and the service is not available at every PP clinic (though referrals are available at nearly all). I did a little zipcode search to see how close this was happening to my home. It turns out that not a single PP clinic in a 60 mile radius of my home - including metro Dayton, Cinci and Columbus - offers the procedure, only a referral for who could do it if someone was seeking it out. Does a referral mean an abortion will or won't happen? Neither. It simply means that the PP clinics around me offer similar services as a doctor's office but at a fraction of the price for people who cannot afford them or are without insurance.

I can be numbered in the people who have used similar services; though I went to a "family planning" and not "Planned Parenthood" - which simply means I was using more of your tax dollars as it's source of funding - but it was a needed solution when one grows up on a fastically horrible insurance plan that does not cover contraceptives (and let it be known that numerous young women find themselves seeking solutions to woman's problems that don't involve sexual activity. It's an overstated assumption that, to be honest, furthers the divide in many ways that are too many to name for this already lengthy parenthesis). All this to say, I can't believe PP came into being to become a source for abortions, but rather to fill a gap in terms of need in women's healthcare. Abortion came with it and PP decided to make it an offering.

People don't like abortion. I get it. I'm not a fan either (though I have come to wrestle with the idea of the government forcing me to give birth). But being pro-life or pro-choice (because very few people are "pro-abortion") does little to solve problems. I will shout it until I'm blue in the face: we're talking about an effect, not a cause, of evil and fallenness in the world.

I met my friend A today. She's avidly against abortion. You know what she's doing about it? She and her husband have prayerfully decided to take in one of these babies and raise it as their own. Her dream is to grow an agency that will make such a generous giving of a couple's home and family more affordable with a smoother navigation through the system. She's not all talk. She's walk. In another month, that voice she's been advocating for will call out to her in the middle of the night for a feeding. She won't have time to write snarky FB status updates because she's got Pampers to change.

I'm tired of all the shouting about issues (ha! funny coming from this captain of the flag wavers!). I'm tired of the putting others on the defensive. If pro-lifers care about the baby, then raise it. If pro-choicers care about the woman, than bring her in, join her into your family so that you can stop the cycle. Or what about those babies who were born to mothers who chose life, only to find that they weren't physically, emotionally or financially able to care for the little one? Jump into the foster system and care for those beating hearts. If you feel PP doesn't do enough to promote adoption as an option as opposed to abortion, then begin a movement of planting adoption consultants in a PP. How about instead of making enemies we join forces? We may not agree to one another's entire agenda, but we ask our representatives to "cross party lines" all the time. Maybe the pot needs to give the kettle a call.

All of this sound like too much? Then it's high time to discover that we're not just ankle-deep in thought; we're wading - swimming - in questions and concerns, not about politics but about people. And for those of us who want to "love God and love people" we've got a grand space of opportunity in front of us.

lunchtime statuses

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 17:37:00 +0000

I couldn't fit them into one status update.

a) I had no idea how badly I'd need this massage when I scheduled it this morning - the headache continues to worsen. ouch!

b) got in another jog around the neighborhood. and here I thought i hated winter running.

c) a few years ago I asked God to grow in me some form of empathy. I must've made progress, because I'm sad on behalf of several special people who are missing someone dearly.

d) "being able to put the binky in her mouth by herself" has to be one of my top 2 favorite milestones.

e) any ideas on how to use red, orange and yellow peppers on the grill without stuffing them with meat or grains?

knowledge of the holy

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 12:08:00 +0000

The lion and the lamb... the calf and lion. The cow and bear will graze the same pasture... a little child will tend them. This morning I read the famous Isaiah piece that speaks of the day when Jesus' kingdom comes.

It's a beautiful picture of peace, the Shalom idea of wholeness, how it should be.

And at the end: Neither animal nor human will hurt or kill on my holy mountain. The whole earth will be brimming with knowing God-alive, a living knowledge of God, ocean-deep, ocean-wide.

So often we focus on the part we want - peace - and miss the power behind it. When we cease to live in fear, it will be because those we share space with will be brimming of knowledge of God-alive. Once you see that everything was made by and for God, you treat it differently. It's no longer a person to battle, an obstacle to overcome. It's another piece of God's kingdom, blessed in the same way you are. In that day, we'll stop creating enemies.

"But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard - things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely." (Galatians 5:22-23, emphasis mine).

a new (spinach) leaf

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 19:32:00 +0000

I'd like to introduce you to my newest child. Baby C the 2nd. She looks a lot like the Original Baby C, but she isn't as needy. Her buns don't have a flaming red rash that has her perpetually scratching. She sleeps.

How did I go about trading in my former baby for a newer model? Simple. I gave up the grain. Well, and the dairy, but short of a shot in my coffee I don't do much of the white stuff. So it's mostly grain. Good bye, bread. So long, pasta. Farewell, sandwiches. Auf wiedersehen, my favorite breakfast carbs - the waffle, the buttermilk pancake, the english muffin and the blueberry muffin. And my beloved tortilla chips? I hope we reconnect again soon. I miss your crispity crunch in my Chipotle already (yes, Chipotle seems to be the only place I can find that will cook food for me and keep me within my constraints, and even then I need to avoid the rice).

After we found out the little munchkin was allergic to 50% of the foods we'd introduced -banana - I decided that between that and perpetual eczema she has quite a sensitive little system. Thanks to my sister, The Researcher, I was introduced to the GAPS diet and the thinking behind Gut and Psychology Syndrome. The long and short of it: when our immune systems are compromised, they recognize normal, healthy substances - like food - as foreign bodies and chase them off via allergic reactions. Per the doctor who developed this thinking, it can manifest itself in many ways, almost all of which begin with the letter A. So she developed a diet that helps to "heal the gut" so one can fully digest all the beauty of food the world has to offer. It restricts a lot of carbish food, along with refined sugars and dairy, and puts an emphasis on veggies, whole meats, and fermentation - the healthy bacteria that live in our tummies that help us to digest.

