tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-796027468435688772024-03-13T12:22:15.566-04:00Snapshots and SnippetsMoments of Our Messy LifeJamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-86710009818817599092017-05-27T23:04:00.000-04:002017-05-27T23:08:33.762-04:00Screen-Free Summer Day #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPh7oyhfIECsKN96ksqiq3klzt6pRilltAQiEMrVuoKQv3A51pSnYi1MuNbz9qDN12e54WCXZ7BHqqua23_87m7g9GrIrvrJCnEIvW1JHa-qYvSsjJKqIr-Sq2SH3SmF2PjBvyQ9KUSo/s1600/IMG_20170527_163049086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPh7oyhfIECsKN96ksqiq3klzt6pRilltAQiEMrVuoKQv3A51pSnYi1MuNbz9qDN12e54WCXZ7BHqqua23_87m7g9GrIrvrJCnEIvW1JHa-qYvSsjJKqIr-Sq2SH3SmF2PjBvyQ9KUSo/s320/IMG_20170527_163049086.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Our screen-free summer has begun! Here's the sad and empty place where our tv used to be. I'm hoping to do something interesting and fun with this space this summer. It looks like a good place to store library books in baskets, or to put "invitations to play" that the kids can discover when they wake up.<br />
<br />
So, the kids asked for tv zero (0) times today. Nada. Zilch. Even though I'd given them a few weeks advance notice that we were doing this screen-free summer thing, I still expected that when summer came and they woke up with open, empty days in front of them, they'd be asking for tv and bumming when I said no. But they didn't mention it once today. Awe. some.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SWSz3aQ7kOfnPAvtekyXwzX4VhiAwMYmdThYgGcvGe5Me67jqIXwtzrbV1GtmnbwrUzOj1iwYMZVv3WdpeViloG6N1zd7dhF_aT2RBU1NUyUwPrnowv1rC07saxD3k9YfAk3WZm9PKk/s1600/IMG_20170527_163653_265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="918" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SWSz3aQ7kOfnPAvtekyXwzX4VhiAwMYmdThYgGcvGe5Me67jqIXwtzrbV1GtmnbwrUzOj1iwYMZVv3WdpeViloG6N1zd7dhF_aT2RBU1NUyUwPrnowv1rC07saxD3k9YfAk3WZm9PKk/s320/IMG_20170527_163653_265.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This morning, Kasey and I moved some big stuff out of the basement that we're trying to get rid of, like an old dryer that works but takes two cycles to dry clothes. We seem to have accumulated a lot of things that aren't really trash, but aren't in good enough shape to sell. We're trying to clean them all out and get rid of them, so our basement will have space for the kids to climb on the climbing wall without the chance of running into a dryer if they fall off.<br />
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Kasey took the kids to the Y for Eden's gymnastics class, and they got some rock wall climbing in beforehand. Then Kasey and Isaac played tennis during Eden's class, and it sounds like Isaac was game for an actual lesson for the first time ever!<br />
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After some rest time, which I am now calling "room time" because it sounds much more fun, the neighbor kids came over and the kids ran around together for a couple hours. Yesterday we had two more neighbor kids playing at our house for a total of six kids, and they all had a blast. I LOVE being the neighborhood hangout house, even though it is sometimes trying on my introverted self. And I need to buy more snacks, because boy are kids hungry.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJGNMOs8ZBj1pbt-4PVY7ZWVMX4EjbzjTQh6q_rQ2p9rwGQ-EV7yBUaoIDvh-7x-vftictrxXMOlaQp90qlfyKNJHViPu0YoiGMhpYCmmbscEqE4ctuDlKrjhFr4I6x9rUpYaEta2lPw/s1600/IMG_20170527_163653_264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="918" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJGNMOs8ZBj1pbt-4PVY7ZWVMX4EjbzjTQh6q_rQ2p9rwGQ-EV7yBUaoIDvh-7x-vftictrxXMOlaQp90qlfyKNJHViPu0YoiGMhpYCmmbscEqE4ctuDlKrjhFr4I6x9rUpYaEta2lPw/s320/IMG_20170527_163653_264.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out that awesome hobnail mason jar drinking glass! <br />
I've been looking for a fun summer glass and these <br />
were 2 for $3 in the Dollar Spot at Target. Score! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I got some time to myself while Kasey took the kids to the Y, so I read, ran, and did some online shopping. I'm trying really hard to get away from the screen myself, but it's an adjustment! The basic guideline I'm trying to follow for now is to not have my laptop out at all when the kids are around. I'll add more guidelines as I go.<br />
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Reading: I finished <i>Wonder</i> today, which was a sweet and enjoyable book. I found myself trying to think about how I imagine Auggie's face, and it was hard for me to come up with something as grotesque as they describe it in the book. I kind of can't imagine seeing a face that would make me shocked or horrified like the characters in the book were when they saw Auggie. I'm interested to see how the movie portrays him. <br />
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Running: I did week 3 day 2 of the c25k program. I'm working my way towards running a 10k on August 12th as a sort of birthday celebration! So far the running is going well, although I stopped running for a stressful two weeks at the end of the school year. The biggest goal I have right now is to consistently run 4 days/week.<br />
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When I climbed into bed tonight, I found this under my pillow:<br />
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Isaac gave me some of his easter candy that he knows I love--whopper eggs--along with the sweetest note. I have the best kids ever.<br />
<br />Jamie Parmeleehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925870530055318148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-71091045179090727632015-04-24T13:54:00.001-04:002015-04-24T13:54:53.166-04:00WonderHours<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-a1259bfd-ec8c-5f6a-e772-82c7c8db2e94" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These days I have approximately 1 hour and 42 minutes 4 days per week when both children are in school, barring Spring Breaks, volunteering in the classroom, and illness. But who’s counting? </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been awhile (6 years, 9 months, and 24 days) since I’ve had any daily(sorta), routine(ish) time to myself, alone, in my house, during the day, without a child napping nearby. That’s a lot of caveats. I am grateful to have had blocks of time to myself in those years given to me by family and friends caring for my kids. But there’s something about the dailiness of this time that feels different. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If we’re having a rough morning, I know I’ve got some peace coming in a few hours and it gives me a bit more tolerance. If my head is about to implode due to the sound of my child chewing breakfast (this is a thing, trust me), I know there will be space for quiet later. If I’m too tired in the evening to grade papers or check work email, I can put it off because I know I’ll have some time the next afternoon. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first I was a bit paralyzed by my unrealistic expectations of these few hours. I would make lists like: </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-clean house</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-go to gym</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-read book club book</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-prep tomorrow’s class</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-write</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and try to figure out how to multimultimultitask. Listen to audio book while running at the gym while letting subconscious mull over a previously chosen writing topic? And I would spend 15 minutes doing 6 things and not get anything done satisfactorily and feel like I wasted the time. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not anymore. One day last week I came home from dropping Isaac off, took my shoes off, and laid down on the living room floor a la corpse pose, and breathed, and listened to nothing. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mind feels like it’s loosening up, regaining some lost humor, adopting some perspective on issues that it has not had for awhile. I’m simmering some creative ideas and giving myself permission to let them come in time. And I’m enjoying talking to myself, either audibly or not, and paying attention to my inner dialogue. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I do come into contact with people during my wonderhours, it’s jarring. Here I am in my wonderful silent world, entertaining myself, and then someone is staring at me, expecting a response. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I dropped off a utility bill and stood in line behind a huffing older gentleman and a quietly annoyed lady, who had apparently been waiting for some time. A second window opened (for those dropping off CHECKS ONLY, the dude clearly said) and Mr. Huffer couldn’t get there fast enough. But he was paying in cash and was sent back to the line, where he became Mr. Grumbler and Hisser. I brought my check to the window where Mr. Utility Bill Collector glanced at me with a look asking for commiseration. All I could think to say was, “Well, aren’t we pissy today?” which I did NOT say because I have an overactive filter. But the moment passed and I didn’t give him the sympathetic look. I looked like Mrs. Stoic lady who doesn’t give a damn enough to tsk tsk along with him. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I picked up Isaac from school wearing a new lip gloss I had leisurely purchased during wonderhour. His teachers complimented me on it, and my internal dialogue went something like, “Yeah, well it’s called “Movie Star” red but let me tell you, it reminds me of another profession and I’m not too keen on it.” Then I found myself trying to figure out how to spell whore so I could communicate this important thought to them without the 3-4 year olds learning a new word. “Hoar? No, that’s the frost. Hore? No, that doesn’t seem right. Oh yeah, the silent w! Whore!” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All this time I’m looking at them silently with who knows what expression on my face. I mumbled something about how I wasn’t sure about it and my lips didn’t match the color on the tube and then extricated myself from the situation as gracefully as possible. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hopefully some day in the near future I’ll be better able to maneuver between the circus between my ears and normal social interaction during these wonderhours. But either way, they’re pretty entertaining. </span></div>
<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-49525958736175101662014-11-08T13:56:00.000-05:002014-11-09T13:27:02.092-05:00Isaac's First Pets<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One morning last week, I told the kids about a fun
art activity I had planned. We were going to take some colorful fall leaves we
had collected on a walk and glue them to mason jars. Put a tealight inside and
voila, you have beautiful warm candlelight on your table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The kids were less than enthusiastic. They decided
to go caterpillar hunting instead. That sounded like a good alternative to me
so we shelved the art-making for later. Within an hour, Isaac had gathered a
woolly bear caterpillar and a run of the mill brownish-greenish caterpillar.
The boy is an insect magnet. From mosquitoes to cicadas to spiders to worms,
creatures find him and he finds them. <br />
<br />
In an attempt to prolong their lives beyond the usual I’ve-been-caught-by-a-kid
insect life expectancy, I got one of Kasey’s old empty aquariums from the
basement to make the caterpillars a safe haven. The kids gathered sticks and
green leaves, carefully arranged them inside the aquarium, and placed the
caterpillars in their new home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And Isaac had his first pets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He named them. Fur, the woolly bear, and Soft, the
other one. He learned their preferences. Fur liked to hide under the leaves,
while Soft preferred the dirt and the edges of the aquarium where the bottom
meets the side. Soft was harder to pick up but didn’t seem to mind it, while
Fur got bitey when sitting in your hand. Isaac’s solution for Fur’s teething
problem was to put a sock on his hand when picking up Fur. I started finding
lone socks all over the house. <br />
<br />
After a week or so, the caterpillars seemed to have lost some of their
enthusiasm for life. Isaac put some enrichment objects in the tank, like
matchbox cars, rocks, and miscellaneous nature things he had collected. But
still, they moved less, moved slower, and didn’t respond as quickly to touch.
