Unclenching My Fist

I think there are 2 kinds of kids out there.  In my family.  Well, ok, more than 2.  But what I think about a lot, especially when I look at my kids, is how I can divide kids into 2 groups.  A child is either a Runner or a Stayer.  They are either desperate to get away from you and see all there is to see, or they are determined that you will never leave them alone, not even for a minute or two to pee.  One type is kicking out Morse Code in the womb "Meet me at the nearest playground in 2 years." just hoping his unseen buddies get the message while he (or she) saws away at the umbilical cord w/ his secret file.  (what, none of you have seen that on the ultrasound?)  The other type resents you forever for letting go of your end of the umbilical cord.  He does, although he will never admit it and might even go off and get married some day.  It's a ruse.  He'll be back before you know it, smushing in between you and your husband just when you thought it was safe to stop locking the bedroom door at night.  (what? Who me?! No! I never lock the bedroom door!)

As luck God would have it, my first two kiddos were Runners, so I thought it was cute but puzzling when my third turned out to be a Stayer.  *This* child actually held my hand whenever I wasn't carrying him, unlike a certain child who ran off while on the Cape May Ferry to go hang over the back edge where there was no guardrail.  *This* child's feet never voluntarily left the ground, unlike a certain child who climbed 30 feet into a pine tree at dusk and then got stuck but was so high up we didn't know where the little voice was coming from.  However, my Stayer is big for his age, so the hanging-on-me-constantly palled by the time he was 4 or 5.  Plus, my fourth kid has turned out to be that incredibly rare mixed-breed species, and I can't tell from one minute to the next whether he is a Runner or a Stayer.  Hooray, the worst of both worlds.

A few weeks ago, I was not thinking about the differences between my Runners and my Stayer when a little package arrived in the mail.  I opened it and discovered a gift from my husband's brother and his wife - a series of talks given by a former missionary to Irian Jaya.  As I listened to the first one, which was about giving up his "rights," giving up his expectations for possessions, I was inspired, but in a heart-untouched way.  After all, standing in front of your house as a fire rages over it catches your heart and shows you right there and then how important your possessions really shouldn't be, and kind of makes a recorded talk pale in comparison.  Not that I'm perfect in this area, but, well, I'm learning.  Then the speaker tangentially mentioned that he also had to learn to give his kids to God, and the Holy Spirit whispered in my mind's ear.  (This doesn't happen often, by the way, so I pay attention when it does.)  He asked me if I had given up my kids.

As it happens, I actually started my motherhood journey holding my children lightly.  My mom had died far too many years before, and I had seen first-hand from the other side that mothers do not always get to see their children grow up.  And, thanks to my husband's DNA, most of my kids were also born with breathing issues.  Our third - the little Stayer - was a whopping, full-term, 9 pounds at birth (which means that he was about as far from being at risk as is possible) and still spent several days in the hospital with RSV when he was a few weeks old.  He also had pnuemonia for an unknown number of weeks later that winter.  I sat up watching him breathe more than I slept.  Yet I had every confidence that God was holding his life in His hands.

But somewhere along the line, things had changed.  My fingers were clenching down around my kids.  They were mine to raise and mine to educate.  Every time things went less than perfectly around here, *I* was the one who was being wronged, and I let my kids know how upset that made me.  It wasn't pretty.

My first reaction to the Holy Spirit that evening was "No!  I mean, Yes!"  But then, I thought about what it can mean to truly give up your kids.  Mothers do not always get to see their children grow up.  And I thought, "Well, I want to, Lord, but I don't know if I really completely can.  I'm not sure I can trust You."  (Yes, I figured that complete honesty was the only way to go - since I was dialoguing w/ God after all.)  The conversation seemed to end there.