I wish I could say that the change has been easy. It's not. I love food. LOVE food. (And this little project has shown me that where my treasure is...). And my affinity for a crusty bread dipped in cream cheese was pretty much the last thread that kept me attached to Mainstream. My BC girls are going to cut me off soon. But it had to be tried. Much to my slight disappointment, it worked. C has been rash-free and happy for nearly 2 weeks, save the outbreak the other night after I hate a few crabcakes laden with breadcrumbs **shaking fist at the sky**.

So, I prevail onward, yogurt smoothie in hand, toward the land of Almond Flour. Yes, I tried it in the brownies the other night and it came out delightfully fudgy. I could have probably ground the almonds a bit more finely, but overall it was a good development. Again, the book club girls are gathering a napkin. But it's the least I could do for a happy baby and perhaps an hour of sleep. As I lamented the loss of soft, floury goodness to my friend AZ, she reminded me that it's less about giving up my love of food and more about giving C the opportunity to love food as much as I do. That helps put it into a bit more perspective. Though it doesn't cure the hostile feelings I have toward Panera when I drive by each time I head into town.

pre-7am status updates

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 12:45:00 +0000

All of this, before work even started....

1. What does it take to keep a boy in bed until 7?

2. It's clearly a day that I hope none of the other parents are at drop off when I am.

3. God, give me patience with what you've already given me; give me passion to pursue what you've laid out in front of me.

4. People who are scared of a fish oil supplement haven't tried Carlson's (Lemon flavor) in their OJ. It's like Trix cereal. In your glass. That's good for you and not made of 70% sugar.

5. Goals for the day: a work out and attending crunchy girl night.

in what state is your union?

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 03:07:00 +0000

My thoughts, in no particular order.

1. If you're going to be behind the man behind the microphone, don't text. Nothing is THAT important. Seriously, dude. Stop texting.

2. The President is a master orator. I'm convinced I agree with him on more than what I probably actually agree with him.

3. What does it take to get invited to the State of the Union? A husband who died and 2 folk who lost their job. Blessed are those who....

4. Ohio legislators have some high responsibility. Take your local voting responsibilities seriously.

5. I'm not sure we need more/new roads. Unless you make I-75 into 3 lanes from Troy to Toledo. That's totally worth the tax money.

6. I'm not sure the guy can do jokes. The spilled milk joke was just bad. Even his wife thought so. I could hear her... "oh, honey, you said you'd take that part out."

7. Do the camera men have a copy of the speech ahead of time? They seem to have the closeups with cover graphics at the ready just when the President is talking about it. How many people get an advanced copy?

8. And now that we're on to foreign policy, I'm gong to bed.

so that's what that was

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 01:13:00 +0000

I just read Richard Foster's chapter on the Prayer of the Forsaken.

So. That's what that was.

Those 3 years of quiet. Of wondering if I'd lost my mind or my faith or my direction. The prayers of concern that what I'd felt and known and took confidence in passed as a fancy, the product of a price paid to the local traveling salesman.

The disgust and cynicism toward others who love the God I love, but at the moment heard from him and had interaction. Frustration when given simple answers to "have faith" and "God is good, all the time". Those mantras didn't fit with my experience.

Then there was the phase of self-blame. It's my fault. I don't read the Bible enough. I used to get up and read it several days a week, devour it and find all kinds of ways it spoke truth into my life. I have journals full of thoughts and inspirations, covering the prior 8 years. For the past 3 years, the same journal had a few new pages scribbled, mostly a sermon note or a yet another attempt to get "back in the swing of things."

But still. Nothing. Crickets.

If I someone were to take my story and insert it to the Old Testament, they'd ascribe my season to The Time of Findlay. Bible writers like to assign location to events and feelings and changes; my marker is the 3 years we spent in this wonderful town. The irony of it all is that I loved my time in that place and would move back in a heartbeat. But it also holds memory of the time of the Dark Night.

You'd have thought that after the first, oh, YEAR, that I'd think back to my seminary days and recollect the "dark night of the soul" or "cloud of unknowing" and then talk myself through the process to speed it along. But it never crossed my mind once that such a period is normal, even common, in the life of faith. Instead, I just stumbled through. Hoping. And crying every time we sang the right song in church (and by "right song" I mean the third one of the set. Any of them could do it.)

But as I begin to arise out of the pit - to hit my quota of Biblical imagery and language - I must give kudos to practices that often get a bad reputation in Christian circles - the art and act of rote practice.

Often in the name of authenticity we honor the experience and the feeling that accompanies faith to the expense of the practice. During Lent we're encouraged that if nothing strikes us, then to not necessarily give something up for the sake of doing it. We should be "spirit led." Mindless practice takes on a reputation of evil, the antithesis of "saved by grace."

We may be saved by grace, but we are grown and strengthened through practice.

Throughout the past several years the only thing I could do was, as Jen Hatmaker puts it, the next best thing. Sometimes that was simply rolling out of bed at 8 on a Sunday morning and making an appearance. To sing the words and hope they were true. To wait.

Foster puts it: What we learned to do in the light of God's love, we also do in the dark of God's absence. We ask and continue to ask even though there is no answer. We seek and continue to seek even though we do not find. We knock and continue to knock even though the door remains shut. It is this constant, longing love that produces a firmness of life orientation within us.

