about the two-year-old seeking comfort from her big sister over me. When the toddler bangs her big melon head or stumbles into the wall, she runs straight for the Big Girl, who administers the necessary kisses and coos. This isn't all bad: my new baby is really sad most of the time, making my one hand full and my other hand busy. The toddler needs her imaginary bumps magicked away by someone, and I'm glad my girls are close. But I'm also a bit jealous of my magic; it's hard to see someone else using it in my stead, even if that someone is my oldest child.
It's the burden of many babies, I guess. Some are shoved out of the lap before they're fully ready. Then again, my children will have each other a lot longer than they'll have me (DV). Better they learn to diversify their emotional portfolios young.
09 July 2009
08 July 2009
Memo to self (re-re-re-re-issued)
Everyone, including and especially me, is happier when I am happy—even if I’m only pretending to be happy. Hey, it’s contagious, and I am not immune.
We’re all clear on Dad’s head honchoship, but life also proves the truth of that eloquent old adage: If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. (Confirmed here, and stated in the positive here.)
This isn't denial, folks;
it's the face of Christian resignation...
Is it OK to be sad sometimes? You betcha. But it is not OK to wallow, to daily don grouchiness, or to snarf ten chocolate cupcakes in a fit of self-pity.* I’ve searched for happiness in the bottom of a pan of turtle brownies often enough to know that it’s just not there.
The Apostle didn’t leave any loopholes. Besides, so numerous are the joys that I, all undeserving, have been granted, that I’m frankly embarrassed to think that there are days when thundershowers dominate the Doppler.
*Notice that nothing has been said about snarfing five or fewer chocolate cupcakes.
We’re all clear on Dad’s head honchoship, but life also proves the truth of that eloquent old adage: If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. (Confirmed here, and stated in the positive here.)
This isn't denial, folks;it's the face of Christian resignation...
Is it OK to be sad sometimes? You betcha. But it is not OK to wallow, to daily don grouchiness, or to snarf ten chocolate cupcakes in a fit of self-pity.* I’ve searched for happiness in the bottom of a pan of turtle brownies often enough to know that it’s just not there.
The Apostle didn’t leave any loopholes. Besides, so numerous are the joys that I, all undeserving, have been granted, that I’m frankly embarrassed to think that there are days when thundershowers dominate the Doppler.
*Notice that nothing has been said about snarfing five or fewer chocolate cupcakes.
07 July 2009
Superfluous rant
I can’t help hating the ubiquity of the word ubiquitous, even though I can’t seem to help using it, ubiquitously.
On ministry of presence
which can, when circumstances prevent physical nearness, be accomplished even in absentia--especially within the family of believers.
Emily Dickinson sent the following letter to a friend (Mary Bowles) who had delivered a stillborn baby—her third stillborn baby:
Don’t cry, dear Mary. Let us do that for you, because you are too tired now. We don’t know how dark it is, but if you are at sea, perhaps when we say that we are there, you won’t be as afraid.
The waves are very big, but every one that covers you, covers us, too.
Dear Mary, you can’t see us, but we are close at your side. May we comfort you?
Lovingly,
Emily
Emily Dickinson sent the following letter to a friend (Mary Bowles) who had delivered a stillborn baby—her third stillborn baby:
Don’t cry, dear Mary. Let us do that for you, because you are too tired now. We don’t know how dark it is, but if you are at sea, perhaps when we say that we are there, you won’t be as afraid.
The waves are very big, but every one that covers you, covers us, too.
Dear Mary, you can’t see us, but we are close at your side. May we comfort you?
Lovingly,
Emily
Clean up good
Everybody tells moms to put on their makeup and do their hair and wear something other than sweatpants so that you feel good about yourself or keep your husband interested or whatever. I don't have anything to say about that. But I will say that I'm much more inclined to be nice to the kids when they look decent. When the boys' haircuts are up to date, when the girls are in well-managed ponytails, when faces are clean and no one looks like a scarecrow or has three inch fingernails, they're easier to be nice to. No one wants a houseful of grub-smeared Dickensian street urchins and waifs. This doesn't always work out, but to whatever extent I am able to get these things done, it is prudent for me to do so.
05 July 2009
Doctors, midwives, and how I don't like any of them
Doctors are pretty much jerks, and I don't think anyone here needs me to expand on that. We all know. (I should say that I like my current doctor better than any other I've had--I think it helps that I've got four kids and she seems to consider me experienced and insane enough not to need micromanaging.)
But I'm not on the midwife bandwagon either. I've had four, since we made extensive rounds between vicarage and my husband's second call. There was only one who didn't make me want to smack her. She's the one who ended up getting a delivery payment from us. (I'm not even counting one midwife I tried, who was a conventional doctor's toady and not a midwife for any practical purpose.) What I learned in trying to find a midwife is that midwives are much more familiar than doctors, and I don't mean just friendly. Familiar like, "Wow, I can't believe you just said that to someone you don't know at all." Faux familiarity is not something I want in the person handling my own personal body on a professional basis.
I know I'm callous and cold, as evidenced by the fact that I wouldn't want, say, my children present when I give birth to their sibling. But not everybody has a midwife-tolerant personality. This may be one reason that weird friend of yours insists on jerk doctors even though you've told her how you love your midwife so, so, sooooooooooo much.
The midwife/homebirth model is unappealing to me as a matter of taste. Not that I like hospitals, either. If it were possible, I'd give birth in a cave, alone, and emerge five months later when my clothes fit again. Non est disputandum, folks.
