Wednesday, July 20
9 lbs, 6 oz 19 inches long
A little baby boy was born.
His arrival evens up the genders in our household.
1 Dad, 2 sons.
1 Mom, 1 daughter and 1 female Labrador Retriever (who, apparently, count in the gender tally.)
He shall be know here as, Little Pooky or LP. This is the name his older brother has given him. It makes me laugh every time BB says it.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Pressed Against the Fence
We live on a postage stamp sized lot. Our backyard backs up to our neighbors and looking east and west you can see the backyards of our neighbors. After nearly seven years of living in this house, we have a comparable forest in our backyard. We are among the only ones who have planted trees or shrubs in their backyards...it makes a wide open landscape. And free roaming for the neighborhood kids.
Which is apparently how many people like it. I haven't read the book Free Range Kids nor am I frequent visitor to her blog, but I am familiar with her basic theory: that we micromanage our children too much and that the world isn't nearly as dangerous as our culture likes to think it is.
While I can't visualize a day where I would just let my kids out the door in the morning and tell them to be home by super time, the problems over our back fence are more related to basic civility and common sense manners.
Last summer two new sets of neighbors moved into to the houses to our west and south. One set is a great match for our kids and everyone has a grand time playing together. The family is beyond kind and generous. Their generosity is actually the problem. They have a play set in their yard. A smallish one with a few swings and a rock wall with a fort on top and a slide down. It is a novelty in our neighborhood. I don't know what invitations they made to the neighbors around us or if they meant to open up their backyard to the entire subdivision...but as time has gone on, that is what has happened.
Especially since we have new neighbors catty corner and next to the play ground. The yards are small and with no fences to distinguish between lot lines, I understand how kids don't know the difference between one space and the another...especially when one space has a fort. It is also obvious that their parents aren't interested in pointing out these imaginary property lines to them.
On any given hour you will find the 'other' kids playing on the equipment. They even bring friends over. Some of the kids in the family are older and thus the conversations aren't appropriate (or understood) by the children whose yard it is (or my kids, their friends who would like to play with them.)
As time has gone on, the neighbor has opened up to me about her frustrations. The garbage left in her yard, the shoes, headbands, clothing, books, toys and miscellaneous other 'stuff' left behind from the neighborhood kids. My own kids express their frustration many days--mostly because I won't invite the whole gaggle of the kids over to our yard and I won't let them play with their friends if this older family is playing there. (and, they are always there.) But also because BB has a sense of "that's not their yard." He has, of course, heard me talk about these kids and their behavior. He also knows he needs to ask to leave his yard, he needs to check with me before inviting friend over, he hears us tell him to 'let Adam and Dave play with their parents.' He has heard Adam and Dave say that they can't come over because it is family time...etc. etc. etc.
There is no major theme or great thought going on here...except the questions that came out of my conversation with my neighbor the other day.
She was stating the parenting challenges of this situation..."I can share my things" she said. "Why does this bother me so much?" Neither of us really 'like' the kids that come over, but we both recognize that they aren't "bad" kids or doing horrible destructive things to the property. They aren't exactly who we would want our kids to hand around with, but again, they aren't a horrible influence. (I have the added pleasure of their father working with my husband--loosely--so I feel that social connection.)
I was having the same thoughts about what is the more important lesson to teach my kids...Sharing the communal nature and lost art of neighbors/neighborhood or modeling manners and care and respect of other's property. I know there's some middle ground in there...it is just so flipping flapping much work to find it, and communicate it and model it....
In my next house, I will gladly look for neighbors in their 70's or 80's...surely they'd be easy to get along with, right?
Which is apparently how many people like it. I haven't read the book Free Range Kids nor am I frequent visitor to her blog, but I am familiar with her basic theory: that we micromanage our children too much and that the world isn't nearly as dangerous as our culture likes to think it is.
While I can't visualize a day where I would just let my kids out the door in the morning and tell them to be home by super time, the problems over our back fence are more related to basic civility and common sense manners.