It wasn't even a week later that the conversation continued about how my Father really can and does take better care of my kids than I can.  Since my husband does occasionally read this blog, I won't go into details about how it came about.  So.  I will stop right there.  And just say that there was a Grave Communication Breakdown.  And so it came to be, that at almost 8pm (after dark mind you!) I realized that my 4yo and my 7yo had been left at a playground at the township soccer fields.  Left alone with nobody in the world they knew except each other.  For at least 20 minutes.  My 7yo the Stayer.  The child whose greatest fear (for no good reason, I swear) (OK, until now) is that he will be left behind.  The only child who I have actually promised, out loud, that I will not leave behind.  Multiple times.  Like, on a monthly basis.  And my 4yo who, let's face it, will always be my baby, whether he's Running or Staying.

One of my sisters saved my sanity by praying with me as my husband drove the 20 minutes (give or take) to the playground.  I snapped out of hysterical worry to realize: I knew 2 people who might or might not be at the soccer fields, and if they weren't there, I was going to have to trust God.  Trust God.  Of course, you know that neither of the people I wanted to rely on were there.   But then I had two additional people praying while I waited.

Waited to learn anew how God cares for me.  Waited to learn anew how God cares for my children.

Waited to learn that I had been holding them too closely.  Calling them mine.  When they are not.  They are His.  Lent to me for a time.  And He can care for them much better than I can.

Waited to learn that they were safe.  Waited to hug and kiss them all over, and tuck them into bed (or watch them fall asleep on the sofa).

Later that night I overheard the 7yo ask the 10yo very quietly, "Have you ever been left behind?"  That little stinker thought very carefully - I am quite sure he was evaluating his parents' performance to date - and slowly answered, "Probably."  Then he shrugged and said "But I don't remember."  Why would he care?  He's a Runner.

So I took my sweet not-so-little Stayer in my arms again and promised him that God loves him and will take far better care of him than I can.  He says he knows that already (ouchy blow to my pride, although I could look at it as good teaching on my part, I guess).  I guess it's a good thing one of us knows, because I still have a lot of conversations with God ahead of me about this.



~Stephanie

She's HERE!!!

                                                 WELCOME TO THE WORLD!!!
                                           On October 9th, Mirabella Daisy arrived.
                                                   6lbs 15oz & 19 1/2 inches long.
                                     And perfect, miraculous, and amazing in every way.
                                          Congratulations to the Francisco Family!!!

“Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(Pat- a- cake, darling and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew

And out in the yard and there’s a hullabaloo

But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby. Babies don’t keep.”

~Taken from “Song for a Fifth Child” by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Some days you just have to eat candy pumpkins...

Some days are tear worthy.  These days require candy pumpkins.  

Not because my 10 year-old son found a hair in his lemonade.

Not because it's challenging when you're 38 weeks pregnant to get comfortable and sleep at night.

Not because after today's examination the midwife said that my cervix seems to feel as if I never had a baby before- even though this will be my fourth child, and I am "due" in a week and a half. 

Not because my ninja son refused to take a nap today. (Good thing he's cute. ;)  )

Not because you're teaching 5th grade, 8th grade, and preschool throughout the day and running your kids to and from all of their activities. 

Not because the book I'm reading makes me cry, so I don't want to read it. 

Not because there is still much to do before the baby arrives.  Business stuff, school stuff, house stuff, etc... 

Not because the presidential debate is on tonight and- well, I don't even want to get into that- but let's just say that both candidates upset me from time to time. One less than the other.  And, the media just makes me angry.  So, I really don't want to watch it.  It will make me upset and tears could follow.

Not because it's ridiculously humid for this time of year! 

Not because of the dreary, rainy week it's been.

Not because reading sweet picture books to my four-year-old makes me cry.

Not because being on hold on the phone while trying to accomplish necessary things makes you angry. And cry.

Not because I am so blessed beyond measure with an awesome family and Lord-willing another little girl to love in the near future, so I can't keep myself from crying. (because I am indeed blessed beyond measure!)

Sometimes you just cry, and there are no answers.  Except that your hormones are acting up.  