My daughter loves to sing and dance. She'll sing and sing and sometimes I listen. Sometimes I don't speak or move because I want continue to hear that voice. I know that if I jump into the picture, the moment would be over. But the song wouldn't be complete.

"...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 5:6)

in the small things

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 01:11:00 +0000

Sometimes you just need to celebrate the small joys.

1. My new kitchen sink faucet. It's tall and slender. It has a pull-down sprayer (though I'm still a bit apprehensive based on FB reviews, but I've just decided to enjoy it while I can).

2. The cause of the new facet: my RO filter is installed. Ah, clean water

3. The ham that was in our garage fridge since CHRISTMAS is now gone. Yes, Christmas. There was a bit of case-getting-on in order to see it finally make its way to the trash (as I refused to open the door to the said refrigerator until it was taken care of). At one point I reduced myself to sarcastic teasing. "I'm sure glad that the trash doesn't smell like rotten ham instead of the refrigerator where we sometimes keep food with our beer."

4. Every clean garment in the house is folded. Not put away, but folded (as opposed to piled into a basket at the end of my couch). And the only laundry on my laundry room floor are sheets/blankets, which I categorize as "as you're able" type laundry. Non-essential. Like infant-vs.-believer baptism. As long as it gets done sometime.

5. Penn Station Club - 8 inches of sheer happiness (yes, 8. But I give 2 to a kid. Don't judge me). It offered an especially tasty flavor as it was my "last supper" before embarking on a bit of a cleanup diet for the next little while. More on that later.

the kids still live here

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 20:21:00 +0000

It's been a while since I've documented childhood progress. It's currently nap time, so here we go. In no particular order...

M-Girl, 21 months

Chatter, chatter, chatter, repeat, repeat, repeat. The girl is full of not just words, but phrases and sentences. And we're moving past the parrot stage into her forming her own thoughts and words. It's amazing to watch her, especially with H boy.
The potty has little luster right now, though we love the undies and she frequently asks to put them on. We've moved into bribe stage, which has caught her attention.
The crib rail came down this week so she's officially in the Big Girl Bed. After sleeping in one at the lake last weekend we decided Mommy and Daddy should stop being lazy and get it done. She likes it and we haven't had any incidences of her sneaking out. She's fallen out once, but she climbed right back up. I'm not overly excited about this because as soon as we have her out of the crib, Husband is going to want to fill it again.
She loves her baby dolls; every nap and bedtime she puts them to bed (they lay on their bellies, covered up) and she'll give them a kiss..."lub you!"
Puzzles and other activities are also fun; she likes to line things up and is getting into that engineer stage.
She eats about anything we put in front of her and the proof is her Buddha Belly. Adorable. I tell her to go ahead and wear those leggings. Rock it, girl.
Speaking of rocking it... shoes. She loves her some shoes. She always has at least one of them on.

Baby C - 6 months

I can't believe what a big girl she's becoming. She's sitting up by herself 90% of the time and enjoys being on the floor with the kids.
We started real foods last week with sweet potato; we added in banana but after a weekend of decreasing sleep and increased spit up, we discovered she was allergic/doesn't tolerate the #1 fruit consumed by this household.
A sensitive girl, this one. See above about bananas. We've also been fighting eczema since November. Her little buns are finally cleared up, with an occasional flare up, but the rolls in her neck are just breeding grounds and I can't seem to rid her of the ring. We finally got the right product offering from Meijer, some sort of super-sensitive, petroleum- paraben- all that other bad stuff - free lotion and a paste as thick as glue. Even her scalp is sometimes itchy. Poor girl.
Pat me on the back next time you see me - we've maintained a good use of the cloth diapers. She got 3 new ones in her stocking for Christmas and I think with one more set we'll be able to have a good flow of clean diapers at all times. Next goal: mastering the cloth for overnight.
I think some teeth could be on the horizon as well. Everything is going right to the mouth and lil Sophie the Giraffe has become a BFF.
After just cresting the 6 month mark, we quickly moved into 9 month clothes. Granted, some of these have been through 3 girls prior, so lots of washing involved, but she's still a hefty weight for her age. You'd think she'd be sleeping through the night a bit better...

H-Boy - 3 years

He's not just a chatterbox, but an up-and-coming lawyer, the way he likes to negotiate and differ in opinion.
The boy is doing better with his manners; we've settled into the routine of asking to be excused from dinner and taking our plate to the sink to help with chores. He's regularly saying please, thank you and sorry, which I'm thrilled is part of his habit.
His love for his baby sister has not diminished. If anything, it's grown. If the baby is nursing, he insists upon sitting on the arm of the chair. He's always talking to her and using his baby voice to do so. This poor girl will never date.
Though we've always limited his time in front of the screen, he loves TV. (I'll blame the sitter). Recently he's become fond of Frosty the Snowman as an evening treat. M echos the request for "rosty noman" but then bails after a few minutes.
He's doing a bit more picking on his sister like the typical big brother; I'll catch him at times taking toys from M and running away. And then she does it back to him.
The biggest hit of Christmas was the train Grandma Cella got him. It doesn't so much work with the track, but Daddy figured out how to make it run on the kitchen floor.
He's eating about anything - not real finicky about anything in particular, it just depends on the day. If you ask him, his favorite food is lasagna, which I'm confident means my creamy chicken lasagna because I haven't made a good meat lasagna since October 9, 2009.
He knows the number 7 because that is what must be on the front of his clock in order to come downstairs in the morning. When he counts, it's usually: 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11. I have no idea where 4 and 7 went.
He knows M and W (and M mostly because it's so similar to W). I'm not sure why the W stuck. I think there's a few other letters in there, too, but the W is his favorite to pick out.
He's still a bookworm and will even read to Molly now - especially the books he knows by heart: Brown Bear, Brown Bear, Hop on Pop, and even some Green Eggs and Ham.