Last summer two new sets of neighbors moved into to the houses to our west and south. One set is a great match for our kids and everyone has a grand time playing together. The family is beyond kind and generous. Their generosity is actually the problem. They have a play set in their yard. A smallish one with a few swings and a rock wall with a fort on top and a slide down. It is a novelty in our neighborhood. I don't know what invitations they made to the neighbors around us or if they meant to open up their backyard to the entire subdivision...but as time has gone on, that is what has happened.
Especially since we have new neighbors catty corner and next to the play ground. The yards are small and with no fences to distinguish between lot lines, I understand how kids don't know the difference between one space and the another...especially when one space has a fort. It is also obvious that their parents aren't interested in pointing out these imaginary property lines to them.
On any given hour you will find the 'other' kids playing on the equipment. They even bring friends over. Some of the kids in the family are older and thus the conversations aren't appropriate (or understood) by the children whose yard it is (or my kids, their friends who would like to play with them.)
As time has gone on, the neighbor has opened up to me about her frustrations. The garbage left in her yard, the shoes, headbands, clothing, books, toys and miscellaneous other 'stuff' left behind from the neighborhood kids. My own kids express their frustration many days--mostly because I won't invite the whole gaggle of the kids over to our yard and I won't let them play with their friends if this older family is playing there. (and, they are always there.) But also because BB has a sense of "that's not their yard." He has, of course, heard me talk about these kids and their behavior. He also knows he needs to ask to leave his yard, he needs to check with me before inviting friend over, he hears us tell him to 'let Adam and Dave play with their parents.' He has heard Adam and Dave say that they can't come over because it is family time...etc. etc. etc.
There is no major theme or great thought going on here...except the questions that came out of my conversation with my neighbor the other day.
She was stating the parenting challenges of this situation..."I can share my things" she said. "Why does this bother me so much?" Neither of us really 'like' the kids that come over, but we both recognize that they aren't "bad" kids or doing horrible destructive things to the property. They aren't exactly who we would want our kids to hand around with, but again, they aren't a horrible influence. (I have the added pleasure of their father working with my husband--loosely--so I feel that social connection.)
I was having the same thoughts about what is the more important lesson to teach my kids...Sharing the communal nature and lost art of neighbors/neighborhood or modeling manners and care and respect of other's property. I know there's some middle ground in there...it is just so flipping flapping much work to find it, and communicate it and model it....
In my next house, I will gladly look for neighbors in their 70's or 80's...surely they'd be easy to get along with, right?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
End Times...
A friend asked me today if I had begun thinking about life in terms of "this is the last time life will be this way." The last lunch out with just EG and BB. The last bedtime with two kids. The last time we fit in a booth as a family. The last time heading out without a diaper bag. The last day with no diapers. The last...
I haven't really begun to think like that. It feels a bit different. Life is a lot busier and frantic than it was when I transitioned from one child to two. Or perhaps it doesn't feel like anything is going to change because here, where I am, in denial--all is well.
But a number of years ago I wrote about this feeling, and I repeat that entry today. It is similar to what I wrote a few posts ago about my heart expanding. I'm not so much 'sad' this time around. There have been no tears for weeks--and they weren't about Baby #3. Sadness was months ago. Panic was months ago. I am pretty serious about my state of denial--I have to pinch myself to remember all this physical pain, list making and frantic planning is being done for an actual reason. I have to mentally remind myself that there is another person coming to live with us.
I could also point to this as growth. I've leaned back on God's grace a whole lot more since this first entry was written.
And here I am.
Life has indeed come out of millions of tiny, and some enormous, deaths. Perhaps my mental state right now isn't denial so much as a matured faith life.
Or perhaps life is just way too comfortable here in Denial and I've lulled myself into all sorts of delusion.
Either way, so far I am staying sane in these End Days.
Monday, February 25, 2008
This is the last week of my daily routine involving just Baby Boy and me. Next week we add another person to the mix and life will never be the same. Maybe because it is Lent and the shadow of the cross is around me or maybe it is just because I am so thoroughly rooted in the ideas that "out of death comes life", I tend to really mourn the changes in my life. It is my pattern. I also don't like being caught off guard. So I like to cut the sad feelings off at the pass, getting to them before they can sneak up and tie me down. I'll admit sometimes I go a little over board with drama in regards to how big of a change it will really be or how realistic it is to anticipate a particular change. Once in a while I get all sad over a change that isn't even on our radar (oh, it will be so hard to leave these people--when we have no plans to move or a place to go) ...it is just one of those "what ifs." or "might happens." But usually I reserve some really good grief for the "big ones."
