Choosing Joy

Today is my son's last day of school.  It should be tomorrow, but a doctor's appointment will take the place of his final class of his Senior year.

We have been scrambling to complete much needed home improvements in preparation for the big graduation day and the party that precedes it.  The idea of people descending upon our home for any large gathering typically throws me into a panic as we actually LIVE in our house.  We are not those home-dwellers who keep their house so immaculate that a realtor could come by and use it as an example of how to stage a house.  We live here. And living here means lots of messes - lots of hockey and lacrosse gear airing in the front room, games and books spilling out of shelves and the coffee table, dvds stacked three deep in the entertainment center, dog hair floating like tumbleweeds under the dining room table and embedding itself in carpet; fingerprints and doggie noseprints on windows, kitchen countertop always stacked with things that don't belong there, random things like a lone sock and a hammer or crossword puzzle books and a can of ceiling Spackle - we LIVE in this house.

So, frantically, for the last few weeks, I've been trying to make it look like we don't live here (with the exception of the basement: that has become the stacking ground for plastic bins full of stuff that will be sorted and sold in a near-future garage sale); like our house is just always clean and perfect - that WE are clean and perfect people.  But that's just it - we're not clean and perfect people.  We're messy.  We're a family of six individuals and two dogs living under one roof - always busy, always running, always going.  Life is messy.  But the attempt at control of this messy life has left me angry and stressed out and frankly losing my mind.  It all exploded in a frustrated rant last night after dinner when I was told that the stacks of old carpet would be disposed of another way than just putting them out with the trash.  My panic overtook my reason and I lost it.  My losing it is never quiet.  It is usually me yelling out all my frustration - whatever is bugging me the most right that second will pour out and spill onto whomever is closest or whomever seems to be the cause of the stress.  So after a loud fit, I stomped upstairs to my room, flipped on the final hour of The Voice and tried to chill.

Unfortunately, I woke up feeling the same overwhelming pressure and stress that I had fallen asleep with. So, I pulled out Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts" devotional and read:

What insanity compels me to shrivel up when there is joy's water to be had here?....I'm blind to joy's well every time I really don't want it.  The well is always there. And I choose not to see it...Why do I lunge for control instead of joy?...If I am rejecting the joy that is hidden somewhere deep in this moment, am I not ultimately rejecting God? Whenever I am blind to joy's well, isn't it because I don't believe in God's care? That God cares enough about me to always offer me joy's water, wherever I am, regardless of circumstance...In His presence is fullness of joy.  He is in this moment. ~Voskamp, p. 72

Why do I "lunge for control instead of joy"?  It isn't getting my tasks done more quickly. It isn't making the house not look lived in - it is making my family crazy and me crazy, so instead of having a "perfect house" it's an imperfect house with a crazy, ranting mama inside.   A crazy, ranting mama who is missing all these moments of joy because of worry over rolls of old carpet and mismatched (missing stain) kitchen cupboard doors.  Instead of relishing my time with my boy and my just-returned from college girl and my two glorious little girls, one who would be "graduating" from elementary school if she were in traditional public school this year (thankfully, she is not), I am freaking out.  And really, why?  The tables, chairs and soft-serve ice cream machine are all reserved and ready to be picked up the day before the party. There are some other food items that either need to be bought or made, but honestly, the main stuff is already resolved.  What is left is supposed to be fun: making a video celebrating my boy's life...filling planters and flower beds with riotous colored flowers...putting up the curtain in the garage and stringing photos of my boy...and finally, ultimately, the bringing together of people who have watched my boy grow from a wild lil Mite hockey player into a young man - celebrating his life and his accomplishments and his future.  Why am I freaking out?

So, if you come to my boy's party, please realize that instead of lunging for control, I was choosing joy.  Please disregard the cupboard doors without stain; please don't look behind the curtain in the garage, or judge us for the pieces of trampoline leaning on the backyard shed.  If it is raining, and we're all stuck inside the house, instead of noticing the dust bunnies, please admire the beautiful work my husband did to remodel our sunporch and ignore the couches' need to be cleaned.  Please enjoy the sundae bar and have fun chatting with friends and family and join me in choosing joy that day.

For more information re Ann Voskamp, go to http://www.aholyexperience.com/ 

Updated 5/20/15 8:47am

Celebrating Fathers

Father's Day is right around the corner.  With that in mind, I'd like to take a moment and get a little personal.