Soft may or may not have been injured after climbing in the cab of a matchbox
truck and getting a bit stuck on his way out. Isaac decided that maybe the
caterpillars needed a trip outside, to get some fresh air and see more of what
they were used to seeing. I reminded him of the dangers of transporting the
little guys out of their home. He was willing to take the chance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Two minutes later, Isaac came in, tears streaming
down the saddest face. Fur was lost. Somewhere on the porch he was dropped and
had disappeared. We went hunting, and after several minutes found him on our
welcome mat. Fur may or may not have been partially stepped on. We decided to
return them to their tank and leave them alone, hoping they could heal
themselves in time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In time, they stopped moving altogether. One
afternoon, I suggested to Isaac that perhaps the caterpillars weren’t alive
anymore, and perhaps it was time to return them outside or even bury them.
Isaac insisted that they were just being still because they were working hard
on getting better. A few minutes later he came out of his room, Fur in hand,
crying as he walked to the door. “I’m going to let Fur be free,” he said,
sobbing. When he returned, he cried for awhile while I rocked him in the
rocking chair and told him how brave he was to let Fur go. I was relieved that
he had accepted they were gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">About 20 minutes later, Isaac declared that he had
changed his mind, retrieved Fur, and returned him to the tank. Denial has been
the name of the game ever since. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m not sure how to proceed. At first I thought
after another day or so he would accept the reality of the situation. But the
days keep passing while the caterpillars shrivel in the tank on Isaac’s dresser.
Earlier today he told me that they seem to be moving more lately. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">For now, I’m going to follow his lead. Because even in his denial, he is grieving. I can’t dispose of creatures that he still thinks are alive, or isn’t willing to fully accept are gone. I’ll continue to gently suggest some ways we could honor the caterpillars and mark their death. And I’ll trust that when he’s ready, he’ll let go of his first pets. </span><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">*******Sunday, Nov. 9th update*******</span><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">Isaac came to me this morning crying, saying that his caterpillars were dead. It seemed like he was ready so I suggested burying them. He was ready. He picked out some of his favorite seashells and I gathered Fur and Soft in my hand. Isaac picked a spot in the yard, I dug a hole and set the caterpillars in. Isaac said goodbye, touched them one last time, and we covered them up and marked them with the shells. Eden stood by and watched. We rocked in the rocking chair for awhile until he felt better. Eden drew him pictures of his caterpillars saying "I love you" to him. </span><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">After church, he told me that he was thinking of having an ant as a pet but it would be too small, so he wants to find another woolly bear. </span><br style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;" /></div>
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Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-55274110320175626572014-08-25T21:28:00.000-04:002014-08-25T21:28:02.506-04:00Enough<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Isaac burned his tongue on his macaroni and cheese
tonight at dinner (yes, we eat in style), got angry, and impatiently said, “Cool
this off! Give me the salt and pepper!” After a quick little lesson in manners,
he was on his way to cooling off his mac n cheese with the salt and pepper.
Because, you know, it takes a good 3-4 minutes for a 4-year-old to carefully
tip the salt shaker, watch each grain of salt hit the orange cheesy goodness,
and repeat. And then the pepper grinder, well, that thing just needs to be
taken apart, its inner workings examined and explained, and then working
knowledge applied liberally until the kiddie food is too spicy for an adult to
eat. By the time the process is done, the mac n cheese is plenty cool. <br />
<br />
Eden is (maybe, sort of) excited about starting homeschooling this week, but
only because she thinks that it is going to be wildly fun. I think her
expectations are somewhere between bounce house and waterpark slide, and I’m
not sure how to put her feet back on the ground gently. She asked to do math
the other day, and I gave her a bunch of suggestions…she could do a lesson from
the curriculum we used to finish up Kindergarten, or play with the linking
cubes, or the geoboard, or the attribute cards, or hey, we could even play
Monopoly and work on money counting skills. She replied, “No, I want to do,
like, fun <i>first grade</i> stuff.” She
also told our pediatrician last week that the thing she’s most excited about
learning in homeschool this year is how to ride her bike without training
wheels. It appears that in my attempts to make homeschooling appealing and fun,
I may have inadvertently left out a few details. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I start back to work this week, beginning the jarring
jumping between the world of teaching my children how to be kind and decent
human beings and teaching other people’s newly grown up children how to think
critically about their world and put together a few logical thoughts into a
compelling written argument. I love it and I don’t know why I do it, all in the
same week. I get to put on real clothes, listen to NPR in the car, have colleagues
and an office (shared with 3-12 other adjuncts). I’m not quite gone enough for
my kids to ever get used to it, so there are still often tears and leg hanging
on and whispers of “I don’t like it when you go to work” at bedtime. I feel
pulled and torn and I need to teach and to write but oh, the effects. <br />
<br />
There is never a settledness and there is always a better option and there is never
quite enough…of me, of time, of energy, of fulfillment, of foreknowledge and security and peace. <br />
<br />
And this is all there is, and this is the good stuff, and this is enough.
Enough. I had it etched into my body in the hope that it would seep into my
heart and my soul…I am enough. We are enough. You are enough. This moment of my
life, with the too hot food and the too high expectations and the too strong
pulls in opposite directions…this moment is enough. Buried within it is the epic
nature of the ordinary, the sacredness of the mundane, the soul-stretching draw
to the divine. It. Is. Enough.</span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-59885465730213458872014-08-17T14:32:00.001-04:002014-08-17T14:32:02.197-04:00Prayer: Crumbs From the Master's Table<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been struggling with the idea of prayer lately.
The extent of my frustration with prayer came out late one night, when one of
my children wasn’t sleeping well and I prayed the universal mother’s prayer of
sleep-deprivation: “God, will you please just help my child sleep through the
whole night. Even just this one time. Please. Please. I’m so tired.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s a silly prayer, really. In the grand scheme of
things that could be prayed for, praying for another person to sleep falls far
beneath world peace, ending hunger, healing the sick, and about a million other
things. But, even as I recognized the insignificance of my request, I got angry
at the unlikelihood of it being answered. Because shouldn’t the fact that my request
is so small make it that much easier for God to answer it? It would take just
the smallest nanoparticle of God’s mercy for my child to sleep all night. And
if it actually happened, I would have no explanation other than that my prayer
was heard and answered, and I would recognize the miracle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So yeah, I also know that God doesn’t really measure
out his mercy in particles and pounds. But how does he measure it out? When
does he answer prayer? And how do we know that something that happens, either
positive or negative, is him answering a prayer? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In bible college, one of my roommates was the type
to see God in every empty parking space, lost keys found, and canceled class.
My skepticism would rise to the surface and I’d be asking, so if I don’t find
an empty parking space when I need one in downtown Chicago, God doesn’t love me
as much as he loves you? If I don’t find my lost keys right away, then God’s
trying to chastise me for my irresponsibility? If my class isn’t canceled when
I want it to be, it’s because it wasn’t God’s will? Because if you see God
behind every positive thing, every moment of serendipity in your life, don’t
you have to also see him behind every negative thing? And if every positive
thing is because of some good you’ve done, staying in God’s will, then doesn’t
every negative thing have to be because you’ve somehow messed something up and
lost your way? <br />
<br />
I’m aware of the need to have eyes to see…that disbelief in the divine precludes
seeing the divine. But that doesn’t equate to indiscriminately declaring any
happening around me to be an act of God. I’m not comfortable with the logic
that claims that every good happening is from God, and every bad happening is
the result of my personal sin. Remember Job? Remember how the rain falls on the
just and unjust? Bad shit happens to good, innocent people. Really good stuff
happens to evil people. It just doesn’t add up so nicely. <br />
<br />
So where does that leave prayer? I’ve heard the argument that the purpose of
prayer is really to change the person who is praying. That the act of putting
myself in contact with the divine isn’t about what the divine can do for me,
but how I can change to be more aligned with the divine. I get that, and to
some extent I think that’s true. But if God really exists and cares about
people, and if prayer really is communication between God and I, shouldn’t it
be a two way street? And isn’t the soul of humanity’s calling on divinity to
beg for the divinity to intercede in this messed up place we live in, to beg
him to act? And don’t people who care, act?</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This morning in church the pastor talked about the
story in Matthew where a Canaanite woman approached Jesus and asked him to heal
her sick daughter. Jesus points out that she, not being a Jew, is an outsider.
She has not been invited to the table yet, so why should he serve her? She
reminds him that even the dogs get the crumbs that fall from the Master’s
table. He acknowledges her faith and heals her daughter. <br />
<br />
I feel like that outsider woman, begging to be allowed to have the crumbs that
fall from the table above. Hoping that if and when I receive those crumbs, I’ll
be able to recognize whose hand they came from. And hoping that if no crumbs
ever fall, God still exists, still cares, still somehow acts in ways that I don’t
see. Lord, I believe; help my unbelief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-31293288447736360742014-08-03T13:52:00.005-04:002014-08-03T19:37:42.931-04:00In The Middle Of It<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s easy (well, easier) to write when the story has
a beginning, middle, and end. Writing flows naturally when it’s leading to a
conclusion or insight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the middle with no clear end, things are foggy.
There’s no tidiness or satisfaction. Language is stilted. Words don’t come. Specifics,
the cornerstone of connection between writer and reader, seem too risky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m in the middle of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eden just turned 6, but really it feels like she
turned 16. She tells me in anger that we’re not her real family; her real mom
lives in Canada. I know she doesn’t mean it, but it still stings. She is brave
and goes to soccer camp by herself, one of the youngest players there, knowing
nothing about soccer. She smiles with excitement and bites her nails in
nervousness. She dreams that week that she has a neck injury at soccer camp and
the coach doesn’t know how to call 911 and no one has my phone number. I write
my phone number next to my name the next day when we sign her in, just in case.