But I'm not on the midwife bandwagon either. I've had four, since we made extensive rounds between vicarage and my husband's second call. There was only one who didn't make me want to smack her. She's the one who ended up getting a delivery payment from us. (I'm not even counting one midwife I tried, who was a conventional doctor's toady and not a midwife for any practical purpose.) What I learned in trying to find a midwife is that midwives are much more familiar than doctors, and I don't mean just friendly. Familiar like, "Wow, I can't believe you just said that to someone you don't know at all." Faux familiarity is not something I want in the person handling my own personal body on a professional basis.
I know I'm callous and cold, as evidenced by the fact that I wouldn't want, say, my children present when I give birth to their sibling. But not everybody has a midwife-tolerant personality. This may be one reason that weird friend of yours insists on jerk doctors even though you've told her how you love your midwife so, so, sooooooooooo much.
The midwife/homebirth model is unappealing to me as a matter of taste. Not that I like hospitals, either. If it were possible, I'd give birth in a cave, alone, and emerge five months later when my clothes fit again. Non est disputandum, folks.
02 July 2009
Anger-induced PSA
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is really just a sex movie masquerading as Something Smart. More to the point, it was a whole lot of potential* ruined by yet another R-rated director and his made-to-order pretty boy sporting historically accurate hair.**
Dear Hollywood, movies are neither smart nor interesting only because they feature a smart or interesting character. You could, perhaps, learn a lot from those who still read Shakespeare.
*There ain't nothing like the real thing.
**Watching Fight Club was a mistake I can't take back. And wake up, America: Mr. Pitt looks like a woman.
Dear Hollywood, movies are neither smart nor interesting only because they feature a smart or interesting character. You could, perhaps, learn a lot from those who still read Shakespeare.
*There ain't nothing like the real thing.
**Watching Fight Club was a mistake I can't take back. And wake up, America: Mr. Pitt looks like a woman.
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh
From Pastor Alms a while back (read it, then forgot it, then remembered again):
Seriously, kid. It's NIGHT.
Full article here, although it's been a little balky about loading for me. Hit refresh if it doesn't work the first time.
What Christian parents teach in prayers for bedtime is courage, bravery in the face of the darkest foe. It is not an empty bravado that such parents pass along. No, it is a solemn strength that grows from faith in Christ and issues itself in prayer. Such prayer instills a way of looking at death that is rooted in Christ’s victory, a way that passes all understanding and is outside all we feel in our flesh: that to die in the faith is just like falling asleep. You close your eyes and you go to be with Jesus and soon you will wake up. All the family will be there, all your brothers and sisters, and it will be morning and there will be breakfast and the day that never ends will be just beginning.Bedtime really wears me out, especially on nights when Dad isn't home. I just want to get everybody down and get out. Kicking the baby away from the toilet while I'm brushing all the rest of the teeth puts me in a bad mood, and I hate putting the kids to bed that way. Relax, self. There's no hurry, and this matters. Get it right.
Seriously, kid. It's NIGHT.01 July 2009
Christian Hospitality, Big Family Edition
My opinion.
1. Offer it whenever you possibly can. Make your offer specific ("We'd be glad to host you for two nights, but we already have plans to be away during the dinner hour on Thursday").
2. Do not ask for it from anyone to whom you are not related or very, very close* if you have more than three children. Yes, we need it the most, but we are also terribly burdensome to house and feed (more than we realize, because we're used to the crying, chaos, and vanishing gallons of milk). It is an imposition for us to ask. The Lord will provide one way or another, whether through a kind person's unexpected offer (see #1), a change of plans, a surge of resourcefulness, a surprise bonus, a humble submission to reality, or some other means. This is one of the crosses we must bear, and far from the heaviest if you ask me.
3. Do not drop by "just passing through" with a van full of kids at mealtime. Do not stay so long that a planned one-meal visit turns into a two-meal visit. Do not put a host on the spot. "Maybe they'll invite us in" is never an acceptable meal plan.
4. If there is someone whom you'd like to see while you are traveling, invite them to a picnic or a restaurant meal with your family, compliments of your house.
5. If the hand of hospitality is extended to your family, it is fitting for the value of your hostess gift to correspond to the size of your family (unless your host's family is larger).
*I offer myself as an example of a person who does not consider herself very, very close to anyone whom she only knows via the Internet, even though we're all identical soul mates. No hard feelings, cherished readers. ;)
1. Offer it whenever you possibly can. Make your offer specific ("We'd be glad to host you for two nights, but we already have plans to be away during the dinner hour on Thursday").
2. Do not ask for it from anyone to whom you are not related or very, very close* if you have more than three children. Yes, we need it the most, but we are also terribly burdensome to house and feed (more than we realize, because we're used to the crying, chaos, and vanishing gallons of milk). It is an imposition for us to ask. The Lord will provide one way or another, whether through a kind person's unexpected offer (see #1), a change of plans, a surge of resourcefulness, a surprise bonus, a humble submission to reality, or some other means. This is one of the crosses we must bear, and far from the heaviest if you ask me.
3. Do not drop by "just passing through" with a van full of kids at mealtime. Do not stay so long that a planned one-meal visit turns into a two-meal visit. Do not put a host on the spot. "Maybe they'll invite us in" is never an acceptable meal plan.
4. If there is someone whom you'd like to see while you are traveling, invite them to a picnic or a restaurant meal with your family, compliments of your house.
5. If the hand of hospitality is extended to your family, it is fitting for the value of your hostess gift to correspond to the size of your family (unless your host's family is larger).
*I offer myself as an example of a person who does not consider herself very, very close to anyone whom she only knows via the Internet, even though we're all identical soul mates. No hard feelings, cherished readers. ;)
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