Husband and I are started to get settled in. He's got a few teacher friends that he'll visit on the weekends; I have a former-student-turned-friend that goes with me for fro-yo in sub-freezing temps or coffee. I had lunch with someone from work (she lives in town but is remote as well), so chalk up another tally for leaving the house dressed. We're trying out a new church and have thus far enjoyed it. We're going to meet with the pastor next week to hear a bit more about what the church is doing and where it's going. I'm curious if most pastors get random emails from people who have visited twice, asking them to come over and share about the vision of the ministry. I'm not sure I ever heard of it when I worked for one. But you're all aware the beat of our drummer is usually leads us to clap on the one and three.

So, that's it from the homefront. Who wants to jot this down in the baby books?

the window or the mirror

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 14:00:00 +0000

I've never been much into the Prophets. I took a fantastic class on it in seminary and I was completely blown away by the depth and the practical implications of these faithful people. However, I took the class online and completely missed the beautiful content that the lectures held. It's hands-down my biggest regret of seminary.

But lately I've been reading the most major of the majors - Isaiah.

Understanding the prophets is sometimes a challenge because there's always a historical context to consider. Before jumping to the here & now, we have to get a grip on the there-and-then. And the best I know is that this was a tumultuous time of good and bad kings, a split kingdom and frequent invasions by neighboring peoples.

So I find this word interesting (do me a favor and set aside the obvious Christ references for a moment and look at the entire picture. Then return in Where's Waldo fashion to see how it all fits together. Sometimes all those trees get in the way of that beautiful forest). Two nearby kings loom in the distance, threatening an invasion. Isaiah goes to King Ahaz to tell him not to fret; Ahaz tells God "I'd never make demands on God" and Isaiah gets a bit huffy about such a statement, following with:

So Isaiah told him, "Then listen to this, government of David! It's bad enough that you make people tired with your pious, timid hypocrisies, but now you're making God tired. So the Master is going to give you a sign anyway. Watch for this: A girl who is presently a virgin will get pregnant. She'll bear a son and name him Immanuel (God-With-Us). By the time the child is twelve years old, able to make moral decisions, the threat of war will be over. Relax, those two kings that have you so worried will be out of the picture. But also be warned: God will bring on you and your people and your government a judgment worse than anything since the time the kingdom split, when Ephraim left Judah. The king of Assyria is coming!" (Isaiah 7:13-17, emphasis mine).

While sometimes the fear of what *could* be coming immobilizes us, we walk around blind to our own bleeding, self-inflicted wounds. Essentially God warns Ahaz, you have nothing to fear from these nobody kings. But your hypocrisies are another story. And because of that, I'm getting a bit tired.

It's not what these other guys are doing that you need to be scared of.

But the way your own kingdom lives - that should instill a little fear.

So often we look to the distance and allow ourselves to worry and fret over the ways in which our fortress may be insecure. God, save us from.... them.

But we don't need saved from them.

I need saved from me.

If left to my own devices, I would simply self-destruct. But God offers a way.

She'll bear a son and name him God-with-Us.

"I still have many things to tell you, but you can't handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. He won't draw attention to himself, but will make sense out of what is about to happen and, indeed, out of all that I have done and said. He will honor me; he will take from me and deliver it to you." -Jesus (John 16:12-15)

It's not what is in front of us, it's what lies within us.

It's not who, but Whose.

fake it 'til you make it

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 12:06:00 +0000

For a jr. high boy, standing and reading scripture in front of a room full of adults and peers is sheer torture. Let alone when the pastor chooses an Old Testament passage filled with names ending with "iah" or foreign peoples ending with "ucites." So my hint for the kids used to be: fake confidence. Say it like you mean it! (fist raised!) Then everyone in the audience doesn't say, "it's Jeb-UUU-site, dummy" but rather, "Oh, THAT'S how you say it." Just watch. When some kid follows through on this, the adults nod in agreement. That's right, kid.

Little did I know, I was offering as advice what is commonly practiced as religion.

In Isaiah 2 today, I read that a day is coming when "He'll show us the way he works so we can live the way we're made." (v. 4-5ish. The Message has no clear markings)

On the contrary, people are prone to "make their own gods and worship what they make." (v 9)

How often, when we don't know what is true or right or good, we simply make it up and declare it as God's.

it's time

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 01:22:00 +0000

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens.

There is a time for sleep

And a time for Ferberizing

A time for staying out past 7

And a time for becoming Family Video's best customers

A time for fashion

And a time for sweatpants

There is a time to drive an Accord

And a time for the minivan

A time of being heard

And a time of repeating yourself. Repeatedly.

There is a time for cleanliness

And a time for poop.

Everywhere, the poop.

There is a time for a quiet house

And a time for giggles to fill the halls.

A time for kisses and snuggles, a time for holding hands across the street.

[God] has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

(A personal take on Ecclessiastes 3)

the quarterback gospel

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 12:26:00 +0000

I said I had thoughts. It turns out I had more, and they struck at 4am (the "benefit" of a newborn feeding schedule).

I like Timmy Tebow. He seems to be honestly and unapologetically who he is. That he takes time to thank his maker for giving a good arm is nice. Remaining on the straight and narrow in a culture such as the NFL is admirable. But my biggest reason for liking him lies in his unique place as a non-traditional quarterback. I asked Husband why Tebow was garnering such press and he said it was because Tebow didn't fit the mold. He played a form and function that traditionally doesn't work for the pros. But here he is, winning games. As a Tweet put it, "He's the best worst qb in the NFL." I love an outside-the-box anything.