She tells me that she wants to make her own decisions, wants to live in her own
house so she can do everything she wants to do. Later that week she tells me
that she still might want me to lay with her at bedtime when she’s 10, and is
that okay? Will I still lay with her when she’s 10? <br />
<br />
She’s in the middle of it. I am pulled along by her towards independence, my
heart unready but my mind willing, and my spirit cheering her on. I am stung by
her declarations, but hold her feelings along with my own. She needs me to
see that in the end, she will be okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Isaac just turned 4, and he seems sad. He feels
things big. I think it feels physically painful to him when his feelings are
hurt; he tells me that a boy punched him when I know the boy didn’t. But he feels
left out, and what really happened, the truth, objectivity, doesn’t matter. He
feels punched. And I feel punched along with him. He moves to shame quickly,
can’t sustain the smallest amount of frustration in my voice. I steady my
voice, try not to fall under the weight of his need for me to stay calm, try to
carry his feelings along with my own.<br />
<br />
He’s in the middle of it. I feel buried by the pain that a
little soul can feel. But I remember feeling things strong, feeling big pain,
at a young age. He needs me to know that in the end, he will be okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t feel okay. I feel tired, stretched,
disturbed, and I feel love so big it could swallow them and me whole. I don’t
see the ending. Parenting, mothering, loving…they are murky waters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-55606070402791974082014-06-10T17:28:00.000-04:002014-06-10T18:01:42.987-04:00Saying YesI have a tendency toward no. I have what a therapist once called "an unfriendly conscience," what Geneen Roth ominously calls "The Voice," and what Anne Lamott brilliantly calls "Radio Station KFKD." <br />
<br />
Basically, I live in a mental land of shoulds, should nots, and should haves, with a sprinkling of fear and shame landmines thrown in. <br />
<br />
The good news is, I'm aware of this and am learning to reshape my mental landscape and avoid stepping on the mines. <br />
<br />
The bad news is, sometimes those around me get hit by shrapnel when I do hit a mine.<br />
<br />
Sometimes "I should have a clean house always" leads me to snapping at the kids for normal kid messes and squelching their creativity.<br />
<br />
Sometimes "My kids should always be well-behaved" leads me to overreacting to normal kid behavior by shaming and blaming. <br />
<br />
Sometimes "My kids should always realize how wealthy and privileged we are compared to the rest of the world" leads to inflexible "nos" to every single request they make for something extra, something special, something fun. <br />
<br />
I am trying to learn to say yes. Saying yes to myself means thinking with kindness towards myself instead of judgment. It means making allowances for imperfection. It means wasting no time in shame. <br />
<br />
Saying yes to my kids means, well, actually saying yes. Kids are good at thinking with kindness towards themselves, their needs and desires. We sometimes call this being self-absorbed and egotistical, but I think we can learn a thing or two about how to believe we are worthy of good things by watching our kids ask. Saying yes to them also means making allowances for imperfection and wasting no time in shame.<br />
<br />
Can we go to dollar day at the movie theater just for fun? <br />
<i>Yes. You won't be spoiled by some special fun things once in awhile. </i><br />
<br />
Can I spread rocks the size of kitty litter all over the front porch?<br />
<i>Yes. Kitty litter rocks can be cleaned up. </i><br />
<br />
Can we paint?<br />
<i>Yes. Creativity is worth the mess. </i><br />
<br />
Can you talk in a nice voice to me even if I'm talking in my most horrible screechy whining voice?<br />
<i>Yes. Kindness in the hard moments will win your hearts. </i><br />
<br />
Can I take my doll and her stroller to the zoo with us? <br />
<i>Yes. If you get tired and stop pushing your doll stroller at the far end of the zoo, we will figure it out. </i><br />
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Sometimes saying yes is more work, more challenging, more risky and I'm afraid of it. Sometimes saying yes feels like the easy, lazy way out. But saying no isn't inherently more righteous, more right, or more safe. Say yes. Try it. It gets the best smiles. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi122iTRnujT98QhET3mh6syxzNUO9mcEi4MXGbFIhbhZ21F4Mng-bVBztZ14LXS50sJoKC_5oK8IiygNMAKq3RcoqKwpPKgUY1sA-cbQDboNWi2qr1d2glgYX-DVKOcV3tPDrRIGbjqfl5/s1600/IMG_9121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi122iTRnujT98QhET3mh6syxzNUO9mcEi4MXGbFIhbhZ21F4Mng-bVBztZ14LXS50sJoKC_5oK8IiygNMAKq3RcoqKwpPKgUY1sA-cbQDboNWi2qr1d2glgYX-DVKOcV3tPDrRIGbjqfl5/s1600/IMG_9121.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She pushed it happily the whole time. It was adorable. </td></tr>
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<br />Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-17407022268619176842014-06-05T09:21:00.002-04:002014-06-05T09:21:48.512-04:00Discovering a Morning Rhythm -- Summer of Simplicity<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Schedules make me itchy. They feel confining and judgmental with their
boxes and to-the-minute timetables. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having no routine at all sets me adrift, in a “crap,
I’m floating with the rip current and have no control” kind of way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I need something in between. In my quest for simplicity and meaning this
summer, I’m discovering that I need some sort of rhythm to start my day. Rhythm, ritual, routine…these words describe
what I’m aiming for much better than schedule.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With caring, creating, and connecting as my
guidewords, I’ve discovered a morning rhythm that fits me. Sometimes my “morning” rhythm isn’t complete until
1pm, sometimes I abandon part of it, and sometimes it all fits within an hour. It doesn’t matter. My rhythm is for me, not against me, so I don’t
worry if it doesn’t all happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the morning, <i>caring</i> means feeding hungry children. I’ve tried to get around this, tried to make
breakfast self-serve around here, but it’s only led to frustration and more
work overall. Self-serve breakfasts lead
to cereal for one child and an apple for another, which leads to continuing
hunger all morning long. Non-stop
children with unbelievably high metabolisms require meals of substance, at
least every once in awhile (read: 5 times per day minimum). Feeding my kids a
good solid breakfast buys me at least an hour in the eating department, and
also leaves space and time for the rest of my morning rhythm. <br />
<br />
On a really good morning when I wake up with my cape on, caring also means
doing a few household tasks that set up the rest of my day well. Putting away clean dishes leaves the
dishwasher ready for the dirty ones to come that day, so instead of seeing them
accumulate on counters all day, they can get out of sight. Throwing in a load of laundry in the washer
in the morning makes it 68% more likely that it will be dried, folded, and put
away by nightfall. There are no
guarantees, people, but I like to stack the odds in my favor. </span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the morning, <i>creating</i> means writing morning
pages. In <i>The Artist’s Way</i>, Julia Cameron describes morning pages as one of
the two basic tools for inspiring creativity.
The irony is, the morning pages themselves are the opposite of
creative. They are the mundane blather
that crowds our minds, and the morning pages are an exercise in getting that
out of the way to get to the good stuff.
Cameron says, “When people ask, “Why do we write morning pages?” I joke,
“To get to the other side.”” <br />
<br />
I’ve never liked keeping a journal, because it all sounds the same to me: a
record of my insecurities, fears, and struggles played on a never-ending
loop. But according to Cameron, that’s
the point. The Inner Critic must have
her say, and if she can have her say on the private morning pages, then she can
stay out of the way in the rest of my art and life. That’s what I’m working towards.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrNFM-k27nLfw95ceU_O8VPQp5tKXHW4D-BuH6bCY3j6djbmYu5vkndJDOtH0m2_L9kvqRMu7IYTUzuhSKlcEda0dJFxbTdrkYO1g7POy4R2KfbZu_L8YImtHdx5-Dm2k0IPjG9CuTbuF/s1600/IMG_9110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrNFM-k27nLfw95ceU_O8VPQp5tKXHW4D-BuH6bCY3j6djbmYu5vkndJDOtH0m2_L9kvqRMu7IYTUzuhSKlcEda0dJFxbTdrkYO1g7POy4R2KfbZu_L8YImtHdx5-Dm2k0IPjG9CuTbuF/s1600/IMG_9110.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">morning pages on the front porch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
In the morning, <i>connecting</i> means yoga. I’ve
never been a yoga person. Yoga people
always seemed mysterious and otherworldly to me, able to understand something
that I don’t understand. I don’t know if
I “get” yoga, or if there is anything to get, really. What I’m discovering is that I like to do
something physical but not too physical in the morning. I like to breathe a little and be still
enough that I can feel my breath and hear it, too. I am a perpetually cold person, and morning
yoga gets my body comfortably warm.<br />
<br />
So despite feeling like a wannabe yoga imposter, I find a short and easy
youtube video and get my yoga on. My
kids like Cosmic Kids yoga videos, so they sometimes want to do one when I’m
done, and then I get to eat breakfast in peace. Win win.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">When I’m in rhythm, I
feel ready for my day and peaceful.