SwimGirl graduated from high school last weekend.  Because her dad lives several states away, we planned her graduation party for the day before the ceremony, so he could join in on the weekend's festivities.  The morning of the party, SwimGirl's dad, IT Guy, picked her up for breakfast.  My neighbor happened to be outside when IT Guy came by, and asked me if it was an awkward situation for us - having IT Guy here and involved with the festivities.  I didn't have to think long for my response, "No," I answered, "We've been divorced for many years.  At first it was hard: adjusting to sharing the kids, scheduling and getting past what drove us apart in the first place. But, fortunately, we figured out how to make it work." He was surprised by my answer, since his own personal experiences with family divorce has not been very positive.  I totally understand this as my own parents divorced when I was a young adult; we've all adjusted for the most part, but holidays can get a little stressful because of the family rifts.

It is because of our own experiences with divorced parents that has led IT Guy, The Man of the House and I to do our best to be flexible and accommodating with SwimGirl and TBone.  When parents divorce, the stress and pain is not felt only by the couple splitting up, but by the children as well.  When parents forget that the kids are also in pain and/or use their kids as pawns, it only creates more pain and havoc in an already potentially devastating period in the children's lives.  If one is unable to separate the reasons for the divorce from the kids, the kids are the ones who ultimately pay the price of the failure in the marriage.

Ironically, it was The Man of the House who taught me this fact.  He came into our lives when SwimGirl and TBone were still quite young, and tried very hard to let IT Guy know that he was there as a bonus parent, not as a person trying to take over IT Guy's job as "Dad." There were times, early on, when IT Guy and I were unable to communicate without animosity; it was during those times when the three of us would have to attend TBone's hockey games together and TMotH would stand between us, talking to both of us, but also providing a buffer - a sort of "No Man's Land" in human form.  Because he was willing to be that neutral person, IT Guy and I were able to present a civilized front to the children, something they desperately needed to see their parents do.  The kids also were able to see that even though IT Guy and I couldn't make it as a married couple, our love for them, our involvement in their activities, and our presence together in their lives would not change.  It takes a strong man to do what TMotH did for us and the kids.  He taught us how to get along by his example of being willing to not take sides and get along with both of us for the kids' sake.

There are those people who are quick to criticize those of us who have experienced failure in marriage; as though somehow that failure represents some kind of moral incapability or character deficit or an inability to understand the gravity of the marriage vows.  The sad thing is, that criticism is nothing compared to what a divorcee` feels or tells his/herself about their divorce.  No one can beat up a divorced person more than that person has already done to themselves.  For a person like myself, who detests failure so much that they will not even attempt something if failure is an option, divorce represents the ultimate failure and can take many years to understand what went wrong and how things could have been different.  No one can beat me up more than I have beaten myself up over the years because of this "failure." Self-righteous attitudes toward divorce is not what a person going through that experience needs; love and understanding goes much further and can help lead that person to healing and potentially the ability to start new - either with the first marriage or with someone else someday.

Back to fathers:  What I experienced this weekend was a good outcome from my own personal first marriage failure.  Where some kids only have one parent or both parents present to celebrate the achievement of their high school graduation, SwimGirl had three doting parents happy to cheer her accomplishment.  SwimGirl and TBone have benefited from having two parents AND two bonus parents in their lives.  Without TMotH, TBone would have probably never played hockey - TMotH is the one who originally bought him skates and took him out to the rink for the first time, marveling at TBone's balance and almost instantaneous acclimation to the feeling of blades on his feet.  Without TMotH, SwimGirl would not have had the opportunity to try different activities before finding that swimming was her talent and passion.  Without the support of IT Guy, the kids wouldn't have been able to continue those activities due to financial constraints.  Unlike many separated families, I cannot complain that IT Guy has not done well by his kids financially.  He's never been late, never missed a child support payment, has always made sure they had health insurance, and even when he moved hundreds of miles away, he always did his best to be part of his kids' lives.  Because of him, the kids have experienced things and visited places I would have never been able to show them.  Because of him, TBone has learned how to fix computers and be my own personal Techie here at home.  Because of him, SwimGirl had an early start with computers and will be taking that knowledge with her to college to pursue a degree either in graphic design or architecture.  Her passion for architecture was also nurtured by IT Guy and the trips he took the kids on - showing them cities and buildings that do not exist in the Midwest.