But last night I saw multiple references to good vs. evil, virgins vs. rapists and all the sorts in the game against Pittsburgh. Most references were from Jesus-loving, Tebow-flag wearing folk. And thus is why we can't worship Tebow. Because the Gospel is in Ben.

Ben grew up a product of the church, similar to Tebow. His parents love Jesus and have served Him well. But when the world was his oyster, Ben stumbled and fell. His pride and self-absorption led him to hurt people. Ben forgot who he was - and Whose he was - and allowed money and power and self-gratification to be his master.

But isn't that the story of the People of God?

Aren't we always turning our backs, trying to sever the roots that hold us firm? Trading our inheritance to live it up, only to find that pigs eat better and deep down we know we must return home and face Dad?

And what happens? Dad runs and greets. He offers a place and forgiveness. But the older brother, the one that stayed and always did right? Resentment. "That son of yours." Not... "my brother."

Christians want to put Tebow in the limelight to highlight a life of faith. That's fine. Encouraging people to pray and honoring someone with strong faith roots is admirable. But I don't think that's who Jesus is rooting for. Because how I read the gospel, God seems to have more concern for Ben. We should be loving Ben. We should be encouraging him to return to the fold. Because that's the hope of Jesus - seeking the lost, not simply staying with the found. Forgiveness for wrongs, not just praising someone who does it right.

Accepting imperfection and making room for those who have messed it all up.

I heard on the radio once that Ben has done some real soul searching since the scandal broke out. He's since got married and Chris Tomlin played at the wedding (source: K-Love. Take that for what it is). His parents were a part of our church in the last town, and they were spoke of as faithful people. Dear Christian friends, please don't eliminate one of our own because his sin has been made public while yours has been concealed to the comfort of your home. Let's read a few more parables about hosting dinner and honoring guests and finding lost items before we declare that Tebow is bringing Jesus back. Because I'm watching ESPN and thinking that if Jesus does his work in Ben, there's more room for the message of redemption than in watching a guy take a knee.

timmy boy

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 02:07:00 +0000

I have opinion about Tim Tebow, but I just don't know what to say about it. So here's what I've enjoyed about him:

A quick article by Time that made me think he's just a good guy

And SNL keeps me giggling.

(BTW... reading Tina Fey's book has given me a new appreciation for comedy and the genius that goes into its writing. Thanks to her brilliance I can begin to see how comedy takes a truth and turns it on its side so as to expose a deeper reality that we perhaps don't always see. I highly recommend taking a look through her hip glasses).

define "normal"

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 15:09:00 +0000

For several consecutive summers, I dined on a lunch of bologna sandwiches (complete with miracle whip and cheese from a plastic square), Kraft Macaroni 'n Cheese (rebranded "Easy Mac" when I was in college, though I don't believe the level of difficulty for preparedness ever really changed) and Dinty Moore Beef Stew.

Take a guess what makes me puke in my mouth upon seeing the imagery in my mind?

Aside my Michael Pollen-esque thoughts on processed foods and I still find the menu inedible. Blah. If I did my research I could tell you the name of the phenomenon of finding something adverse by its abundance. Something becomes so readily available that it looses its appeal. You're fed the meal so often you begin to dislike the lunch hour.

This is a deep fear of mine for my children and Jesus.

We are the proverbial "Christian home." We make the act of going to church a regular occurrence, not an option for better living. We make a point to say our prayers before bed and to give thanks before a meal. But I don't want these things to become bologna.

Just yesterday my music selection made me think of this. Of course I turned on David Crowder because a) I love it and b) it's a good thing to feed into young minds. Probably better than the Live that husband was tuned to while fixing the sink (not that I'm a Christian music purist. I see many, many advantages to having our eyes and ears open to the world... a different post though). But I began to wonder if my zeal of Crowder might begin to foster a bit of an eye roll or near-audible groan in the future. "Mom, do we have to be a little less pretty and a lot more loud, again?" Dear child, YOU SAY THIS LIKE IT'S A BAD THING!

As parents, it's our right, responsibility and duty to be the establishers of normal in the home. If you ask me, this is the key to childrearing. All food, sleep and behavior issues become tied to how we frame "normal" in the home. In our house, we eat a variety of foods and we have to take at least one bite of everything. In our house, we ask to be excused before leaving the table. In our house we clean up before going to bed. In our house we wash our hair on Saturday nights. In our house, we go to church on Sunday and pray before a meal. In our house, we don't use words like "butt" (sub: buns) or call names. Not that any one of us tries to evade the normal on a regular basis. But there are few surprises in terms of what is expected.

So if "in our house" seeking Jesus is the norm, how do we prevent it from becoming a chore, right alongside finishing the broccoli or staying in bed until 7? The deepest parts of me wants to prevent the eye rolls when I say, "it's time to go to church!" I want so badly for the Spirit to put its claws into my children at a young age, urging them to take part in these healthy practices because they want to know Jesus, not because "in our house" we have to.

But according to reality, this probably won't be the case. Though paving a spiritual road is my duty, that doesn't mean it's guaranteed results. There are no promises or guarantees with parenting, only guiding principles. Formulas rarely have a 100% accuracy.

So perhaps I should borrow from the Jewish tradition, which holds that behavior begets emotion and heart. That by continually participating in the act of seeking, we will find. Again, it's not another guarantee. Short of brainwashing, few religious groups have found a full-proof plan. And the goal isn't right behavior, but a pure heart.

If I had to guess, such lofty goals can only be attained through modeling and prayer, not through whatever practice of "normal" I employ. Perhaps by seeing a life of seeking after Jesus - in their parents, but also in the people of the Church that surround them and support them - they'll be inclined to participate. Much like arriving at a swimming with everyone in the pool, you end up wanting to put on your suit.