There’s no magic formula, no “everyone must do this.” These are the things that resonate with
me. Your rhythm might involve
checklists, scrubbing toilets, and laundry folded and put away. Or your rhythm might involve you, a book, and
a chair. Whatever meets your family’s
needs and makes you feel ready for the day, those are your rhythm. <br />
<br />
Oh, and <i>coffee</i>. How could I forget
coffee? Coffee is the glue that holds it
all together, my constant companion through my morning rhythm. Coffee deserves its own post, but I’ll save
that for another day. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-48747546474155790692014-05-19T22:20:00.001-04:002014-05-19T23:31:25.289-04:00The Amazing Thing Happening Right Now In Front Of Me<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve started
writing multiple times and then deleted…type, backspace, type, backspace, type,
backspace, like the ebb and flow of the ocean waves I hear as I type this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are on vacation, and first and
foremost, I am grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
afraid in writing this essay I will appear otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are lucky to have the time and resources to go spend an
entire week, together, on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">And also, our
vacation resembles the one described in <a href="http://www.theonion.com/articles/mom-spends-beach-vacation-assuming-all-household-d,33431/" target="_blank">this article</a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of normal life and everyday work
and the usual annoyances came on vacation with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this stage of life, trying to “vacate” is not actually
possible, because my occupations travel with me and have more needs than ever
away from their home and routine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first
morning, we woke up to our usual pre-6 o’clock alarm clocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are two of them and they are
insistent and loud, their snooze buttons broken. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved out onto the balcony, listened to the waves and
watched the surfers at dawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was spectacular. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there
were dolphins, a whole pod, surfacing and spraying, gliding effortlessly through
the ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEdPEnc29lp7XyrbYCbdVQBlC4OdWOO-01yAmoJxhTtQIpKwMClZSw8wmRleFVyKr4FUlI1FXfh9GuxsVzCZFEd6nKbCqbLitFnWxcoeIdbaNQcaTQdADMbWfaPbTQaG6veQCvazjlByB/s1600/blog+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEdPEnc29lp7XyrbYCbdVQBlC4OdWOO-01yAmoJxhTtQIpKwMClZSw8wmRleFVyKr4FUlI1FXfh9GuxsVzCZFEd6nKbCqbLitFnWxcoeIdbaNQcaTQdADMbWfaPbTQaG6veQCvazjlByB/s1600/blog+pic+1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And then there
was this shrill, constant, nasally noise that brought my nervous system into
high alert and initiated my fight or flight response, otherwise known as
whining.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">In their excitement to
get up early for the first day of vacation, the kids hadn’t realized that they
added hours to their wait for the pool to open.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We tried to call
their attention to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the amazing thing
happening right now in front of them</i>, but they would have none of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wanted something else; they could
think of nothing else but that what they wanted wasn’t happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wanted them to
stop whining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like my
desire for them to stop whining was more legitimate than their desire to have pool
time at 7am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got frustrated and
thought about how unvacationlike vacations can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted something else; I could think of nothing else but
that what I wanted wasn’t happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I started
missing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the amazing thing happening right
now in front of me</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I get stingy
sometimes with my generosity towards my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I start thinking of myself as an overdrawn bank account
whose patrons better make some deposits if they expect the good stuff to keep
flowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A morning walk on the
beach alone = sizable deposit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Negotiating who gets the red ball for the 327<sup>th</sup> time today =
sizable withdrawal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On top of the
frustration and difficulty of raising kids, I add righteous indignation and score
keeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">This week I’m
trading my bank account for an ocean view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Literally, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But also in the way I view myself, my family, my time, my vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the morning
when the wind is calm, the sea can be so still that the fin of a dolphin is
visible 300 yards off shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
waves can be a peaceful white noise that provides the perfect background for
laughing kids and melodic bird banter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The water can race over sand to cool hot feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ocean is peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When the wind
picks up, the waves break in layers and the chop makes it impossible to see any
sea life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The noise can be so loud
it clouds my brain and makes me wish for silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water can be so powerful that it can drag an
unsuspecting toddler down on his back and tumble him like a seashell back towards
the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The toddler will then
bellow his rage and fear at the sea while his parents pick sand out of his ear.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ocean is turmoil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s all
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ebb and flow, ebb and flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that I need to be fulfilled, happy,
content, refreshed, and at peace is there, in me and around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that I need to be left wanting,
disappointed, dissatisfied, exhausted, and in turmoil is there, in me and
around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will have moments of
each this day and every day, and those moments will flow back out and bring in
something else. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I can accept
that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the amazing thing happening right
now in front of me is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">whatever</b> is
happening right now in front of me</i>, even the moments of turmoil will be
meaningful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the movie
<i>Good Will Hunting</i>, the therapist Sean tells Will how his late wife used to wake
herself up by farting in her sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He goes on: “Ah, but, those are the things I miss the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little idiosyncrasies that only I
knew about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what made her
my wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and she had the goods
on me, too; she knew all my little peccadillos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People call these things imperfections, but they’re not –
ah, that’s the good stuff.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvn_xVWQe0WE8AcciRMML7SYQ119JkIBUs8K2ZuzySHNnN8frZVhRynfE2o9nf43lJCTetI6r-3O-nMl2sE1Kr8RuEbGyHMTuRwSpbyfgji1HaoENPBlcBIbhGvXbSxa90j_tQAERGoiH/s1600/blog+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvn_xVWQe0WE8AcciRMML7SYQ119JkIBUs8K2ZuzySHNnN8frZVhRynfE2o9nf43lJCTetI6r-3O-nMl2sE1Kr8RuEbGyHMTuRwSpbyfgji1HaoENPBlcBIbhGvXbSxa90j_tQAERGoiH/s1600/blog+pic+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The arguments
about the red ball, the newly-broken ceramic fish that belongs to the condo
owners, the endless feeding and dishes and changing and laundry, the whining
and bickering; that’s the hard good stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The swimming and wave frolicking, the reading and shell
studying, the fresh-picked strawberries and corn on the cob, the laughing and
smiling and sandy toes; that’s the easy good stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It’s
all there; it’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> all</i> the amazing thing
happening right now in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-13189221270495136182014-05-16T10:04:00.000-04:002014-05-16T10:04:08.958-04:00What Happens If You Don't Like Each Other Anymore<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eden jumped and bounced next to me on the couch; the
girl isn’t still, ever. We were all four
of us lounging in the living room. Kasey
had just gotten home from work and was sprawled along with lincoln logs and
Isaac on the floor. Eden threw an arm on
me and leaned over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I just love you so much, Mama. I just wish I could marry you. But you’re already married to Daddy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I smiled, loving the 5-year-old concept of love and
marriage and hoping that it stays innocent like this for a very long time. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd94-FqLgyUedJRhzngjegbGw8ouGh_K6JI0RQUR4_Rlv4GoJhA4mB2gNTji8s1wSyPO5-IRGB1ZGfDe6SHTYkPKceEtzeCcXByK_Ycma6I5IEATSZ3Se4zRGpkwtPGVDdKBFrpMpsIkO9/s1600/IMG_8047.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd94-FqLgyUedJRhzngjegbGw8ouGh_K6JI0RQUR4_Rlv4GoJhA4mB2gNTji8s1wSyPO5-IRGB1ZGfDe6SHTYkPKceEtzeCcXByK_Ycma6I5IEATSZ3Se4zRGpkwtPGVDdKBFrpMpsIkO9/s1600/IMG_8047.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Will you and Daddy still be married when you are
old people?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I could see the wheels spinning as she tried to find
a way that she and I might get married sometime in the future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yep,” I answered.
“We’ll be married to each other for our whole lives. That’s what it means to be married to someone. I chose to live my life with Daddy for the
rest of our lives.”<br />
<br />
“And I chose Mama,” Kasey said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“But what happens if you don’t like each other
anymore?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ahhh, yes.
Good question. Kasey and I
exchanged a look. There was a lot in the
look. He looked like he was about to burst
into laughing, which is actually a good thing. We’re okay as long as we can still laugh at
ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because, the truth is, we don’t always like each
other. We are, by the antibiotic grace
of God, currently recovering from a period where not liking each other had
become a bit of an infection. I don’t know
if fairy tale romances exist in real life, but I know that our story isn’t
written that way. We have had seasons
where we are the source of each others’ happiness, and seasons where we are the
source of each others’ pain. We have
fought and cried and screamed and hurt and regretted and wished things were
different and despaired that they could be.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But I chose him, and he chose me. And we chose to live our lives together for
as long as our lives last. And we choose
it again every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And so, what happens if (when) we don’t like each
other anymore? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, we learn to start liking each other again,” I
replied. “That’s what families do. You don’t always like each other, but you
always stick together and you learn how to like each other again.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There wasn’t a lot of forethought in my answer, but
I like the idea that loving someone means learning to like them over and over
again. Because it implies that even
after being with someone for a very long time, there is still a chance that you
don’t know everything about them. Choosing a stance as a learner means that new
information is possible, new behavior, new patterns, new connections. It leaves space for growth and change and
hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Being a learner requires sticking around when you
want to run away. Being a learner
requires giving enough grace to stop looking back and start looking
forward. Being a learner requires having
enough humility to have perceptions and beliefs changed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How else can the decision of two teenagers to link
their lives forever actually be honored?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We are two learners, walking together.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That is love.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlN3pV7FoHZtpjH70Juzedt-o-5Gwkyz1RCUPugzjU5ZsUnAbhN7SY-mdLrieehyphenhyphenQr2p-VBuGKuzBJqgVnJu-nIGXwxDIoI2k93f2Isj_zGv4ZQnXL0cTe5frPiu_T0cnVS_sDJWhaBZuG/s1600/Wed+Pic+crop+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlN3pV7FoHZtpjH70Juzedt-o-5Gwkyz1RCUPugzjU5ZsUnAbhN7SY-mdLrieehyphenhyphenQr2p-VBuGKuzBJqgVnJu-nIGXwxDIoI2k93f2Isj_zGv4ZQnXL0cTe5frPiu_T0cnVS_sDJWhaBZuG/s1600/Wed+Pic+crop+2.jpg" height="320" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>
“When you evoke curiosity and openness with a lack of judgment, you align
yourself with beauty and delight and love – for their own sake. You become the benevolence of God in action.” --Geneen Roth</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-9045789077600298752014-05-13T14:46:00.000-04:002014-05-13T14:49:47.603-04:00Summer of Simplicity: The End Goal<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“To what end do I lead a simple life at all, pray?
That I may teach others to simplify their lives? – and so all our lives be
simplified merely, like an algebraic formula? Or not, rather, that I may make
use of the ground I have cleared to live more worthily and profitably?”<br />
--Henry David Thoreau<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Doing a quick search for simple living or organizing
your life will lead you to thousands of blogs, pinterest-worthy pdfs, and
how-to articles. There is no shortage of helpful information on the methods and
tools for simplifying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So why do I still find myself fighting with
overflowing stuff, with hurriedness and impatience, with too-full schedules and
too little reflection? <br />
<br />
It’s not an <i>information</i> problem. It’s an <i>assimilation</i> problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The question I am examining this summer is how do I
put what I know and what I desire into practice? How do I move into a place of
practicing simplicity and feeling the benefits?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One thing I am learning is that many of the methods
and tips floating out in the internet ether don’t help me. I am apt to be
quickly inspired but then I struggle to follow through, usually because I am
attempting a complete overhaul overnight.
<br />
<br /><b>
Even my process of living more simply must be simple. </b> <br />
<br />
I’m beginning the new-to-me process of looking inward to determine what
strategies might work for me. I’m abandoning spreadsheets and timelines and lists
and schedules; they create stress and failure for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m not looking for algebraic formulas any longer. I’ve
been asking myself as Thoreau did, how may I best make use of these days, this
life, this place I am in? How may I live worthily and profitably? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Three words are surfacing that are guiding my
simplifying: <i>connected…caring…creative.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Connected: I want to connect with myself, my
environment, and my family in the present moment. I spend a lot of time distracting myself from
what I’m feeling, from my overwhelming house, and from my own
perfectionism. I want to stare less at
screens and more at eyes and sky. I want
to move from distraction to connection, to learn that it is safe and meaningful
to be in each moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Caring: I want to chip away at the piles that
clutter our space and establish routines to make caring for our home more
natural and built-in. I want to find ways to streamline some of the relentless
tasks of mothering, like feeding and laundering. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Creative: I want to build more writing time into my
weeks, make photo albums so my kids can see pictures of themselves as babies, put
nails in walls that have been bare for too long and hang my own creations on them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">These ideals of connectedness, caring, and
creativity are what living worthily and profitably in my space means. What does
it mean to you? When you envision a simpler life, what do you see yourself doing,
being? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I invite you to join in with establishing simplicity
this summer, in a way that is tailored specifically to your goals and your
life. I’ll be recording my experiences and thoughts here, and sharing what I’m
finding that works for me. I’ll be leaning away from spreadsheets and formulas
and leaning into examining the process and gently, slowly, <i>simply</i>, moving
forward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-72550144659048808372014-05-07T20:44:00.000-04:002014-06-10T17:28:51.794-04:00Let's Play Nice<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cousins met at the park today, to run and reunite
and soak in sun. They were a blur of a
threesome, sometimes scattered around the playground, sometimes huddled
close. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We aunts stood nearby, talking and watching. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />A fourth tried to join them, but wasn’t
welcomed. The three had their thing,
their feel, their history, and were enjoying their group the way it was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />“This girl isn’t being nice to you; let’s go find
another girl to play with,” the dad said to the fourth, loud enough for us all
to hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />I felt pricked, embarrassed, ashamed that my kid
wasn’t being nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />But wait.