Recently, Kathleen Parker wrote a column titled "Say it. Go ahead, say it! 'Father'" in which she discusses the fact that even with more women becoming the sole breadwinner in the home, which is causing some people to question whether women need men at all, that we do indeed need fathers in the family unit.  Not only that, but that fathers should be celebrated.  I couldn't agree with Ms. Parker more.  In our home, TMotH is often away, building powerlines or restoring power after storms; leaving me as the sole caretaker of our four children.  I've learned to be very self-sufficient, accomplishing tasks that earlier in my life I'd have never known I could do on my own.  It is a humbling experience to be the single caregiver; I've had to learn to ask for help when my pride is screaming, "NO! I CAN do this on my own!" There have been times when the trials of raising teenagers become too much for one person to handle, so calling IT Guy and asking for his assistance has been necessary.  There has not been a time when I've called him and asked for his help in something where he hasn't shown sympathy for the situation - has stepped in and said, "Don't make me have to get on a plane and fly up there!" something for which I am eternally grateful.

No matter how self-sufficient we as women get, no matter all the technology and social safety nets we have to be able to raise children on our own, there will not be a time when children do not need a father-figure - their biological dad, a step-dad, a grandpa, uncle or even a great male friend - in their lives.  Girls learn what it means to be a woman by the way the male-figure in their lives treat them and the women around them, just as boys learn what it means to be a man from how their mothers and other women around them treat them.  Boys need men to teach them how to be men and how to treat the women in their lives just as girls need women to do the same for them.  Feminism should not be something that becomes women accomplishing goals to the exclusion of needing men in their lives; it should be a means of equal pay for equal work and an appreciation for the roles that both sexes play in society and in the family unit.

This weekend showed me that even though IT Guy and I failed at our marriage (something that occurred when we were both very young and had a lot of growing left to do, including finishing college and all the stress that comes with that while holding a household together and raising a young family), that the outcome did not have to be one of failure as well.  Even though we were unable to complete our journey together under the same roof, our children need not suffer adversely because of our inability to make things work between us.  The proof of that fact was evident on Saturday night when IT Guy, TMotH and I sat together, with friends and relatives, chatting like the old friends we now are, basking in the pride of our daughter's tremendous accomplishment: finishing high school and preparing to set off on her own life's adventure starting with a scholarship to a Division I school and ending wherever her talents and dreams can take her.

Updated 6/6/13 11:12am

Sandy Hook Tragedy

I almost had a panic attack this morning. It isn't that unusual, truthfully, since we're almost always running late and getting the four kids out the door can be crazy, especially combined with a dose of talk radio - all those factors can make me feel the need to curl up and rock myself like the little monkeys on the videos shown in Psychology 101.  Today's feeling was different.  Today I found myself hugging my kids closer and for longer and giving them more kisses and telling them "I love you," as I sent them out the door. Especially Buttercup.  Buttercup is 6 years old. Buttercup is the same age and in the same grade of the little ones killed on Friday at Sandy Hook Elementary.

I spent Friday morning at my daughters' elementary school.  A group of parents had volunteered to prep mountains of fleece for the four third grade classes to make into blankets for some homeless shelters in St. Paul. What I had expected to take about an hour ended up taking three as we evened out edges and cut the "ties" into yards and yards of fleece.  Conversations between strangers, brought together by our kids, ranged from the silly to the deep - like conversations often do when a large group of women are tossed in together on a project.  It was a lighthearted morning with lots of laughter ending with the fleece ready for the little third graders' fingers today.  My knees are still sore from kneeling on the floor to trim the edges of numerous would-be blankets.  I chatted with the office admin  for a bit after we were finished.  She's been part of our elementary school as long as I can remember - SwimGirl started there in 2nd grade and is graduating this year, so we've had at least one child at the school for ten years now - and is probably one of the best elementary school admins I've ever known.  The school principal was also in and out - popping into our conference-room-turned-workroom to check in and chatting with parents as they moved through the office.  The school is warm, inviting and staffed by absolutely wonderful teachers, paraprofessionals and administrators; we've loved our years at "our school."

When I got home, I received a text message from SwimGirl telling me about the shooting at Sandy Hook. Instead of turning on FoxNews, I went to my laptop and checked the news online.  My heart hurt and tears filled my eyes as I read the news.  The question going through my head continually was "Why? How could anyone kill little babies like this?" which I know was the question being asked by us all.  Then the news broke about the ages of the children and I realized that they were Buttercup's age, causing the tears to flow again.  I looked at our Christmas tree and thought about how there were children who wouldn't be opening their gifts, so lovingly wrapped and placed under the tree by their parents, on Christmas morning.  My heart broke for the parents and siblings of the lost children.  Then I started thinking about the terror of the surviving children - how will they ever go back to school without fear?  Will they ever face a night where there are no nightmares to invade their slumber?  Will they forever be looking at people, wondering if that person or that person or the one standing over there is actually someone bad who wants to kill them?  How will they heal?