My husband doesn't quite understand the profound anticipatory grief I feel about life. "Why are you sad now? It (what ever 'it' is) hasn't happened." But for me it is how I process life...I have to anticipate the change and process the 'death' in order to be ready to accept the joy and new life that is surely to come.
I am also absurdly honest about how I feel through these changes. I'm sure when Baby Boy was born my admission that he seemingly, "ruined" our perfectly good routine, felt a bit severe for a new mom. And I still give any new mother around me permission to express sadness over what she has lost while gaining this new joy. I am not shocked when they whisper complaints or question what they have done.
Change sucks...in any form. Of course the changes I had no choice in or the events that I never saw coming throw me but even the ones I created get to me--maybe even more so. Moves, I wanted to make. Jobs, I wanted to take. Deaths, I saw coming. People, I wanted to marry and love more than anyone. Career choices, I alone made. Babies, I am overwhelmed to hold and blessed to care for. All of it, at one point just sucks, and I have learned to anticipate that feeling. Anticipating it actually makes things easier.
So as Baby Boy and I ran completely ordinary errands today, it didn't shock me when mid-stroller push, on a sidewalk we travel many times a month, something told me I should take this moment in deeply. I realized for the first time it was to be among our last. Next time we are here, someone else will be with us. And I don't know much about this little person. The unknown. Change.
I stopped the tears from falling then, but let them fall freely right now. I love hanging out with this little guy. I love the 'Mom and Baby Boy show'...we have a blast talking about the world, chatting with the store clerks, getting in and out of the car, giggling over the amount of goldfish in in car seat, stopping to check out this or that. Sure errands are slower but I have someone to talk to and apparently from some recent outings I have taken alone (and glances made in my direction), I talk to myself a lot.
My annoyance with all things 'change' has taught me to fall back on God's promise of new life. After all, there was a day about two years ago when I was sure we'd made a huge mistake and I so wanted a time machine to go back start over. I know it involved crying (both parent and baby) some bodily fluid (baby) and a whole lotta tired (all involved). It was a day when I was sure my life was over.
And it was.
But it was replaced by this wonderfully chaotic one, the very one that I now grieve. Next week we'll start again--welcoming a new person to this crazy mix that is our clan and I will shed some tears this week in anticipation of the change. I will lament the "last times" and "it will never be this easy agains" and I'll grant myself a moment to second guess our choice. But I will also give thanks for what I am grieving--through it, I am able to give even greater thanks for what is to come.
I haven't really begun to think like that. It feels a bit different. Life is a lot busier and frantic than it was when I transitioned from one child to two. Or perhaps it doesn't feel like anything is going to change because here, where I am, in denial--all is well.
But a number of years ago I wrote about this feeling, and I repeat that entry today. It is similar to what I wrote a few posts ago about my heart expanding. I'm not so much 'sad' this time around. There have been no tears for weeks--and they weren't about Baby #3. Sadness was months ago. Panic was months ago. I am pretty serious about my state of denial--I have to pinch myself to remember all this physical pain, list making and frantic planning is being done for an actual reason. I have to mentally remind myself that there is another person coming to live with us.
I could also point to this as growth. I've leaned back on God's grace a whole lot more since this first entry was written.
And here I am.
Life has indeed come out of millions of tiny, and some enormous, deaths. Perhaps my mental state right now isn't denial so much as a matured faith life.
Or perhaps life is just way too comfortable here in Denial and I've lulled myself into all sorts of delusion.
Either way, so far I am staying sane in these End Days.
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Week Before...