What does that mean, exactly, to be nice? Does it mean that our three have to play
equally with everyone at the playground?
Is this about being inclusive no matter what? Is it nice to play with someone that you
really don’t want to play with? Is it
nice to pretend to want to be with someone when you don’t really want to be
with them? <br />
<br />
(Is it nice to talk about my child this way knowing that she and her mother are
overhearing you?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />I admit, I’m a bit of a language lover and semantics
is my playground. And I don’t like the
word <i>nice</i>; it’s not welcome to play much in my vocabulary. I don’t like the connotations of being a “nice
girl.” In my experience, it means the
quiet, subdued, submissive girl who doesn’t want to be a bother and doesn’t
have a voice and will do anything to avoid hurting someone’s feelings and doesn’t
get much respect and doesn’t really know who she is. Yep, it means all that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />And as it turns out, these connotations bear a
striking resemblance to <a href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/english/nice#nice" target="_blank">the word’s origins</a>.
The Latin nescire, meaning “not know,” birthed the Latin nescius, meaning
“ignorant,” birthed the Middle English meaning “stupid.” Yep, it’s all there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />I like the word <i>kind</i>. I am all about kindness. To me, <b>kindness is the beautiful juncture of
truth and goodness</b>. It doesn’t mean the
appearance of goodness at the expense of truth; that’s flattery. It doesn’t mean truth at the expense of
goodness; that’s brash. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />Kindness means treating people like family, knowing
and being known like family. The <a href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/kind" target="_blank">origins of the word</a> kind (Old English cynd) are closely related to the word <i>kin</i>. <b>The beautiful heart of the word kind means
that what’s on the inside is known, but it comes out gently</b>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />Nice forces a kid to relinquish his toy; kind
teaches kids how to take turns over time.
<br />
Nice says what you want to hear; kind says what it means.<br />
Nice always smoothes over awkwardness; kind endures discomfort when needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />Kindness is more of a
long-haul virtue. It can’t be coerced
with consequences or a stern look. It
comes from the inside, from the heart, and it takes time to foster and grow and
learn. It can be hard to raise kids to
be kind in a culture that pushes them to be nice. <br />
<br />
But it’s the kindest thing I can do. <br />
<br />
While I’ve been typing this, I’ve been interrupted a million times and am,
ahem, struggling to be kind. I finally
realized this and told Kasey the irony of working on an essay on kindness while
I’m struggling to practice it. He smiled
and gently said, “Well, maybe it’s good timing, then.”
<br />
<br /><i>
That</i> is kindness. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-85745736436288511992014-05-05T16:51:00.000-04:002014-05-05T20:16:07.364-04:00Great Eggspectations<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the benefits of <a href="http://snippetsofamessylife.blogspot.com/2014/04/why-i-broke-up-with-public-school.html" target="_blank">our new adventure in homeschooling</a> is that we can do crazy stuff that no sane teacher with 25
students would attempt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This past week, we walked on eggs. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitk1jmSCDu1VQ6zOnQR3XGWsHm_eloqAr82lmas_CUewmL-jE82stq6IePeAMHVs3kdkOQoQRDAAYfBOkEzXQeE6G_SvzbuoO37MoJmttg3FlKHppTwb_QXGgcKCMLprKg9uCVB5fvxHDM/s1600/IMG_8805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitk1jmSCDu1VQ6zOnQR3XGWsHm_eloqAr82lmas_CUewmL-jE82stq6IePeAMHVs3kdkOQoQRDAAYfBOkEzXQeE6G_SvzbuoO37MoJmttg3FlKHppTwb_QXGgcKCMLprKg9uCVB5fvxHDM/s1600/IMG_8805.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
I have to admit, I was skeptical. I saw
the pictures and heard the report of <a href="http://www.playdoughtoplato.com/2014/03/27/kids-science-experiement-walking-eggs/" target="_blank">this post</a> by Noirin at Playdough to Plato, but I thought maybe she had
somehow “magicked” her eggs, as Isaac would say. I was prepared for much cracking and oozing,
but thankfully, I was proved wrong. <br />
<br />
The architectural genius of the arch stands.
We looked at some pictures of bridges that use arches to support
themselves, and we talked about how the arch evenly distributes the force put
on it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nps.gov/neri/planyourvisit/images/web_bridgefromLongPoint_long_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.nps.gov/neri/planyourvisit/images/web_bridgefromLongPoint_long_1.jpg" height="118" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We noticed the arches on eggs and I had the kids each squeeze an egg in their hand to
show that they couldn’t crack it when the force was spread throughout their
whole hand. I also held my breath and
hoped they couldn’t crack it, because they are strong little buggers (the kids,
that is). Then they each cracked an egg
on the side of a bowl, concentrating all the force in one small spot. <br />
<br />
We talked about how a hen can sit on an egg without cracking it, but the baby
chick’s beak can poke through the egg from the inside when the chick pecks at
one small spot. Isaac asked if he could
sit on an egg like a hen, but I wasn’t willing to take the experiment that
far. <br />
<br />
So we established that evenly distributed force on an arch = good bridge and
contained egg, while too much force concentrated on one spot = bad bridge and egg
mess. <br />
<br />
At that point, I couldn’t put the actual standing on eggs part off anymore, so
we set up a couple dozen eggs (pointier side down and inspected for hairline
fractures) on a tablecloth on the floor, and hopped to it. Well, we didn’t actually hop. I lifted Eden up and set her gently down on
the eggs, no hopping allowed. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tD0h7zFOHIGvgWuTSL84IgmLtfizcqi49-maFbovmgDBrTvtqPzynubJeKpg5K-sH4l4EGY98eMgLmH-psJYG-mRBj2SGrbB-yCyJtLCE1V3aWyAmjqIF9bglQ9G0ohBJUoVADuEhcHA/s1600/IMG_8808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tD0h7zFOHIGvgWuTSL84IgmLtfizcqi49-maFbovmgDBrTvtqPzynubJeKpg5K-sH4l4EGY98eMgLmH-psJYG-mRBj2SGrbB-yCyJtLCE1V3aWyAmjqIF9bglQ9G0ohBJUoVADuEhcHA/s1600/IMG_8808.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
And, it worked! Eden was so excited to
find that she could stand on eggs without cracking them! She made sure not to put all of her weight on
her heels or toes, and none of the eggs cracked even a little bit. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a fun little experiment, and the bonus is now
we have tons of eggs to eat. I admit, I
bought the cheap eggs from the sad little factory farm hens because I thought
for sure they’d get cracked. But if you
can convince your inner doubting Thomas to try this speggtacular experiment
(see what I did there??), get the good eggs from the happy hens because they
really will survive! </span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIchn0Zy9gwbphKOnpf5p2VNkJwS7MmUizhx5BEym3kw4MjuH5NeQIcWZnprQGG64MfKIdV3Zd0PPMenb9zkQ5qMViSBxLO7LL2BBBYiFU6a90ZyqbB53bszpooHZbfpxFANqeyyP4AMSS/s1600/IMG_8806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIchn0Zy9gwbphKOnpf5p2VNkJwS7MmUizhx5BEym3kw4MjuH5NeQIcWZnprQGG64MfKIdV3Zd0PPMenb9zkQ5qMViSBxLO7LL2BBBYiFU6a90ZyqbB53bszpooHZbfpxFANqeyyP4AMSS/s1600/IMG_8806.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-25242921541049301072014-05-02T09:52:00.001-04:002014-05-02T10:11:56.727-04:00How Not To Live Simply<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><i>If you're interested in reading more posts about simple living, check out <a href="http://snippetsofamessylife.blogspot.com/search/label/simple%20living" target="_blank">posts with the "simple living" tag.</a> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to live simply, to spend less and have less
and think less about stuff. I don’t like
clutter and I don’t embrace an identity as a consumer. I check <i>Simplicity Parenting</i> and other
simple-living books out of the library at least once a year and re-re-renew my
desire to live simply. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And yet.
You’d not quite believe my commitment to simple living if you wandered
through my house. My dreams of my house
looking like a Real Simple 2-page spread have not quite been realized. And as the stuff piles up around me, my mind
feels more and more cluttered and scattered.
<br />
<br />
I’ve been mulling this over recently and have identified a few (okay, seven) of
the areas that constantly trip me up, and I thought I’d share them with
you. I came across <a href="http://www.makingthishome.com/2011/03/07/how-to-clutter-your-home/" target="_blank">this blog post</a> by
Katie that inspired my list. So here
they are, my <b>7 Tips for NOT Living a Simple Life: </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>After
you’re finished borrowing something from a friend, hang it in a plastic bag by
the back door.</i> <br />
Because, you know, maybe my friend will just happen to conveniently drop by the
house and I’ll just happen to remember that I have her stuff and hand it over. And in the meantime, what is lovelier than
the sight of colorful plastic bags littering the entryway? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rMerGD0VLVfovO2Cgnk6nwxfG5DSCkzYuhvTffzhLVvcne65ejmo5CZhfNj05PXZcU0nG1jGJRJo1uJwrNK_LVxtXM9l_p6eqUiBtfuUdkSdL48oZTc8qn2DhRRwCzcBfApLmpVGtcq5/s1600/IMG_8830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rMerGD0VLVfovO2Cgnk6nwxfG5DSCkzYuhvTffzhLVvcne65ejmo5CZhfNj05PXZcU0nG1jGJRJo1uJwrNK_LVxtXM9l_p6eqUiBtfuUdkSdL48oZTc8qn2DhRRwCzcBfApLmpVGtcq5/s1600/IMG_8830.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Hang
on to lotion bottles (and shampoo, hairspray, detangler, cleaning supplies, deodorant,
etc.) that have a little bit left in the bottom that you can’t quite get
out. </i> <br />
I do this because I don’t want to be wasteful, but it’s ridiculous. Instead of spending the extra 10 seconds on
unscrewing the pump tube lid to smack some lotion in my hand, I buy a full one
and jam our bathroom shelves with almost-empty bottles. <br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Keep
every single piece of artwork or coloring that your prolific children/artists
create.</i><br />
When I say prolific, man do I mean it. I
am currently sorting piles that go back <i>years. </i>I am afraid to get rid of things because
each one is special to the artist and most of them are special to me, too. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3r8NOCF0rKijwRRcyj4ZHhYYZGyFzS8xu8OS0XUHrOKW94tchkVDr9N5hnIhcql05SVL-vCAUlssWQ05EnqmykLWvMSp462iFLGLpbnOI46L7v78iJ1sWJnsGo4gI-L73yvBPxzTIEjtc/s1600/IMG_8838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3r8NOCF0rKijwRRcyj4ZHhYYZGyFzS8xu8OS0XUHrOKW94tchkVDr9N5hnIhcql05SVL-vCAUlssWQ05EnqmykLWvMSp462iFLGLpbnOI46L7v78iJ1sWJnsGo4gI-L73yvBPxzTIEjtc/s1600/IMG_8838.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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But you know what happens when too many creations are deemed special? None of them get treated as such. So, I’m working towards sorting and choosing
our favorites, and then storing some of them so they are easily found and
reviewed. Others will be displayed
around the house, properly framed and treated as special. <br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Store
clothes in 5 different locations in your house.</i><br />
Am I the only one that does this?