So perhaps the key isn't getting the kids dressed; it's taking them to a good party. We pack up the sunscreen and the towels and hope that, in time, the kids say "I'm ready to dive in." But the chances of that happening are slim if we don't show up. And viewing a movie or a book about a pool party probably won't do the trick, either. Rather, it's showing them what it means to get wet.

courage

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 01:50:00 +0000

"... I wanted you to see something about her - I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to her views she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravest person I ever knew."

-Atticus Finch To Kill a Mockingbird

I'm doing a reread of Harper Lee's classic. The last time I picked it up, I was a freshman in high school and I loved it. Now the world looks a bit different and I love it more.

I hope that I can be as good a parent as Atticus Finch.

the list: 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 01:06:00 +0000

Perhaps #1 should be not procrastinating? I can't believe 20 hours into 2012 and I'm just getting this done. But here it is. Ways I'm going to make 2012 better than 2011.

1. Create more. If I can make something (sewing, crafting, activities outside of "play with your toys") each month, I'll feel like a supreme success.

2. Complain less. I'll be a better conversational partner because of it.

3. Serve on a regular basis. I'm not sure what this looks like, but I'm doing my research. In my hopes to engage the community, I need to be specific that it's not the community "just like me."

4. Write something beyond the blog.

5. Do a bit of physical activity 5 days a week. My downfall is when this requires changing into a bra that prevents bounce. But I just found a 30 day "challenge" (thanks Pinterest!) that provides some movement and crunching that I can squeeze in at the end of the day sans post-activity shower. A few jumping jacks and crunches are better than nothing.

6. Take more pictures.

7. Find new outlets to meet people in this community. A writers group, a running club for young girls,

Dar la Luz, kids activities (parks & rec activities, the library)... there are possibilities out there if I choose to follow through.

8. Facebook less. If I really want to know what my friends are doing, give them a call, shoot them an email asking them real questions about their life or plan an outing to meet up.

9. Get dressed more. Working from home has a way of luring me into my comfy pants. Though I don't need to go to the 9s, I could at least don pants with a zipper 3-4 times a week.

Try as I might, I can't think of a last one to round out an even list. So, I'll leave it as a wild card. Perhaps mid-year I'll toss one in.

i feel violated

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 20:16:00 +0000

Countless stories of people who've been victimized by burglary tell that it wasn't the missing stuff, but the lack of security they sensed that bothered them the most. Take the DVR, but when you make me feel unsettled in my own home, it's game on.

So goes for identity theft. I read in a (fiction) book about someone whose identity had been stolen to the point that he couldn't find a place to live or go anywhere without things falling to pieces around him. And in this digital age, I can't imagine trying to make basic purchases (thank you Amazon) without the convenience of Visa or Paypal.

So I've felt a similar sense of apprehension and anger when I started reading a book by my own Bizzaro Twin a few days ago. I've mentioned only 812 times on FB that Jen Hatmaker's book is rocking my world. Phenomenal. She challenges consumerism head-on through month long fasts of food, clothes, waste, clutter, media and stress. I could pick any of those and wave my flag high and proud. Well, except clothes, as we all know my fashionista failings. (But after reading that chapter I realize that it's got its claws in me further than I believe).

So on the one hand, I read and say silently (or - who's kidding? - aloud) YES. Amen. Preach IT. I love what is revealed through her "experimental mutiny against excess". I miss my friends living nearby because I'd bring the book over and read to them on the couch.

And there's the other hand. The hand that looks exactly like mine. Reading her words makes me feel like she stole the draft posts from my blog, did some fantastic editing, added in some Austin-speak, and published it. She's flighty and arm-waggly like me. She needs all-or-nothing to really learn the lesson like me (no whispering. all shouts). She shares my large, toothy smile. Her humor borders on sarcasm with a hint of impropriety like yours truly. At one point her husband makes reference to her "thinking she's hilarious." Ummm, hello?

So as she writes about killing houseplants and loving condiments and getting loud by laughing so much with her friends, I can't help but feel like she's invading my personal space.

And then there's the issue of calling.

She studies the Bible, writes books and speaks to women all over the country. To help her do this, she has the library the size of Kansas.

Sure, sure, Patsy Claremont has a similar vocation and she's 80 and has nothing to do with me (except I do aspire to wear leather pants and red heels at her age like she wore at WOF). But this woman, Bizarro Me aka Jen, speaks not about the historical context of the concept of Markian Priority nor the fluffy, typical woman's ministry talk of "take time for yourself... you're beautiful just like you are" material, but about the, as I like to call it, "what this looks like." That what we buy, eat and watch... how we rest, talk and play... matters. It matters to God and it matters to others.

Oh, and her life was also turned upside down by Shane Claiborne.

Except.

Except, that mine wasn't.

I read that book and was blown away. I told everyone I know and I frequently ruined dinners with Husband over my convictions.

But if you look at my life, the day-to-day, the what-I've-done-since, we start to see roads diverge.

She and her husband left their jobs and comfort and planted a church. She wrote books and spoke to women and impacted lives.

I had a few babies. I write in a blog every now and again. I get on soapboxes and declare war on Walmart and fast food. And then I go to bed.

So I greet this new year reading this Bizzaro book with dichotomous emotion. There's the half that wants to sit down and cry that someone is living my life and living it better. In my doomsday mood I see the market is saturated for overly-dramatic, slightly-strange-until-you-know-us, impassioned women who love Jesus and want to tell others about what that can mean. She's beat me to the punch and has better hair.