Today as "Baby Boy"--my son's name for himself in these baby-crazed days--started out on our errands a strange sadness fell over me. I don't 'do' change well, anyone who knows me knows this--and change is a commin'.This is the last week of my daily routine involving just Baby Boy and me. Next week we add another person to the mix and life will never be the same. Maybe because it is Lent and the shadow of the cross is around me or maybe it is just because I am so thoroughly rooted in the ideas that "out of death comes life", I tend to really mourn the changes in my life. It is my pattern. I also don't like being caught off guard. So I like to cut the sad feelings off at the pass, getting to them before they can sneak up and tie me down. I'll admit sometimes I go a little over board with drama in regards to how big of a change it will really be or how realistic it is to anticipate a particular change. Once in a while I get all sad over a change that isn't even on our radar (oh, it will be so hard to leave these people--when we have no plans to move or a place to go) ...it is just one of those "what ifs." or "might happens." But usually I reserve some really good grief for the "big ones."
My husband doesn't quite understand the profound anticipatory grief I feel about life. "Why are you sad now? It (what ever 'it' is) hasn't happened." But for me it is how I process life...I have to anticipate the change and process the 'death' in order to be ready to accept the joy and new life that is surely to come.
I am also absurdly honest about how I feel through these changes. I'm sure when Baby Boy was born my admission that he seemingly, "ruined" our perfectly good routine, felt a bit severe for a new mom. And I still give any new mother around me permission to express sadness over what she has lost while gaining this new joy. I am not shocked when they whisper complaints or question what they have done.
Change sucks...in any form. Of course the changes I had no choice in or the events that I never saw coming throw me but even the ones I created get to me--maybe even more so. Moves, I wanted to make. Jobs, I wanted to take. Deaths, I saw coming. People, I wanted to marry and love more than anyone. Career choices, I alone made. Babies, I am overwhelmed to hold and blessed to care for. All of it, at one point just sucks, and I have learned to anticipate that feeling. Anticipating it actually makes things easier.
So as Baby Boy and I ran completely ordinary errands today, it didn't shock me when mid-stroller push, on a sidewalk we travel many times a month, something told me I should take this moment in deeply. I realized for the first time it was to be among our last. Next time we are here, someone else will be with us. And I don't know much about this little person. The unknown. Change.
I stopped the tears from falling then, but let them fall freely right now. I love hanging out with this little guy. I love the 'Mom and Baby Boy show'...we have a blast talking about the world, chatting with the store clerks, getting in and out of the car, giggling over the amount of goldfish in in car seat, stopping to check out this or that. Sure errands are slower but I have someone to talk to and apparently from some recent outings I have taken alone (and glances made in my direction), I talk to myself a lot.
My annoyance with all things 'change' has taught me to fall back on God's promise of new life. After all, there was a day about two years ago when I was sure we'd made a huge mistake and I so wanted a time machine to go back start over. I know it involved crying (both parent and baby) some bodily fluid (baby) and a whole lotta tired (all involved). It was a day when I was sure my life was over.
And it was.
But it was replaced by this wonderfully chaotic one, the very one that I now grieve. Next week we'll start again--welcoming a new person to this crazy mix that is our clan and I will shed some tears this week in anticipation of the change. I will lament the "last times" and "it will never be this easy agains" and I'll grant myself a moment to second guess our choice. But I will also give thanks for what I am grieving--through it, I am able to give even greater thanks for what is to come.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
When I Grow Up...
Life goals were shared over lunch the other day...
BB: "When I grow up I'm going to move to Minnesota and be a MN Twins baseball player."
EG's earnest response was, "I'll try my ever best to not go to jail, Mom."
BB: "When I grow up I'm going to move to Minnesota and be a MN Twins baseball player."
EG's earnest response was, "I'll try my ever best to not go to jail, Mom."
Friday, July 08, 2011
The Problem with Pregnancy Part 3
3. Expanding Heart
Along with hearing someone's personal labor and delivery story, every woman experiencing her first pregnancy must be told--"Your life will never be the same" Or some variation of that sentiment.
While this is true. It is an annoying mantra that is usually uttered with a certain amount of smugness or dry/dark humor. (you have no idea what you are in for...)
But then when the subsequent pregnancies (and babies) come along, you do know what you are in for...mostly. Most of the edge has been taken off of this particular learning curve. Each pregnancy and birth is as unique as the child you give birth to, but the initial shock wears off. Except...except for that growing heart.