The logical part of you tries to tell the hormonal part of you that it is only the pregnancy.  The hormones will improve. Eventually... 

But, then you remember that the hormones won't improve for weeks to months after the baby has made her entrance, so you are ignoring the logical part of yourself for now!!

You end up avoiding phone calls, because you MIGHT cry for no reason at all.  And, you wouldn't want to upset someone on the other end.  Because there really is nothing wrong.  It really is just hormones. 

So you just end up eating candy pumpkins on these days, because there's nothing actually "wrong." (Truly, there isn't!)  You try to ignore the fact that your four-year-old ninja son is OBSESSED with these same candy pumpkins.  And, he MIGHT from time to time have a tantrum because he "needs" them.  And, you MIGHT now begin to understand and actually relate to his "need" and MIGHT throw your own tantrum for candy pumpkins. 

Even if it is 8 o'clock in the morning. 

Even though there REALLY is nothing wrong.  

Thank God for candy pumpkins.

~Michelle

Um...maybe it's just the year of "not feeling it".

Oooh surprise, surprise. Sue isn't feeling it. Sue is also referring to herself in the third person. Guess what ELSE. Sue just ate 4 Amoroso rolls, then took Excedrin Tension Headache with coffee. 

I don't feel like homeschooling anymore.

Kids all talking to me at once is making me feel insane.

I can't make it through a day - much less a week - eating healthy.

I haven't started running again OR doing workouts yet.

My house is trashed. Like hair balls, actual TRASH squished into couch seats, donuts ON THE FLOOR, boxes of crayons dumped down the heating vents, you need a HAZMAT suit to go to the bathroom type trashed.

Just (ok, not just, 3 & 1/2 DAYS AGO) got back from vacation, husband just went back to work today, haven't grocery shopped yet, only have weird stuff (hence the rolls), but i don't want to go because it's so overwhelming that i tear up.

Sports, Church stuff, life in general with 5 kids. It's just wow some days. Where all you can think is how you need to up and move. Because somehow that would help? Life would just find us in Georgia. But at least the cute accents might make it easier to handle.

Toddler got a pen. Do i need to say more? Maybe she can open a semi-permanent Tattoo parlor for toddlers and make some money.

I was so excited for Fall, but now it's like 800 degrees and humid.

Because i was sick the week before vacation, there was one day of school accomplished. Then, a week off for Disney. Then, husband had off. I think it is common knowledge that if Daddy is home, school is a bust. Haven't started yet. Don't know if i'm gonna. Is there even a POINT when you are going to get one good day in? Because it's after 1pm now, we have to go to Walmart, and i'm not doing it when we get home. That leaves tomorrow. I don't DO school on coop days. NO. 

Still haven't fully unpacked.

Mail wasn't delivered yet that was on hold, so i can't pay bills.

And we are out of checks.

Between families, we have FIVE BIRTHDAY PARTIES this weekend. I cannot even put into words the way i feel about this.
Well, i could, but it would cause problems. Because i have GREAT words for it.

I have SO much to be thankful for, i know that. I KNOW IT. But today, it's overwhelming. The responsibility of being a wife and mom is daunting, and i'm not handing it well. It will pass, and i'm not going crazy, and i swear if anyone just stops by to check on me, i will throw eggs at you. Scratch that, jelly beans. We have no eggs. 

This is a wretched post, but i figured what the heck...i'm overwhelmed, maybe someone else is overwhelmed and would like to know they are not alone. My goals for today are now to grocery shop and get out of pajamas. Or maybe not, because we ARE going to Walmart, after all. 
~Sue

Better Than a Jab in the Eye with a Sharp Stick

You know you've said it.  At the very least thought it.  You can't count the number of times you've had somebody tell you:

Children are a blessing from God.

However, even though yes, I do believe this, let's be real.  Some days it does seem like children are more of a suffering-because-it's-good-for-you blessing.