But then there's a part in my pinky toe that reminds me that our biggest difference is that she took steps of faith; she followed where she was led. Our similarities end and our differences begin with her putting her pen on paper and offering herself to the people of God as it's needed.

I feel like that episode of Friends when Phoebe finds her identity thief in dance class and is angered at what a great life she's leading on Phoebe's behalf and is inspired to take on a few more adventures in her life.

Don't hear a tone of belittling Jen's work through a voice of "well, I could do that."(Don't get me wrong, I've had that attitude before, but not about this woman. Her authenticity and her wise-level of transparency sets the bar extremely high. Though she calls herself an encephalitic her humility is evident and something that I'm 900% sure I wouldn't be able to maintain). But rather I feel strongly that she is serving in a phenomenal way. She's not competition but inspiration. She proves that the world needs a personality and a platform like hers - ours - because I need her message, the book I've been hungrily devouring for the past 48 hours.

If someone as normal (well, normal with a side of strange) as her can impact, inspire and ignite someone as normal (with a side of strange, plus a bit of a crunchy dessert) as me, then maybe - MAYBE - God would use someone like me to stir the heart and mind of someone else. When I've heard these comments before, I tend to brush them off as complements rather than a reminder of a calling. When bouts of boredom or a feeling of unsettledness looms - that nagging sense that I should be doing something else but I can't put my finger on exactly what or how - instead of following a leading I tend to take up a new hobby. Or a nap. Sometimes I just take a nap.

But that's what I'd like to change for 2012. I know that being in a new land with new people, a husband with a new job in a new house, driving a new baby around in a new van, all this newness for a new year is plenty enough change for a person. But perhaps my sense of "something more" isn't in response to all this change. Perhaps all this change is just breeding ground for me to discover my Something Else. Steps into a world unknown. So unknown that I can't describe it. But much like pornography and the Supreme Court, "I'll know it when I see it." (I know, great simile. But think of another, I dare you.)

But first I must jump. Away from the time eater of FB. Away from fears of failure. Deeper into the messages that become imprinted in my heart and on my mind. Into a new routine.

Thank you, Bizzaro Jen, not only for your messages about a mutiny against consumerism (and I can't wait to read about how you were Interrupted), but for showing me that someone, somewhere, needs who you are.

fair warning

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 23:48:00 +0000

For anyone out there that had a smidge of hope that I had a shred of "normal" left in me... I'm reading Jen Hatmaker's book, 7, and I'm about ready to fall out of the crazy, eccentric, "don't you think it's a bit much?" tree, hitting every branch on the way down.

Just sayin.

how'd I do?

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 01:06:00 +0000

It's time to examine the successes (or the lack thereof) in terms of my goals to make 2011 better than 2010.

1. Care less about what others think.
Hmm... this goal wasn't so SAM (specific, attainable, measurable) so, it's hard to tell. I'd say I did a few more things that could potentially drop me a notch in other's opinions, so if I had to put it on the scale, it's tipping more toward success.

2. Accept the chaos.
I'm definitely seeing wins in this column. Mostly out of necessity. I have a few habits that help me maintain some level of sanity - I do a naptime and bedtime walk of the house to make sure everything is put away. All dishes are done and the kitchen is tidy before I retire. And I'm keeping kids stuff that just sits out to a minimum. This way, each time the kids tear apart the house or begin an activity that has me thinking "this isn't going to end well", I can always remind myself that by 8pm, it will end well.

3. Better dental hygiene.
Success in terms of brushing multiple times a day. Failure in that I didn't go above and beyond. Never even saw a dentist.

4. Follow up.
Dismal. Failure.

5. Add some variety to the blog.
Eh. I tried. Maybe my life will diversify next year and this will be a natural outcome. But for now, it's just the natural ramblings. I do hope to have KLR "guest post" now and again. I think I might even have her on board with the idea.

6. Become a better wife.
I'm trying. Husband is currently at the movies (I know - solo? Yes. He loves it). And in an attempt to help him to connect to activities he loves, I got him a 6-week session at the pottery studio downtown (a hobby that owes its roots to a super high school art class, I believe).

7. Run.

Another. Dismal. Failure. But I haven't given up. With the sitter so close, I fully intend on getting into a spring groove.

8. Take more pictures.
Again with a fail.

9. Unless working, stop using technology when the kids ask it of me.

Yeah... the new iPad isn't going to help this, either.

10. Throw a good party.

Not even close.

11. Begin my morning with God.
Success! I've even arose earlier than required to meet this one.

a clean slate

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 02:30:00 +0000

One of my favorite times of year is the moment you pull out the new day planner and begin filling in the upcoming year. A wedding here, birthdays everywhere, maybe a trip or two if you're lucky... and you begin to sense what the year beholds. I love the feeling of a fresh year, free of the scratches and doodles and absentminded notes that fills the current year.

And this week is the National Week Of Looking Ahead and Resolutions/Goals in the blogosphere. How to make positive, healthy changes. Now that Christmas is over, we propel ourselves wholeheartedly into working off the holiday treats and becoming a New You for '12.

I typically enjoy this season of reflection and goal setting. I make my annual list of how to make the next year better. I examine where I fell short (and continue to lament about my inability to make a decent non-Velveeta mac 'n cheese or throw a big party). I try to put myself into the right perspective and in action-mode to greet the new calendar year.

This year, however, leaves me skidding on the breaks as we approach the big ball drop. I'm no more anxious to dive into the new year than I am for Baby C to start teething. As far as I'm concerned, Pause - or perhaps even Rewind - is my preferred mode.