It is a common concern for parents to wonder how they can love a second (third, etc.) child as much as their precious first born. Articles and columns fill the parenting webpages with this topic. Miraculously, we discover love isn't as finite as we once thought. Our view of our own parents, siblings and Creator expand.
Love, and our ability to love, is larger and more pliable than we knew...
but I have to admit, I wasn't just done with diapers and 2 am feedings, I was pretty sure my heart had stretched as far as I wanted it to. I didn't feel like learning if my heart could expand further. I had had enough...
*enough fear, worry and analysis of how many mistakes I was making in raising the two kids we already have.
*two felt like enough people to keep a handle on--physically, mentally, spiritually--enough care taking.
*enough energy spent discovering who these little people are--dissecting what is ME, from what is THEM.
*wondering how I can weather the bumps and bruises life will throw at my kids. Never mind, "How am I going to help them weather life?"
* enough grace.
Perhaps it is my Scandinavian roots showing, but we've been pretty blessed so far. Our kids are healthy, bright, well behaved...etc. There is this nagging thought that surely our luck will run out. Why push it. This train of thought takes my brain down theological pathways that I don't even believe, but there I go...down a dark alley thinking God's grace and love is conditional and fickle.
* enough joy or awe. This is pretty good, could another child live up to the two we live with now.
I'm not sure my heart can take much more. But I also know that isn't true.
Obviously, a woman can grow and change through a variety of experiences, but part of why I didn't want to go through this again was I felt I was done with some of it.
Lessons learned. Check. "What's next?" Whew, no need to face my feelings of helplessness, vulnerability or these particular fears again. Done working on lack of control. (or the feeling that finally I can regain control of, at least, my body.) No need to engage in mind numbing pregnancy chatter.
but that isn't true. There is much more for me to learn and the lessons are processing and percolating within me as I type.
Slowly at times.
Too fast and furious at other times.
So, I wait.
Knowing that I am no longer who I was, and in a few short weeks, I will be changed all over again. My heart will expand and I will be given another glimpse of how grand and expansive God's love for us is. I will be reminded that no matter who shows up in my arms, God will bring new life--even through my own darkness, fear and no matter how much I resist.
It is a love so strong that it is continually shaping us...in ways we never expected, with lessons we wouldn't have thought of and by little people we never dreamed of.
Along with hearing someone's personal labor and delivery story, every woman experiencing her first pregnancy must be told--"Your life will never be the same" Or some variation of that sentiment.
While this is true. It is an annoying mantra that is usually uttered with a certain amount of smugness or dry/dark humor. (you have no idea what you are in for...)
But then when the subsequent pregnancies (and babies) come along, you do know what you are in for...mostly. Most of the edge has been taken off of this particular learning curve. Each pregnancy and birth is as unique as the child you give birth to, but the initial shock wears off. Except...except for that growing heart.
It is a common concern for parents to wonder how they can love a second (third, etc.) child as much as their precious first born. Articles and columns fill the parenting webpages with this topic. Miraculously, we discover love isn't as finite as we once thought. Our view of our own parents, siblings and Creator expand.
Love, and our ability to love, is larger and more pliable than we knew...
but I have to admit, I wasn't just done with diapers and 2 am feedings, I was pretty sure my heart had stretched as far as I wanted it to. I didn't feel like learning if my heart could expand further. I had had enough...
*enough fear, worry and analysis of how many mistakes I was making in raising the two kids we already have.
*two felt like enough people to keep a handle on--physically, mentally, spiritually--enough care taking.
*enough energy spent discovering who these little people are--dissecting what is ME, from what is THEM.
*wondering how I can weather the bumps and bruises life will throw at my kids. Never mind, "How am I going to help them weather life?"
* enough grace.
Perhaps it is my Scandinavian roots showing, but we've been pretty blessed so far. Our kids are healthy, bright, well behaved...etc. There is this nagging thought that surely our luck will run out. Why push it. This train of thought takes my brain down theological pathways that I don't even believe, but there I go...down a dark alley thinking God's grace and love is conditional and fickle.
* enough joy or awe. This is pretty good, could another child live up to the two we live with now.