Here is a prime example.  This is not a random, kids-having-fun-and-playing mess.  This, right in the major traffic lane of my dining room, is a deliberate staging of what is supposed to be an I Spy picture.  All of those things were taken out of where they are supposed to be and put right where people walk ON PURPOSE.  Packets of jam that we HAD to bring home from a diner even though I make homemade jam that is a zillion times yummier and healthier than that stuff.  One, just ONE, flip flop.  The creative child even ripped off the lid of my box of cornstarch just for this project!  My heart rate increases with the stress of just remembering.  By the way, for those of you who are thinking "this isn't that bad, that's a clean day at my house", the above picture was one of the neater areas of the house.  The rest of the house was normal "kids have been playing here.  REALLY hard."

It was one of those days.  Those days where words to describe those days fail me.  A day where I discover a budding carpenter has happily entertained himself for a couple of hours by digging holes in the living room walls with a screwdriver.  A day where a budding scientist has decided to figure out how the vacuum cleaner works by removing all of the screws he can reach with a screwdriver.  A day where a budding artist coated an arm chair and a door with Vaseline.

There are times when my children grab my heart with both hands and bathe it in love.  My 4yo tells me that he loves me so much he wants to snuggle with me for always.  My 7yo tells me I am the best mama in the whole world when I impress him with some amazing culinary delight.  (Like allowing him to open a can of pineapple.)  My 10yo notices when I do my hair differently or dress up nicely and tells me how nice I look.  My daughter kisses me goodnight and tells me that she loves me.  I truly feel blessed beyond measure.  How could God trust *me* with these amazing gifts??

But this morning I did not even get my eyes open before I knew that today was going to be one of those days.  Dimly in my sleep I heard the sound of pounding feet and giggles.  Giggles that kept getting ssshhh-ed.  I thought maybe the water was running in the bathroom sink??  And then I heard one of my boys yell "Look at this water bomb!"  My eyes flew open then, but before I could get untangled from the covers, I heard my 4yo yell "Look how high I am!!! . . . Ummmm, somebody come help me . . . a little help here . . . I'm gonna fall, somebody come get me."  And then a supposedly-more-responsible-child calling back from a different room "Just a minute!  I'm busy."

Yes, wading through inches of water to pull a naked somebody down off the top of the bathroom closet door (????), I realized it.  Today was not going to be a day where being a parent made my heart overflow with love and gratitude.  Today was going to be one of those days where being a parent made me think of my college girlfriend quoting her Grandma:

It's better than a jab in the eye with a sharp stick.

It might not get cross-stitched onto any samplers.  But at least I have hope that tomorrow will be a little bit better.


~Stephanie

Nesting: Not Just for Pregnant Women Anymore

I think you all probably have guessed that cleaning is not something I excel at.  Most days I strive for the "busy-family look" and *that* is a standard I can definitely live up to.

So recently I was completely caught off-guard by my inability to stop cleaning my washing machine.

My washing machine!!!!

It's a front-loader, so it has that pesky little gasket around the door.  I happened to notice that there was some hair and what looked like MUD hanging out in there, and that was all it took.  The next thing I knew, I had a pack of Q-tips in one hand, baby diaper wipes in the other, and I could. not. stop. cleaning.

A full hour later - a precious hour that could have been filled with 2 kids' spelling lessons while I ran 5 miles on my elliptical - I finally sat back and said "good enough - for now."  And I took a photo to show the result of my hard work:

No, not the nice clean washing machine!  The gross dirty gunk I pulled out of it, of course!  I mean, who doesn't need to take a bunch of Q-tips to their washer every now and then?  This is completely normal, right?

This strange cleaning obsession did not stop with my washing machine.  No, the very next day I found myself scrubbing the grout in the bathroom, althought there was CONSIDERABLY less satisfaction and nothing photo-worthy to report from that day of work.