As I dug the calendar out today, I noticed that for the first full week of January the only that that differentiates one day from the next, aside from the numerical marking, is what is on the dinner menu. For the entire month, there lies a singular event which will require more than the requisite energy needed to supply the Typical Day. Of the first 31 days, I have 3 that bear the marking of joyful expectations.

I started reflecting on the upcoming year. A good friend of mine will make a lifelong commitment to a wonderful man. One of my "kids" will do the same with the "girl of his dreams", as he put it his sophomore year of high school. And there's a rumor that my large extended family will attempt a mutual vacationing in the summer.

Not to take away the joy from these things, but it's not much to really prop up the year. Perhaps it's the letdown in comparison to of previous years' events - graduation from masters' programs, new jobs, new homes and new babies (this will be the second calendar year in 5 that I don't give birth!). We've settled to a sense of normalcy that I may not know how to face.

Some might think that living through the past 3 years has been a climatic struggle for our household, with so many changes and unknowns. But upon reflection I've decided that sometimes it's the storm that keeps the ship moving, and once the calm comes the captain must figure out where, indeed, we're headed. When Light Speed becomes the operating mode, downshifting to 3rd gear becomes a challenge.

I still plan on doing a List. There are specific ways that 2012 can be better than 2011, and I hope to target them to action. But this year I meet it all with a bit less zeal. I sense the prize behind Door #2 next December won't be a new car, but rather the reward of steady progress. Not the exhilaration of surprise and change, but the peace of the regular and rhythmic.

check yes or no

noreply@blogger.com (Michele) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 20:27:00 +0000

I remarked the other day to KLR how, as an adult at camp, I had very little patience or sympathy for kids with homesickness. This can be attributed to my general lack of empathy skills as well as the fact that I've never actually experienced homesickness. When my parents dropped me off at 4-H camp, I could hardly get unloaded and up the hill fast enough. At the end of the week, I lingered to say my goodbyes. I reluctantly climbed in the car (and promptly fell asleep in the back seat).

I did wrestle with a bout of adjustment when I went away to college; not so much sick for home, but struggling with the feeling of lack of identity. I'd lost my high school, small town identity and my place of connection with others; I had become one of 20,000 18-22-year-olds in a blue hoodie. Thankfully, over time - and participation with campus ministry - I found my tribe and the very women who would challenge me to never settle with surface friendships again.

And now on my daily trek home from the sitter's, it's as if I'm trudging up the Richland Avenue bridge (behind smokers walking side-by-side, nonetheless. Because for some reason I always got stuck behind smokers in a no-pass situation). I'm lost in a land without a tribe.

Building new friendships as an adult offers a new level of adversity, especially in an established community where bonds are already formed upon your arrival (as opposed to the mass attention-seeking circus that is Freshman Orientation). By the time we were seniors, my friends and I joked that we were "at capacity" for deep friendships; I have no doubt that the people around me have or do share similar sentiment. Especially when you add kids to the equation - sometimes taking on the work involved for meeting someone new and getting through the trivial "get to know you" conversations looses its appeal.

It's also hard to see who else is in the same boat. You could tell a lost freshman by the way they looked both ways on Union. But by adulthood, we all know where to find the produce aisle in Kroger, which is the only social outing I seem to find myself these days. And those centerpoint areas of meeting - work, school and church - haven't been effective for a work-from-home, parent of younger than pre-K kids. The church we've been attending, while offering very enjoyable 1.25 hours each Sunday morning, is too big for us. Husband has always hated how, no matter what church I'm in - visiting or part of the establishment - I'm the last one out the door. But I've not been last out a single time in the past 6 months. I see that as a clue that it's not for us.*

Add to the list of complications the personality of yours truly. I'm simply complicated. Okay, okay. Weird. I've become a bit more non-traditional in my views about everything. And not in the cool hipster way that's underground and slick, but in that weird, eyebrow furrowing way** that at the end of the conversation you wonder to yourself, "Does she still believe in soap?"*** And thus - much like in seminary - people don't realize I'm hilarious. Even my Friends in Another Town have asked me to rethink my desire to join a group of friends who didn't like my unlabeled canned goods White Elephant gift. Seriously, folks. You can't contain the comedy in this average-sized, post-partum frame.

And so we arrive at Destination Bored. Life isn't bad, things aren't tumultuous. But I'm a social creature and when when deprived of my drug I tend to lash out, leaving my poor husband (and the only adult I speak with in a given week) without defense. And I simply am unsure of the steps I need to take in order to bring change to the situation. And, (though I do thank you for the suggestions) most of my options include taking my kids somewhere during nap/bedtime, which would further complicate my life in the form of tantrums and tears. Kind of a non-option for me. I need some sort of Friend Delivery service that arrives at my door during naps, so that we can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee (or if the mood is right, Kahlua) and complain about health care, talk about nothingness that matters and solve the problems of the world. Perhaps I need to work on such an organization. I could make millions from the Naptime Captives hidden in towns across the country.

So, to you out there that live in an established community, with real friends that come to your real house, I challenge you to a duel. Find a way to include the new people that move in the area. A neighbor, perhaps. And not just in the traditional ways - perhaps those fit like a size 4 jean on a size 10 frame. It can be done, but it's uncomfortable, if not ugly. We can't wait to get home and out of that situation.

I'm not looking for you to solve my problems, but it couldn't hurt of people out there came up with new options for solutions for those around you, of whom you might not be aware.

(*I'm a firm believer in the responsibility of the church-goer to try to find ways to connect within church, AKA The Small Group. We'd like that. However, we haven't figured out a way to manage the traditional "connection" activities into the current schedule with the current age/status of the wee ones. It's a stage, hopefully a quick one.)

**You totally made that face, didn't you?

***The jury is out on that one.