I'm not sure my heart can take much more. But I also know that isn't true.
Obviously, a woman can grow and change through a variety of experiences, but part of why I didn't want to go through this again was I felt I was done with some of it.
Lessons learned. Check. "What's next?" Whew, no need to face my feelings of helplessness, vulnerability or these particular fears again. Done working on lack of control. (or the feeling that finally I can regain control of, at least, my body.) No need to engage in mind numbing pregnancy chatter.
but that isn't true. There is much more for me to learn and the lessons are processing and percolating within me as I type.
Slowly at times.
Too fast and furious at other times.
So, I wait.
Knowing that I am no longer who I was, and in a few short weeks, I will be changed all over again. My heart will expand and I will be given another glimpse of how grand and expansive God's love for us is. I will be reminded that no matter who shows up in my arms, God will bring new life--even through my own darkness, fear and no matter how much I resist.
It is a love so strong that it is continually shaping us...in ways we never expected, with lessons we wouldn't have thought of and by little people we never dreamed of.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Problem with Pregnancy Part 2
2. I Learn Things I Didn't Need to Learn about People. (and share things I didn't want to share.)
There is also an odd dance between women once you enter the world of pregnancy. It is a waltz between helpful information and over sharing. Obviously, we each can fall victim to either ditch in any area of life. Over sharing is over sharing--regardless of the topic. From personal experience and from what I have observed, pregnancy and childbirth leave many women with a need for some post-traumatic counseling. Seriously.
For generations the way we handle our battle scars is not by actually heading to a mental health professional, but by processing the whole event with another pregnant woman. Sometimes, for some women, any old pregnant woman will do.
I remember being overwhelmed by how many women *needed* to talk about their pregnancy and childbirth experience with me with my first pregnancy. There was no way out of the conversation, and that first go around, I couldn't always see it coming. What seemed like an innocuous conversation about bibs and baby drool, became a lesson on someone's anatomy or a fear based story complete with the blood and guts. Whether they had given birth last year or last decade, many people had a story that needed to be told.
This third time around, I'm ready for it. I go to my internal happy place, put a smile on my face and mentally sing... "la, la, la..."
Part B of this subsection: the topic of How Babies Are Made. (This overlaps with my comments on feeling vulnerable.)
When you are pregnant, people know you had s-e-x. (shhhh) And, likewise as women are sharing their stories, I know they had s-e-x. Often, we learn when a couple is "trying" to make a baby as well. This information, as a visual learner, is a huge 'eeew' for me.
This time around many people knew we weren't planning on a third child so a whole new area of discussion was broken open. I could watch people try to figure out our birth control method. Now granted they were probably wondering out of fear for their own "planning," but from my mom, to acquaintances in my mom's groups, I watched the wheels in their heads work out how they could ask 'the question' (how'd this happen?) without getting too personal.
There is also an odd dance between women once you enter the world of pregnancy. It is a waltz between helpful information and over sharing. Obviously, we each can fall victim to either ditch in any area of life. Over sharing is over sharing--regardless of the topic. From personal experience and from what I have observed, pregnancy and childbirth leave many women with a need for some post-traumatic counseling. Seriously.
For generations the way we handle our battle scars is not by actually heading to a mental health professional, but by processing the whole event with another pregnant woman. Sometimes, for some women, any old pregnant woman will do.
I remember being overwhelmed by how many women *needed* to talk about their pregnancy and childbirth experience with me with my first pregnancy. There was no way out of the conversation, and that first go around, I couldn't always see it coming. What seemed like an innocuous conversation about bibs and baby drool, became a lesson on someone's anatomy or a fear based story complete with the blood and guts. Whether they had given birth last year or last decade, many people had a story that needed to be told.
This third time around, I'm ready for it. I go to my internal happy place, put a smile on my face and mentally sing... "la, la, la..."
Part B of this subsection: the topic of How Babies Are Made. (This overlaps with my comments on feeling vulnerable.)
When you are pregnant, people know you had s-e-x. (shhhh) And, likewise as women are sharing their stories, I know they had s-e-x. Often, we learn when a couple is "trying" to make a baby as well. This information, as a visual learner, is a huge 'eeew' for me.