And a couple of days after that there was the small matter of the coat closet in my front entryway.  We installed shelving from Ikea when we moved back into our house <cough> close to 2 years ago.  Unfortunately, the people who removed the shelving when our house was being restored and cleaned after our house fire 3 years ago were not very careful about the screws that were an essential part of that shelving.  So I got frustrated, plus distracted by all of the other unpacking and organizing that needed to be done, and never got the shelving properly re-installed.  Which meant that my foyer has had piles of snow pants and jackets just sitting around and getting moved from one corner to another.  For almost 2 years.  Until I decorated for autumn.  I took the pictures of my nice fall decorations.  But I was pretty careful not to show the other side of the foyer.  Until now:

Yes, this bit of organization is photo worthy!!!  You can barely even see the snow pants now!  I can't believe this took me so long!  (No wait, I can.  I just remembered how hard it was to decorate for Autumn.)

Anyway, at this point I realized what is happening.  This is nesting!!  No, I'm not pregnant.  It's just a wonderful way to deal w/ the chaos that is in other parts of my life.  Homeschooling.  Fall sports.  Did I mention homeschooling?  (And I *will* finish unpacking sooner or later.  Probably this will only take me another year.)  Nesting used to be a word I avoided at all costs.  When I was pregnant I would bristle if somebody used that word in front of me.  I thought it sounded patronizing.  Condescending.  But now I am starting to see that it is not really a bad word.  And it's not just for pregnant mamas.

So when my husband and I had yet another "discussion" over our boys' crazy Lego accumulation, I didn't hesitate to take drastic action.  I had already made several trips to the Container Store and started the process of organizing those little daggers for unwary feet.  However, somehow this turned into less of a nice organized play system and more of a painful obstacle course across the floor of the only room in my house that nobody can avoid walking through at least a millions times a day because it is the central hub that all of the other rooms connect off of.  Spousal "discussions" of what to do with the Legos became more, ummm, energetic.

Finally, on Thursday I took an entire day off of school for the sole purpose of nesting.  This is a legitimate homeschooling subject and my kids all earned an A.  (Except for the 4yo, who was slated to get a big fat F until he went off and fell asleep on the floor of another room in the middle of the afternoon while we were all working hard, at which point I magnaminously decided to give him a C-.)  First everybody under the age of 13 was forced down to the basement w/ brooms and mops to make sure there were no horrible mutant jumping spider-crickets that make me look like a shrieking blathering idiot.  Nobody needs to see their mother like that.  Plus there were a few <ahem> boxes that were still waiting to be unpacked.  Those had to get stacked neatly in a corner.  I gathered up all of the volunteers for the job of carpet selection and we popped into the minivan to go find something cheap.  There was some rather interesting, sexist banter w/ the older "gentleman" who worked in the store (he seems to be under the conviction that all women are in a hurry to complete projects and that we drive our husbands crazy with our impatience), however I got a few jabs at men in general and husbands specifically AND I got $15 knocked off the price, and we were back home before my daughter could finish her science lesson.  I am happy.  My boys are happy and playing w/ Legos every time I turn my back.

And more importantly, they appear to be very clear on the concept that any Legos that leave this carpet will almost definitely end up in the vacuum cleaner.

I feel like I've gotten some major stuff worked out of my system.  Yes, there is a pile of outgrown baby clothes in a spare bedroom.  My desk has yet to be tackled.  And I did see a promising looking recipe for homemade grout cleaner on facebook the other day.  But, for now, I'm ready to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my nesting.


~Stephanie

Simple Fancy Autumn

I grew up with a very simple lifestyle.  My grandparents on both sides were farmers, even though my mom's parents had moved off their farm before I was born.  Simple country people.  My parents were simple country people too, even though they weren't farmers.  We didn't decorate our house - except at Christmas; we put a lot of energy into our large garden - because we didn't have a lot of money to spend at the grocery store; we moved into our house that my parents and extended family built themselves before it was finished, and were pretty excited each time we could afford to put carpet into the room that was getting "finished."  We didn't go out to eat often, and most of our socializing was done w/ our family members.   Since my mom was 1 of seven and my dad was 1 of five, we were certainly never bored.  One or two of my aunts had a lot of knicknacks sitting out, but it seemed to me like it was quietly understood that it was in part because they liked to do a lot of dusting.  I felt vaguely sorry for them; they were certainly NOT the norm.