Somehow we’ve ended up with a makeshift closet in the basement by the
washer and dryer, which consists of a pvc pipe for hanging clothes and 2
laundry baskets for folded clothes. And
then we have our real closets upstairs which end up with fewer clothes in them
than the fakey closet. And then there’s
the dressers and the tubs of off-season clothes stored in the bedroom. And finally, there are the piles of
sort-of-clean-but-sort-of-dirty clothes in the bathroom. <br />
<br />
The result? I never really know what I
have, and it looks like I have far less than I actually do. <br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> <i> </i></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Sort
the kids’ toys and put the extras in the basement.</i> <br />
I was inspired by <i>Simplicity Parenting</i> to reduce the number of toys my kids
have access to by 50%. And it really has
made a difference. With far fewer
options, they play much longer with a toy and engage with it much more. The days of grabbing and dumping without
playing are over. <br />
<br />
The trouble is, the extra toys never quite made it out of the house. I put them in the basement, with the idea
that I would be one of those super organized parents who rotates toys upstairs
and down, so the kids get the benefit of many toys without the overcrowded,
stressful environment. But, lo and
behold, the kids go in the basement, and find the extra toys, and grab and
dump, and occasionally drag something upstairs.
And the cycle begins again. I am
not one of those super organized rotating toy parents, so it’s time for the
toys to be evicted. <br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Keep
every single piece of important mail in a “to file” pile. </i> <br />
I have “to file” piles that were shoved in folders and transferred to our new
house when we moved. Two years ago. My kitchen command center reveals that my
filing skills haven’t gotten much better.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RUp9uNRQBOXCgoBY9P37gLf_Jr9Ney5qMIJJHxXqy3xSyaJYoHB-YR0B7QK-uu67igyUvPf2wJcmFZ9GKH75UMIhHiPCXOG-MtcumohCoYssVorW_BoRrsBmVI9m9N8mglG9fFpnA8Qv/s1600/IMG_8847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RUp9uNRQBOXCgoBY9P37gLf_Jr9Ney5qMIJJHxXqy3xSyaJYoHB-YR0B7QK-uu67igyUvPf2wJcmFZ9GKH75UMIhHiPCXOG-MtcumohCoYssVorW_BoRrsBmVI9m9N8mglG9fFpnA8Qv/s1600/IMG_8847.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">7.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="line-height: normal;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Once
you’ve sorted your stuff and selected what’s going in the giveaway pile (congratulations!!),
put the bags and boxes in the basement, the back of your van, or the
garage. Trust that they will
miraculously transport themselves where they need to go. </i><br />
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
It can be hard to actually, finally, get RID of the stuff. Our attachments to things, our hopes of
making a buck off of them, our fears about not having enough in the future…all
of those feelings and more keep us bound to things. I’ve heard (and experienced a little) that it
can be immensely freeing to get rid of bunches of excess.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
I’m learning that it takes a lot of work and intentionality to create and
MAINTAIN a simple environment. If I do
nothing, the stuff just pours in the door and accumulates everywhere. If I want my environment, mind, and spirit to
be free of stuff, then my hands have to do some constant work.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">
I have a few specific goals for my “Summer of Simplicity” that I’ll share in
some upcoming posts. Feel free to stay
tuned and join with me! What are some of
your best strategies for NOT living a simple life? </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span></i></span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-5130848133702404282014-04-29T09:26:00.000-04:002014-05-02T10:01:37.136-04:00Why I Broke Up With Public School<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a <a href="http://snippetsofamessylife.blogspot.com/2013/08/this-has-been-edens-first-week-of.html" target="_blank">difficult beginning</a> and a confusing
relationship, public school and I broke up last month. We had the kind of relationship where nothing
was particularly bad but nothing was particularly great, either. And once the scales tipped slightly towards
the negative, I felt like it was time for our relationship to end, at least for
now. <br />
<br />
A challenging class combined with many substitute teachers created an
environment where my kid just no longer felt comfortable. She cried one day as I dropped her off in a
busy classroom under a substitute’s care.
I drew a heart on her hand like we did <a href="http://snippetsofamessylife.blogspot.com/2013/07/eden-in-her-fifth-year.html" target="_blank">at the beginning of preschool</a>,
reminded her that I loved her, and told her I would be there to pick her up in
a couple hours. <br />
<br />
But that was the beginning of the end.
From then on, if there was a substitute at the door when we went to drop
her off, we drove back home. And we
started looking for a good time to end the school year early. <br />
<br />
Some might think that a few tears are not enough to change a child’s whole
educational course. But for Eden, those
tears were the indication that what had been working well enough was no longer
working. The uncertainty and frequent
changes were pushing the limits of her ability to adapt and roll with it. <br />
<br />
I wrote an “it’s not you, it’s me” letter to her teacher, Eden said good-bye to
her friends, and we broke up. It was a
good break-up, I think, full of mutual respect and no hurt feelings.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the whole scheme of educational choices and
philosophical camps, it’s easy for people to draw lines and take up sides. I suppose making choices for our kids puts us
in camps and gives the appearance of sides. <br />
<br />
But I’m not going to bash public schools.
I actually love the ideal that public school represents…that we pool all
of our kids from all different backgrounds and all beliefs and all abilities
and educate them in one community. That our
kids become our ties to each other and we learn to care for each other’s kids
and each other’s families. That our
teachers pour their lives into our kids and encourage their passions and find
the techniques that work best for each kid.
That our kids make friendships that teach them how people who are
different can become like family. <br />
<br />
The reality may be far from the ideal, in some cases. But I believe that most public school
teachers and administrators are working, sometimes against seemingly
insurmountable obstacles, towards that ideal.
<br />
<br />
I’m hopeful that one day public school and I will reunite, when it’s a better
fit for my kid and our family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For now, I am a homeschooler. Yikes.
That’s something I thought I’d never say and someone I never wanted to
be. But, we don’t wear denim jumpers and
braid our hair and read the Bible every morning. I thought those things were requirements, but
it turns out they’re not.<br />
<br />
Above all, I’m grateful to have a choice.
Many families don’t. I’m going to
make the most of my choice and the path we’re currently on. Just like the public schoolers, the
unschoolers, the private schoolers, the charter schoolers, the virtual
schoolers. We may disagree on the
particulars and the goals and the methods, but we can lean into the hope that
we’re all making the most of the path we’re on, doing the best we can for our
kids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-36986592133780708212014-04-23T10:12:00.002-04:002014-05-02T10:03:14.220-04:00The Voices That Crowd<div class="MsoNormal">
There are many voices</div>
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Seeking, shouting, vying, trying</div>
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To be heard, acknowledged, prized</div>
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Above the rest. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Skittering across the net</div>
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Bouncing from site to site.</div>
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Each one calling “pick me!” “pin me!”</div>
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“stay here!” “like me!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Songs from the past</div>
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Play a never-ending loop in my mind.</div>
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Melodies that haunt and don’t inspire,</div>
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Words that beat and tamp down</div>
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<br /></div>
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My flame, my song, my voice</div>
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Still persists.</div>
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Insists</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On being. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-81105290250185140392014-04-15T09:49:00.000-04:002014-04-15T09:50:20.531-04:00Eden's Operating Manual<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We were driving home last night after a lively dinner at my
sister’s (lively = kids go wild while sisters chat, oblivious to kids’ water
dumping shenanigans until it’s too late), when Eden announced, “I don’t like
our house. I wish I could live all by
myself in my own house and decide everything for myself.” <br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
We’ve been hearing a lot of the “I want to decide things for myself” refrain
around here lately. It occurred to me as
we were driving that this was probably about more than just not being allowed
to flood the inside of her auntie’s house.
It’s about more than just wanting to eat as many treats as she wants
because “it’s my body and I can decide for myself!” She’s growing, stretching, and leaning into
her independence, sometimes straining against me in the process. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
So we talked in the van (don’t the best conversations happen when you’re
driving?) about some areas where she could decide more things and have more
responsibility. We decided that she’d
add some items of her choice to our grocery list and have free rein of a self-serve
snack basket in the cupboard. She
assured me that she would still only eat one granola bar a day, because she
still wants to eat healthy foods. She
will brush her own hair. I asked, “what
should I do if your hair is all tangly and I ask you to brush it and you say ‘no,
I don’t want to brush it’?” She looked
genuinely confused and said, “I won’t do that. I’ll brush it.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think God knew that I am a little slow to catch on
sometimes, so he gave me a firstborn daughter with her own articulate,
insightful operating manual. She’s
basically all but telling me, “excuse me Mama, but I’m desiring more autonomy
and would enjoy more opportunities to express my independence, please.” Thankfully I heard her this time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes I feel like she
is five going on fifteen. I see a tall,
beautiful teenage girl, yelling, “It’s my body and I can decide for myself!” in
reference to something much more important than eating a second cookie. But really, she is five going on six. We’re practicing, figuring out how to
negotiate more independence for us both.