This time around many people knew we weren't planning on a third child so a whole new area of discussion was broken open. I could watch people try to figure out our birth control method. Now granted they were probably wondering out of fear for their own "planning," but from my mom, to acquaintances in my mom's groups, I watched the wheels in their heads work out how they could ask 'the question' (how'd this happen?) without getting too personal.
(sorry, folks, once the story brings s-e-x between two people who you actually know, into the conversation, it is too personal for church coffee hour or Christmas dinner.)
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
The Problem with Pregnancy
In fact when I first found out I was pregnant this third time, the thought of a new baby brought me initial joy. (my husband was just glad to hear I didn't have cancer.) The idea of going through the phases of babyhood again were even ok with me.
Then I remembered the 38 wks between peeing on a stick and holding the new baby.
I Was. not. filled. with. joy. Or anything resembling it.
Pregnancy has a few major themes that fill me with dread and force my personality beyond its comfort zone. Over the next few days I will share them with you.
1. Vulnerability.
Pregnancy is this weird dance of making decisions that will protect a baby and coming to terms with the fact you have no control over your own body. Your body will do what it will do. The genes have come together to make a new person, and once set in motion, you've got limited impact on who this baby becomes. Birth defects, special needs, eye color, gender, size..most of it you are powerless to control once the process has been set in motion.
For many of us, pregnancy is the first time we fully come to terms with the fact we are not in control. Even of our own bodies. We must trust ourselves--our bodies and our instincts. We put our trust in doctors and medical professionals. We take a deep breath and settle back into the arms of God in a whole new way.
Also, under 'vulnerability' is the more humorous way society interacts with pregnant women. The fact strangers feel an overwhelming need to comment on my body bothers me. It draws attention to me in ways I don't like. It forces me to interact with people when I really don't feel like it. Details about my life become fodder for elevator conversation.
(blessedly, no stranger has ever come close to touching my belly...there is a good chance my face radiates with a glow that says, "Don't even think about it.")
With pregnancy comes an acknowledgement that much of my public persona needs to be exposed.
I have to let go of so many standards:
*fashion
*personal cleanliness--keeping food off the front of me.
*house cleanliness--letting the dust bunnies procreate seems on topic.
*cooking--reaching the handles on the water faucet, keeping my stomach away from the burners...
*breathing--I stopped preaching a month earlier this time because when I get too excited, I can barely breathe.
*generally moving from room to room with grace or ease
*doing things for myself. Equally annoying is having to admit I just can't do something.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
On my Mind-Language, Children and Cleaning up our Act?
One of the blogs I read on a daily basis stirred up a bit of controversy over the past few weeks and has been stirring in my mind since I first read the article.
You have to do a bit of reading to get on board....and to proceed you probably need to be a bit thick skinned about foul language...the *F* word in particular.
You need to know something of this book. Go the F* to Bed
When it first made the rounds on Facebook, I could resonate with the title--or the sentiment behind the title. I don't think I "shared" the link but I might have "liked" a post or two about the book.
Then I read this post on Karen Spears Zacharias' blog. You need to at least sample the comments on the CNN site (link from her blog) to understand the harsh and disturbing commentary she received. (or the comments on her own blog.)
I admit from a first read of her first post, I wasn't completely with her. Some of the leaps and connections she makes between a book of "humor" and child abuse/neglect/oppression, didn't immediately connect for me.
I thought about it more and read more comments...and then, some of her comments convicted me.
Of course I heard the title of the book through my own filter. A filter that is much tamer than many families across the country. I may have *thought* in exasperation, "Just go the 'h-e-double hockey sticks' to sleep already," or had the emotional reaction that went along with the sentiment of the title...but I don't know I have ever felt the visceral hatred that comes across in the words beyond the title. And, laughing at the title on Facebook feels different that sitting down with the book (if only mentally) and picturing myself reading it in response to my reaction to my kids... um, that doesn't feel as funny.
There is a second post in defense of her first post. I found this more clear and actually a better attempt on her part to make her original point. (this one quotes a bit more of the book...which is where I realized I don't find it all that funny beyond the title.)