So, as I was sending my little girls to the bus, I caught myself clinging to them more tightly and having trouble letting them go.  I found myself almost not sending them to school today.  I know the school staff have regular emergency drills (I've participated in them as a volunteer) and procedures in place in the case of something horrible happening.  Logically, I know these things.  But my heart is another story. My heart tells me "This is a place where my kids should be safe.  But they're not safe.  Those parents thought their kids were safe at school and look what happened." So I clung to my kids a little more than usual this morning, regretting the days when I couldn't wait to see them all out the door and the house to be quiet for a few hours again.  I can't imagine the heavy quiet at the homes of the victims of Friday's tragedy.  I can't imagine a home where the anticipation of chaos isn't always hanging in the air until the chaos of my four wonderful kids invades my house.

My heart hurts for the parents and families of those poor children and the adults who died trying to protecting them.  My prayers are with them.

Random Thoughts

12.5 inches of snow fell on my house over the weekend. It's great that we'll have a white Christmas. Hopefully we'll get a January thaw on the 2nd and all the snow will melt.

Receiving one of my kid's grades recently made me realize how strongly I feel about failure. Basically, I believe that failure isn't an option. I believe that so strongly that I won't even start something if I feel like there's a chance that I might fail in my attempt to succeed.  (This is good in some ways but has also caused me to miss out on trying something new because my fear of failure is so bad.) Unfortunately for my daughter, she's having to come to the same understanding the hard way.  Nothing like having to crack down on a kid the last Christmas she'll be home before she starts college next year.  The frustration I'm feeling as parent is unbelievable. The saddest part is that she doesn't seem to get that she's the one with the power here: follow my plan and privileges will come back; fight it and suffer the extended consequences.  Sometimes having to be a good parent really stinks. (I'm naturally a forgiving person; I prefer to get whatever issue is there out in the open, talk about it - sometimes really loudly - and let it go. Or just sort of forget about it.  So having to follow through on consequences for an extended period of time is really hard.  Especially when my child looks at me with her big brown eyes full of tears.  However, the tears will be forgotten when she opens her mouth and says something totally irresponsible and out-of-line.  That's what's helping me continue with her consequences. Still hard to do, though.)

How is it possible to lose a book in my own house? Oh hey, there it is. Right next to me. Good grief.

Made a double batch of rosettes today. The oil got to the smoking point. Now my house smells like a giant fish fry. I'm not sure if it is a good or bad sign that I didn't set off the smoke alarms.  The rosettes, however, ROCK.

15 days left til Christmas.  Even with our house Griswolded out and the tree (the prettiest tree ever, btw, even though it has a slight case of scoliosis and seems to be doing a peepee dance) is up and decorated and all the white crappy snow on the ground, it doesn't seem like it is really Christmas time yet.  Maybe I need to get more face time with the Hallmark channel movies?

Speaking of Hallmark Channel Christmas movies: I watched one with Tbone over the weekend.  He was scoffing at it at first.  Then he got into it. He was amazed by my powers of prediction - I was telling him what was going to happen (hadn't seen the movie before, I swear!) and he was shocked when I was right.  I then had to explain to him that the Hallmark movies basically follow a formula that begins with two people meeting, falling in love, having their love tested in some way, then ultimately getting married, usually about 2 weeks after they meet and usually on Christmas Day.  Even with all that, he still liked the movie.  I love it that my 16 year old son is still sweet and innocent enough to not have become jaded and cynical yet.  Which can't be said about all kids his age.  For example, I perused my daughter's friends' Twitter posts the other day and discovered that the boy with whom she was supposed to go to the last dance is a very sick-minded individual.  (The fact that her grades caused her to be grounded and unable to attend the dance with the disgusting boy was one little glimmer of happiness for my husband and I in what is a very unhappy situation.  Now if the attraction wears off during her time of groundation, life will be very good.) It does make me wonder what is going on with my daughter's head that would cause her to be attracted to this boy, too.

What would cause kids to think that using the n-word or the c-word in their tweets is acceptable behavior? Is it possible that they don't understand that unless their account is protected that ANYONE can read their tweets? Honestly, I don't get it.  I'm waiting for his next tweet to be Anthony Wiener-esque. Why would anyone believe that their 140 character thoughts on masturbation is something the whole world should see?  It is a sad commentary on what has become acceptable in our society.