Expanding what it means to respect each other. And if we practice this now about issues like
treats and hair brushing, hopefully we’ll be okay when the teenage years come. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-36731000986748012762014-04-14T20:53:00.002-04:002014-04-14T20:54:50.138-04:00Collaborative Poetry, Part TwoAnd here's the rest of our poems! We didn't give them titles, but I'm using the topic as the title so it doesn't get confusing. Again, thanks to these authors for contributing: <span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.735000610351563px;">Connor Ball, Satyam Bharadwaj, Sherry Corley, Daniel Guastella, Bryonna Manes, Jody Mitchell, and Dustin Tushar.</span><br />
<br />
Summer<br />
<br />
So close, yet so far, I can almost hear the beach's<br />
waves wherever they are.<br />
My toes curl, searching for sand to<br />
blissfully hide beneath.<br />
So delicate and so warm, but not too hot to burn my feet.<br />
The water and my feet meet for a nice<br />
retreat.<br />
The sting of the sun, and burning skin,<br />
suntan lotion, and foamy waves.<br />
Pressing heat but hurts so great,<br />
the one thing we look for on college break.<br />
For this is our time to chill and rest<br />
because that's what we do best. <br />
<br />
Trusting Someone<br />
<br />
Being stripped of any sense of security, putting<br />
power into someone else's hands.<br />
The one true hero we look upon, for guidance<br />
and comfort, peace and tranquility,<br />
For this person truly has your back<br />
for years and years to come.<br />
For this person will never leave you, will never betray<br />
you.<br />
Yet this doubt lingers in your mind,<br />
haunting your heart.<br />
Like these new cars they're all push to start, If you keep<br />
pushing my buttons we will split apart.<br />
Just like my heart if you break<br />
our trust for we must<br />
stick together.<br />
<br />
Cats<br />
<br />
Cats are furry, cats are round<br />
Lots of furballs floating 'round.<br />
Cats can scratch<br />
Dogs aren't a match.<br />
Cats lounge for hours in the sun,<br />
Since they have no work to be done.<br />
Whisker to whisker, they move so quick,<br />
So quiet - they are basically slick.<br />
They run through allies with fur against the bricks,<br />
and skip through bushes without hitting a single stick.<br />
Their quick nimble feet pitter-patter<br />
along the brick as they<br />
skip, skip, skip.<br />
<br />
Freedom<br />
<br />
I look up into the sky and see<br />
Not a bird, not a plane, but the stars are what's free.<br />
But what's really free, are we<br />
Freedom we are guaranteed,<br />
But freedom binds us greatly.<br />
Fought and won, we can never be without.<br />
But we do not think of how much we need<br />
until we lose what we cherish most.<br />
<br />
Check out <a href="http://snippetsofamessylife.blogspot.com/2014/04/collaborative-poetry-part-one.html" target="_blank">yesterday's post</a> for the description of our method and how you, too, can have fun writing amazing poetry. Thanks for reading!Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-6927002880756225712014-04-13T08:39:00.002-04:002014-04-13T08:41:03.758-04:00Collaborative Poetry, Part One<div class="MsoNormal">
According to the U.S. make-every-day-a-special-day calendar,
April is National Poetry Month. The students
in my writing class also happen to be working on a collaborative multimodal project
this month. So, I decided to combine
these two into a collaborative poetry writing lesson to show that writing
poetry can be fun, @#!*% , and that sometimes we can create things together that
we could never create alone. It actually
<i>was</i> fun, and the poems they wrote
were really amazing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Our writing method was to write one line of poetry at the top of each paper and
write the general topic at the bottom. Each
student would read the line at the top, add their own line, and then fold the
top of the paper down so the only line showing was the one they had just
written. Then they’d pass the paper
along, the next student would read the one line showing, add their own line,
fold the top down to cover all but their own, and pass along, etc. etc. So each student was writing a line of poetry
with only the general topic and previous line to give them context. (Aside:
I know I read this method somewhere, but can’t remember where and google
is no help. Maybe it came to me in a
dream.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The resulting poems, as you’ll see below, are actually quite
cohesive! I was impressed with what they
wrote in just a minute or two per poem…the poems have strong imagery,
alliteration, and even cultural critique.
<br />
<br />
The poems I’ll post today begin with a line from poems by Robert Louis
Stevenson. I’ve used Stevenson’s titles
so you can go read his versions if you’d like.
The contributing authors, who have graciously given me permission to
publish their poems here, are: Connor Ball, Satyam Bharadwaj, Sherry Corley, Daniel
Guastella, Bryonna Manes, Jody Mitchell, and Dustin Tushar. Come back tomorrow to read more! <br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Summer Sun<br />
<br />
Great is the Sun, and wide he goes<br />
Through empty heaven without repose;<br />
It is big and It is bright.<br />
It is blinding, yet such a sight.<br />
And we keep at least it’s reflection thru the night.<br />
The reflection at first giving us a fright<br />
Reflecting against the rolling sea,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
beckoning for clarity. <br />
Sun always rises, never sets, as we<br />
stay up awake until winter chill is met.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain is raining all around,<br />
It falls on field and tree,<br />
It sleeks and shines the ground beneath,<br />
and drips from leaf to leaf.<br />
Sound so calm, it brings us to a better place.<br />
City to city but never captured, a force so strong<br />
it is never relieved. <br />
Drizzle, Drizzle, Drop, Drop rings the sounds<br />
in our ears, never seems to drop a <br />
beat as if it were on the radio.<br />
It’s wet everywhere because of the rain,<br />
rain, rain please don’t come again.<br />
Yet as soon as you leave, I crave<br />
nothing more than the sound<br />
of rain upon my window.<br />
Is that a sin though? Waiting for god’s<br />
tears just to clean my life’s window. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The Cow<br />
<br />
The friendly cow, all red and white, <br />
I love with all my heart. <br />
I fed him food all day and night, <br />
till he grew big and strong. <br />
It provides me with milk<br />
yet pollutes the air that I breathe.<br />
Somehow we continue to graze them as such,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty soon as we know it our lives will be flushed.<br />
And our lives will be rushed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By those who we trusted,<br />
for no more than mere lunch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Caged, but treated as pets,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We care so much for them – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Herded and spared. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty great, huh?
Which one is your favorite? Come back
tomorrow to read the rest, and wrangle some of your family and friends into
writing some collaborative poetry of your own! </div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-63067910697571491572014-04-11T11:17:00.000-04:002014-04-11T14:06:48.524-04:00Reading Confessions<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, back in the blogging saddle again. I’ve missed writing, but sometimes breaks are
good and needed. And I know at least one
person missed my posts (holla Fran!) and sometimes that’s all it takes to get this
writer writing again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What I have been doing a lot of lately, encouraged in part by
my facebook fast during Lent, is reading.
My title, Reading Confessions, unfortunately does not mean I’ve been
reading Augustine’s <i>Confessions</i>. It means that I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole
towards reading books that no self-respecting person with a degree in
literature should read. Alas. <br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
It all started with Wendell Berry. His
book, <i>Hannah Coulter</i>, consumed my
life for about two months as I read, reread, journaled, read Berry’s nonfiction
essays, and basically angsted away for a simpler life, where people lived and
loved in one place for generations, where husband and wife worked together in
their family-sized economy for the sustenance and pleasure of their community,
where members of a community become a membership, where the land is tied up in
the love is tied up in the land. I highly recommend reading everything he's ever written and then buying a country plot and becoming a <a href="http://www.motherearthnews.com/homesteading-and-livestock/self-sufficient-homestead-zm0z11zkon.aspx" target="_blank">one-acre wonder</a>. Or at least dreaming about it. <br /> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
And then, after an amazing book club discussion of the above, I was just tired
of thinking. Enter <i>Divergent.</i> And <i>Insurgent</i>. And <i>Allegiant</i>. In like a week. Compelling plot, strong heroine, interesting
discussions of bravery and violence and choice.
All set in post-apocalyptic Chicago, which makes me want to go back and
visit the city of my college years and try to jump on a moving train.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
After my little foray into “fluff” books, as my mom calls them, I should have
theoretically been ready for some real stuff again. Alas.
I went in the opposite direction.
I really can’t remember how it all started, but I turned next to
Nicholas Sparks. Yep. I did.
I read two of his books and watched the corresponding movies, and
noticed how the movies are much more lighthearted and strip any menace or
darkness out of the books. And that’s
about all there is to notice, I think. Except,
all the girls are short blonds, and all the boys are tall muscle men. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then I felt dumber. Or is it more dumb? Anyway, I decided to move upwards and onwards. I read <i>The
Last Lecture</i> by Randy Pausch, which I found interesting and moving as a
memoir/time capsule for Pausch’s kids. I
just finished <i>The Fault in Our Stars</i>
by John Green, which tells the story of teens living with cancer, trying to
figure out the ending to their story. I’m
currently studying <i>The Well-Trained Mind</i>,
a voluminous tome advocating a classical approach to home education. Just reading it makes me feel smart and well-read. </span><br />
<br />
I think I’m safely back on the path towards good books again. The next book club book is <i>Bel Canto </i>by Ann Patchett, which I started reading about six months ago but didn’t finish. From what I recall, it’s a combination of opera lovers and a high-anxiety hostage situation. It’s bound to be a good one. I’ll keep you posted.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-24851426606653639832013-11-11T19:53:00.001-05:002013-11-11T19:53:18.463-05:00A Christmas Prelude<div class="MsoNormal">
I like Christmas, and so it starts appearing early around
here. When the air turns cold and the
wind starts up, when the fires in the fireplace start, it starts feeling like
Christmas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year I started listening to Christmas music on November
1<sup>st</sup>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve been watching Christmas movies on Netflix. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I bought some new twinkle lights to make the living room
festive. Only one strand worked, of
course, so the room looks a little odd, but still cheery. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christmas m&m cookie baking with the kids. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXjhaQrqm-1Qg2RgBB1kCizNX3pn8HnKbFfHfaNEvDYwGKdc5tjFiQVLPjVfzBopc3_-J7C0VSFjNebUHqZtqGf7hWNTUR9YfyP8Tgx3q22-YtBmDmtHKIYG6VK7PojZXQ27BJKRfPJT2/s1600/IMG_8383_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXjhaQrqm-1Qg2RgBB1kCizNX3pn8HnKbFfHfaNEvDYwGKdc5tjFiQVLPjVfzBopc3_-J7C0VSFjNebUHqZtqGf7hWNTUR9YfyP8Tgx3q22-YtBmDmtHKIYG6VK7PojZXQ27BJKRfPJT2/s320/IMG_8383_edited-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0gD0_Ud4oTDk5FZUUFn_ia6u1aY7IyebTEwfEqbMV5ixBhfeS-jxOc2KPQqoa9UaRphMlRYs4BrawzA8JvJMxWGgUz0I9eHNGqgAg9X3hx6JDYRaxfdlbYjp2A09zXi5sVBXnpH8Xx_Z/s1600/IMG_8385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0gD0_Ud4oTDk5FZUUFn_ia6u1aY7IyebTEwfEqbMV5ixBhfeS-jxOc2KPQqoa9UaRphMlRYs4BrawzA8JvJMxWGgUz0I9eHNGqgAg9X3hx6JDYRaxfdlbYjp2A09zXi5sVBXnpH8Xx_Z/s320/IMG_8385.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I enjoy the November prelude to Christmas almost as
much as the actual season itself, because it comes in a month of peace. As much as we try to keep Christmas simple
and meaningful, December gets filled with extra events on the calendar, extra
tasks, extra shopping, and extra church services.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">November is filled with
silent nights, perfect for a Christmas prelude.</span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-57546023337843547662013-11-10T20:11:00.002-05:002013-11-10T20:14:12.006-05:00All At Once<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today after her shower I wrapped Eden in her towel and all
of a sudden realized how too-small it was.