I think I have written about swearing elsewhere on this blog, about how swearing one of my only rebellions. It also "protects" me from being seen as too 'holy" or "un-friendable due to religious convictions" or I (misguidedly) have thought it made me "cooler" than I am in real life. And sometimes, sometimes, it is just really how I feel and what I want to say.
But as I read over comment after comment, the crassness of our current culture hit me hard. (the fact this all occurred the same time the jacka** "star" died in a car crash, and because I daily read a blog by the jacka**director's wife, the news, and her reaction to it, sucked me into just a titch of the jacka** culture. (talk about a crass/gross/beyond my understanding) All these combined posts and comments probably have a lot to do with my dismay at the state of our cultural dialogue and what is deemed funny.)
Never in a million years do I want my children to communicate with one another as the discourse displayed in these comments suggestions many do. Maybe I need to ponder a little bit more why I feel a need to express myself (even in my head) with this type of anger towards my children. Or maybe the mild thoughts I have are natural...honest. Maybe the conviction I felt comes from the fact my own communication style is lacking some days and it was a reminder to myself to "grow the cuss up" (or keep the anger, frustration and selfishness a little more in check)
I offer all this as food for thought. An insight into my brain. I'm not surrounded by many adult conversations these days, certainly not deep ones, so I thought I'd use this blog for its intended purpose---unload my thoughts so I can form new ones.
You have to do a bit of reading to get on board....and to proceed you probably need to be a bit thick skinned about foul language...the *F* word in particular.
You need to know something of this book. Go the F* to Bed
When it first made the rounds on Facebook, I could resonate with the title--or the sentiment behind the title. I don't think I "shared" the link but I might have "liked" a post or two about the book.
Then I read this post on Karen Spears Zacharias' blog. You need to at least sample the comments on the CNN site (link from her blog) to understand the harsh and disturbing commentary she received. (or the comments on her own blog.)
I admit from a first read of her first post, I wasn't completely with her. Some of the leaps and connections she makes between a book of "humor" and child abuse/neglect/oppression, didn't immediately connect for me.
I thought about it more and read more comments...and then, some of her comments convicted me.
Of course I heard the title of the book through my own filter. A filter that is much tamer than many families across the country. I may have *thought* in exasperation, "Just go the 'h-e-double hockey sticks' to sleep already," or had the emotional reaction that went along with the sentiment of the title...but I don't know I have ever felt the visceral hatred that comes across in the words beyond the title. And, laughing at the title on Facebook feels different that sitting down with the book (if only mentally) and picturing myself reading it in response to my reaction to my kids... um, that doesn't feel as funny.
There is a second post in defense of her first post. I found this more clear and actually a better attempt on her part to make her original point. (this one quotes a bit more of the book...which is where I realized I don't find it all that funny beyond the title.)
I think I have written about swearing elsewhere on this blog, about how swearing one of my only rebellions. It also "protects" me from being seen as too 'holy" or "un-friendable due to religious convictions" or I (misguidedly) have thought it made me "cooler" than I am in real life. And sometimes, sometimes, it is just really how I feel and what I want to say.
But as I read over comment after comment, the crassness of our current culture hit me hard. (the fact this all occurred the same time the jacka** "star" died in a car crash, and because I daily read a blog by the jacka**director's wife, the news, and her reaction to it, sucked me into just a titch of the jacka** culture. (talk about a crass/gross/beyond my understanding) All these combined posts and comments probably have a lot to do with my dismay at the state of our cultural dialogue and what is deemed funny.)
Never in a million years do I want my children to communicate with one another as the discourse displayed in these comments suggestions many do. Maybe I need to ponder a little bit more why I feel a need to express myself (even in my head) with this type of anger towards my children. Or maybe the mild thoughts I have are natural...honest. Maybe the conviction I felt comes from the fact my own communication style is lacking some days and it was a reminder to myself to "grow the cuss up" (or keep the anger, frustration and selfishness a little more in check)
I offer all this as food for thought. An insight into my brain. I'm not surrounded by many adult conversations these days, certainly not deep ones, so I thought I'd use this blog for its intended purpose---unload my thoughts so I can form new ones.
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