Then, when I was in my early twenties, I had a rude awakening.  I overheard someone whose mom had just married into our family describing *her* in-laws (not my family) to someone in my family.  It went something like "They're really simple people . . . you know, the kind of people who have plain white walls." 

!!!!!! 

I about fell over.  That was the very first time it occurred to me that there is a "type" of person who has plain white walls and that apparently they are simple.  Well!  This was a new, unwelcome thought.  Yes, there were some walls in my house growing up that were white.  They weren't ALL white.  There was that brown wood paneling in the basement, you know.  But I'm pretty sure we were that "kind of people" who my new relative was looking down her nose at.

Oh wait.  In the interests of complete honesty, I'd better admit that I have nary a white wall in my house.  Except for a bit of white tile in one bathroom.  But, at heart, I am a simple person who is okay with white walls and with people who have them.  And no knicknacks anywhere.

Every now and then, however, I get the urge to be Fancy.  Often this strikes when I spend a lot of time with talented-in-the-decorating-department people.  Or when my friends start talking about candles and garlands and paint.  I DO have a creative side.  I do!  I have cross-stitched, crocheted, sewed and quilted galore.  One of my friends is Mennonite, and she has admired my work, so I feel like I even have some street cred in that department.  I walk in a fabric store and get a little teensy bit annoyed with my four children for taking up so much of my time and with God for calling me to homeschool which takes up even more of my time, so I try to avoid fabric stores for the most part.  But generally, when the urge to decorate overcomes me, I know that this will not go well.

This year, for the first time, I gave in to the urge to decorate for Autumn.  (Even though that word is a pain to type, I feel that Autumn is worthy of decorating for, whereas Fall is not.)  I have a daughter who has a very German talent for taking a few bunch of weeds and turning them into a delightful table display.  With her on my team, how could I fail, right?  So I took her shopping, and we had a fun mama-daughter afternoon planning our decorating-for-autumn splurge.  Then we got home.  And I started trying to make my house look like my vision.

First, we had to take down the Christmas garland.

No judging, people!!  Rest assured I'm not just sitting around all day, eating chocolate.  Plus it made the house look pretty even when it's not Christmas.  :)  Then, my daughter (plus her littlest brother) got to work on the bannister - technically it's hers, since her room is the only one upstairs - while I moved the laundry out of the way so I could take some pictures.

Again, no judging!  This decorating stuff is hard work for us simple people.  I was sweating by this point, FYI.   Finally, I moved on to the only other thing I aspired to decorate - the window next to my front door.  I'm not a fan of a great big window right next to a front door, but I love everything else about this house, so I'm not actually complaining about this.  Just mentioning it.

Those little gel thingies were quite a pain in the patootie to put up, by the way.  I was shocked.  I battled hard while struggling with them because some un-Christian type words that I had allowed to be planted in my head when I was in my late teens and early twenties were perilously near the tip of my tongue.  But nary a one escaped from my mouth.  :)  I got a little leaf-pumpkin basket to put on a stand that I have.  I would not really say this is "my style" but I hate to have useless things sitting around my house, so I'm using this.  Plus it helps block that great big window that I'm not so fond of.  I'm starting to get tired of finding practical things to do with it, though, so it might be gone before long.  And I definitely need to clean up my front porch, apparently.  But hey, my mission for the day was Decorate, not Clean Up.

Can you smell pumpkin spice candles when you look at this picture?  Nah, I'm not going that far.  But Autumn is here.  Outside, in the real thing, it's beautiful.  And simple, not fancy.  Goodbye Summer!


~Stephanie