She was shivering uncontrollably and exclaiming loudly how COLD she was,
and I suddenly noticed how inadequate the baby towel was for her tall
5-year-old body. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXlUkjXR1CGW472hTHVZMmZEylE4oun-sS-y-KyoZsJ_wddVrUFlpVXdfSIC5nHDwZij93zXpvBFzzwst5x5Owhi-yd6zweLqsT1wY0CvuEZ-2emNiVgHW6acbzIOSRsD2NaGBxAmFAVNl/s1600/IMG_8388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXlUkjXR1CGW472hTHVZMmZEylE4oun-sS-y-KyoZsJ_wddVrUFlpVXdfSIC5nHDwZij93zXpvBFzzwst5x5Owhi-yd6zweLqsT1wY0CvuEZ-2emNiVgHW6acbzIOSRsD2NaGBxAmFAVNl/s320/IMG_8388.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They grow in small increments, measured in peeking ankles and
long-sleeved shirts turned to ¾ length. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0A1I7cpSXnZtI7XxlIIlMsBp-ZEyBbyWz-FSCQTJd7NC_HW1XKPfSmHcBzUA4Hd6QtRMuArYt9J6qaNcT6Cz3h243hLcATGDHQeR4Hw01Gb2_DWFVVlTpgbD3m116d4IIz9Ep5tUrX9k/s1600/IMG_0074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0A1I7cpSXnZtI7XxlIIlMsBp-ZEyBbyWz-FSCQTJd7NC_HW1XKPfSmHcBzUA4Hd6QtRMuArYt9J6qaNcT6Cz3h243hLcATGDHQeR4Hw01Gb2_DWFVVlTpgbD3m116d4IIz9Ep5tUrX9k/s320/IMG_0074.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eden's first bath at home, at 4 days old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And then, all of a sudden, they’ve grown.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-NxR9PkrsF9oo-CkJOKqwI390A_rrppVzWTGPY0zj2O9SWwA7pmbykSqws676wrA-Gkb3nTGDK-P-v1GLvGZ7dPU-4y0w_w-31nQ8mXnZoPXcgjDg_5WczVfb6xvyplcaowKF0jcl4-2/s1600/IMG_8272.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-NxR9PkrsF9oo-CkJOKqwI390A_rrppVzWTGPY0zj2O9SWwA7pmbykSqws676wrA-Gkb3nTGDK-P-v1GLvGZ7dPU-4y0w_w-31nQ8mXnZoPXcgjDg_5WczVfb6xvyplcaowKF0jcl4-2/s320/IMG_8272.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p>And sometimes, what used to fit needs to be shed. What used to soothe doesn't soothe anymore. What used to be the favorite is left untouched. What used to be feared is now exciting. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes they grow so sticky molasses slow that it’s imperceptible. Sometimes they stand up from a crouch and
they’ve aged 2 years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s time for some big kid towels around here, new shoes for
both, a new hat for the boy, solid “ssss”es instead of “shchth”es, homework for
the girl. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s shocking, and it’s
slow. All at once. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Aho0fKFq28KmUcwKmeAwz5LqRDp_xG_62Odbb2QFc6YgMJQILpQhV11D5kNAcmQ1ASlDp5w1uQLKHsQQs7ap8jnwTERb4OG-heIxKEPeYz0CKumSo3mcUFLrgWZ2rBVwWRiJt2nwFwJf/s1600/IMG_8244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Aho0fKFq28KmUcwKmeAwz5LqRDp_xG_62Odbb2QFc6YgMJQILpQhV11D5kNAcmQ1ASlDp5w1uQLKHsQQs7ap8jnwTERb4OG-heIxKEPeYz0CKumSo3mcUFLrgWZ2rBVwWRiJt2nwFwJf/s320/IMG_8244.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-54894512198775406232013-11-09T20:48:00.001-05:002013-11-09T20:48:21.588-05:00The Upstairs and Downstairs Parents<div class="MsoNormal">
The title of this post isn’t a reference to Downton Abbey,
although that would be a fun post to write.
It’s a reference to our local library, where the children’s section is
downstairs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other day, my mom told me that a librarian friend of
hers, who frequently is the one to check me and the kids out upstairs,
commented on what a great mom I am. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m fairly certain the downstairs librarians wouldn’t
agree. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, the last few (three? four? it
all blurs together) times we’ve gone to the library, Isaac has had a complete
meltdown of one kind or another right when we were leaving. It’s involved things like running away from
me, crying, and screaming…super fun stuff.
So I’ve been the one chasing him, strapping his flailing body into the stroller
(which I still bring in to make our entrance and exit go more smoothly), and
calmly telling him that we do not yell in the library. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m “that” mom to the downstairs librarians. You know, the one who can’t control my
kid. The one who must be doing something
terribly wrong in order to make my kid behave that way. The one who clearly did not prepare her child
that the library is a quiet and calm place and that we would have to leave
soon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve seen the looks.
I’ve seen the judgments from the parents of innocent little
15-month-olds who swear that will never be them. I’ve seen the looks from parents whose
children have mastered impulse control and obedience at a younger age than my
son. The looks and the judgments
sting. <br />
<br />
But then we go upstairs. And by the time
we go upstairs, Isaac has calmed down and is no longer screaming and appears to
have been sitting calmly in his stroller for quite some time. So the upstairs people see my smooth checkout
and think that I’m the mom who’s got it all together, whose angelic children
never disobey and wouldn’t even think about screaming until they were red in
the face in the library. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, whose judgment is right?
Maybe both. Maybe neither.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are judgments made based on the briefest of
interactions, the most limited amounts of information. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are judgments made with no context of relationship, no
incentive to believe the best about someone, and no good intent. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the receiving end of these judgments, it’s far too easy
to be overly pricked and pained by the negative ones and overly encouraged and
validated by the positive ones. It’s
also far too easy to parent in public out of embarrassment, shame, and fear of
what judgments will be made. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the one who knows what kind of mother I am. My kids know what kind of mother I am. My God knows what kind of mother I am. We are the ones who are fully aware of what
goes on both downstairs and upstairs. We
see it all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in the context of these safe, long-lasting, loving
relationships, I will find my anchor and my hope and my guidance. </div>
Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-73223530869938049952013-11-07T20:21:00.003-05:002013-11-07T20:23:55.174-05:00In Other Words<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today
is one of those days that I really shouldn’t blog. I’m not in a good frame of mind to post
something every day of my life, and some days private writing is more
appropriate than public writing. So to continue
with NaBloPoMo, I’ll pass along 3 links to great articles I read today
regarding parenting and families. <br />
<br />
The first, called <a href="http://www.babble.com/disney-dads/why-kids-act-out-at-bedtime-and-what-they-really-want-from-you/" target="_blank">“Why Kids Act Out at Bedtime,”</a> by Dr. Kelly Flanagan, a dad
who is also a psychologist. I remember
Glennon over at <a href="http://momastery.com/">momastery.com</a> describing bedtime as one big game of
<a href="http://momastery.com/blog/2012/05/22/whack-a-mole/" target="_blank">whack-a-mole</a>, where you get one kid settled and then the other has a request,
and on and on and on…back and forth, in and out of the room, whacking those
damn moles that keep popping up again.
It is fraying on even the most patient person’s nerves, and I’m not the
most patient person. Dr. Flanagan
reveals how our response to bedtime has more to do with ourselves as parents
and less to do with our kids. <br />
<br />
The second, called <a href="http://www.janetlansbury.com/2013/11/let-your-kids-be-mad-at-you/" target="_blank">“Let your kids be mad at you,”</a> by Janet Lansbury of
Elevating Child Care. She talks about
the need as parents to be able to handle the full range of our kids’
emotions. To be open to their anger at
us, to not recoil or leave or defend or reproach when our kids express their
anger at us. Today Isaac said to me, “I
want to be in our house but I don’t want to be anywhere near you” when he was
mad at me. I’m glad he feels comfortable
saying it, although it is sometimes hard to hear. I’m also glad that even when he’s most angry,
he still wants to be “in our house.” I
take that to mean that he’s not running away anytime soon. <br />
<br />
The third, called <a href="http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/1304506.htm" target="_blank">“Marriage isn’t easy, but it’s beautiful, pope says,”</a>
reported by Cindy Wooden of Catholic News Service. Pope Francis spoke in Vatican City about
marriage and family life. He affirms
that marriage is not an easy path, but that in “lov[ing] one other person
forever…the trials, sacrifices and crises in the life of the couple or the
family are stages for growth in goodness, truth and beauty.” I read a comment once in which an older woman
who had been married for 50+ years said that for about 5 years of her marriage,
she hated her husband. But over the
course of their married life, she considered that loving him for 90% of their
marriage made up for that 10% of their time together that was difficult. What if she had given up during the 10%? What if she would have walked away from that
marriage and lost the 45 happy years together? Marriage is
hard but it is also beautiful. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79602746843568877.post-31687696288350600212013-11-06T20:04:00.000-05:002014-05-02T10:02:02.553-04:00Sleep<div class="MsoNormal">
For a (horrible) while in college, I worked on paint crew
from 6am-7:30am before my first class. I
was trying to squeeze in extra hours, I guess so I could have more fun
money. This sounds like supreme
foolishness to me now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I was lucky, I’d get to bed around midnight and “only”
get 6 hours of sleep. It really wasn’t
enough, as my falling asleep in my first class attested to. But I could always take a nap whenever I felt
like it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, getting 6 hours of straight sleep sounds like an
amazing indulgent luxurious blissful wonderful beyond-all-expectations
gift. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Isaac hasn’t been sleeping well lately. For about the last 3 years and 4 ½ months. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, not really. He
actually slept fine for the 1<sup>st</sup> 2 years of his life, but then things
went downhill. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re working on it.
Trying things. Giving up and
doing what’s easiest, which still doesn’t mean good sleep. Then trying things again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Part of me says this is a small, insignificant challenge in
the broader scheme of life. Part of me
says that this is a travesty and that sleep-deprivation is torturous. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sleep is one of those things, like health, that you don’t
even think about when you have it. But
when it’s gone, it becomes the number one, can’t be ignored, problem of supreme
importance. Our bodies are strong until
they are frail, and then we realize how vulnerable we are. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I went away last weekend, I slept for 7 hours straight
that night. I woke up in the same
position I fell asleep in and checked my phone.
Yup, 7 hours. I had that crusty
stuff on my eyes because I didn’t open my eyes for 7 hours. I forgot about that crusty stuff. You don’t get that crusty stuff when your
eyes are open off and on all night long.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m just complaining. I have no answers. I am not learning any great lessons from this. I don't overflow with grace and peace when I am woken up in the middle of the night, grateful for the chance to interact with my cherubs. I try as hard as I can to keep my @#!*% together and be as kind as I can, while my body screams at me to lay down and go to sleep. <br /><br />I empathize with all parents of small
children out there who aren’t sleeping well, with the insomniacs, with those
working 3<sup>rd</sup> shift, with anyone sleep-deprived anywhere. May we all sleep again someday. </span>Jamiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01703514710729930492noreply@blogger.com3