Finally, conversations between my children that I recently overheard:

Buttercup (6): "Tbone, was that your stomach?"
Tbone (16): "Nope."
Buttercup: "Huh. Must have been mine."
Sparkles (8): "Yep, she gets gassy sometimes."

Sparkles: "Today I tooted and it smelled just like Daddy's toots!"
Buttercup: "I know because you made me smell them."
Sparkles: "Didn't they smell just like Daddy's?"
Buttercup: "Nope. They were worse."
Sparkles: "They smelled great!"

(I have an idea now of what my kids will be posting someday when they have Twitter.  Why are bodily functions funny anyway?)

Trusting God with Our Children & Their Future

I received a phone call yesterday from my 7 yr old's teacher informing me that my daughter was being sent to the "TAB" room. I'm not sure what "TAB" stands for - when my two teenagers attended the same elementary school, it was called "PAR" - which was something about Positive Attitude Reinforcement or some such thing.  Whatever it is called, the room in question is the place they send the kids who grossly misbehave in class - my daughter had hit another child and was sent to "make a Plan" at the TAB room.  Ah, the joys of being a parent.

It is amazing how four kids can be so different.  My oldest daughter, "SwimGirl", is 16: artistic, quiet, reserved (except at the pool - then her happy crazy side shows up and she is a joy to watch dancing on the deck as she awaits her next race), responsible and sweet.  She's had her moments - they all do - but for the most part, she is by far my easiest child. She is content to read or draw, amusement on her face as she watches the antics of her siblings. My 15 year old son aka "T-Bone", is also reserved, except on the ice or lacrosse field.  Then his ultra-competitive nature comes out as he deeks his opponents who assume from his size, that he will back down from attacks.  I've watched him check kids twice his size, skate away with the puck as they sit with their butts on the ice, shaking their heads and wondering what the heck just happened.  He is smart and charismatic - a natural leader in any situation.  Always high energy and somewhat sassy, he is destined to change the world and will.

My seven year old daughter has always seemed to be a perfect melting pot of my husband and I.  Extremely energetic, she has trouble sitting still for even short periods of time.  She hums and sings almost constantly - whatever "ear worm" is cycling through her head comes out of her mouth.  This was an issue with her teacher last year, who believed that all children learn the same way and my daughter's constant singing caused her teacher a constant headache.  After a year with "Sparkles", the teacher retired. Coincidence? I don't know.  Sparkles is my little handful and trying to find ways to train her to follow directions while encouraging her awesome spirit is a constant battle.  I love the spirit she has - her feistiness comes from both my husband and I - but it gets her into trouble, as it did yesterday.

My baby, "Princess Buttercup", is five years old.  Out of all my children, she most resembles me physically.  She will be the child who will give me a passel of grandkids.  She is sweet and smart. She tries to sing, but is eclipsed by Sparkles' talent since Buttercup can't carry a tune to save her life.  She loves to snuggle, but also has a dose of high energy that I need to find a place to focus it.

Back to Sparkles and yesterday's incident: The "plan" they worked out with her at the TAB room was one of trying to get her to think before she acts, something we've been trying to do since she was tiny.  Unfortunately, she seems to have been born that kid who will put their hand on a burner after being told not to do so many times.  Then, after being burned, she'll have to do it several more times just to see if the same results occur.

With all that is going on in the world, it is so scary as a parent to trust that things will work out for good.  I look at SwimGirl, hovering on the brink of adulthood and I worry about her future.  She's worked so hard at school and swimming - she's on the edge of launching out of the safety of our nest and the world is going crazy.  The little ones in our home would adjust well to a different sort of life: Buttercup has always wanted to live on a farm with lots of animals and Sparkles would finally have a place to expend all her crazy energy.  But my older two? How does one say "I'm sorry - all those years in school, on the ice, in the pool is for naught.  The world is crazy and we must flee now" when you know it will break their hearts?  The people in OWS and this administration claim that they are working for the future of our country - how can this be so when all they seem to be perpetuating is mediocrity and violence?  Where is my children's futures in their plan?

This is the time when trusting God and HIS PLAN is so important, but how hard is it to hand over all that and trust?  Some days it is easier than others.  It brings to mind the verse: "But Jesus called the children to him and said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.'" (Luke 18:16, NIV) Letting our children go into his hands is what he requires of us, so it is what we must do, but it can be so hard.