Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Hard Things

There are many things that are hard about being a mother: watching your kid climb out of the car in the morning and not even look back at you as they troop into school, worrying about them all day while they are away from you, deciding whether or not it's okay, just this once, to have oreos, grapes and milk for supper. I could go on all day, but instead, I'm going to tell you about a couple of hard things I'm experiencing right now.

1. Sick or Not? Last Friday, Brynna took the day off of school She told me her tummy hurt and she felt like she was going to throw up. She lied. The truth is that she probably needed to stay home from school. She spent most of the afternoon in my little brother's bed, so she was definitely more tired than usual and she did develop a scratchy throat later in the day. I like to think that this didn't develop into anything nasty in part because of that extra time in bed. I'm not sorry she stayed home, but I'm very sorry she lied to me. I don't really know how to handle this situation from here. We talked and I think she understands, but how do I trust the next time she tells me she's too sick for school? How do I determine for myself how sick she is?

And the thing is, she likes school. She, in fact, loves school. So, why did she do it in the first place? Just needed a break? Too tired to get moving? The world may never know, but I feel like I should.

2. Race Stuff... Thursday is Brynna's day in the school library. Each week they are allowed to check out a book to read for the week and bring back the following Thursday. Brynna takes this very seriously. She does not remove the book from her backpack, except for reading it and she is so conscientious about them. So much so, that I sometimes forget to look at what she's brought. Yesterday morning, I pulled out Whitewash by Ntozake Shange. I read it and started crying about halfway through. It's the story of a little African American girl, who, while walking home with her older brother is attacked by a white gang. The gang beats her brother and spray paints her face white. It speaks to the trauma this act causes the brother, the girl, the family and the entire community. It's a good book, I guess, the way Schindler's List is a good movie. I'm just not sure what to say to Brynna about it.

We've talked about race before. She asked me why it mattered that President Obama was black, and she's asked me about Martin Luther King Day and what that means. I've never lied, but I've never really told the whole story, either. How do you explain to a kid who sees so much beauty in "brown skin" the atrocities of racism and hatred. How do you explain all the little atrocities that serve to break people down.

I suppose, you do it with this book, at least in part. But, wow. I didn't want to do this now. I wasn't ready to talk about this. And I am not sure that I'll know what to say. I think I over explained drugs during red ribbon week. That's my tendency.

3. Grades... Brynna's teacher thinks she should be in Kindergarten. As she just turned six and is easily the youngest child in her class, no doubt some of you agree. I don't really care. She reads, she does math, she love science and complained to me because there's no geography in her new school. The way I look at it, she can be bored in Kindergarten or struggle in first grade, and I'd rather her not get bored. That said, it's hard to see those grades printed on that sheet and wonder if you're doing the right thing. Wonder if maybe this isn't so good, maybe it's too much, maybe she won't catch up. Also, also, she has a D which stands for "Developing Skill" and means below average in Art. Her favorite subject and also, what criteria is used to grade first grade art? Seriously. It's not like they are looking at composition and color usage. I have a nice long list of activities we can do at home to help, but we already have at least a half hour of homework every night.

I was so sure in my decision just a few days ago, and now, I'm just not sure. Not sure she's ready. Not sure I'm not screwing her up. Not sure.

Motherhood is hard, people. It is not for the faint of heart. But, I'm telling you, all you moms of cute, cuddly babies, trouble making toddlers and precocious preschoolers, motherhood is much, much harder when you throw the education system in the mix.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Grace with Kids

A Grace in the Small Things Post:

There is honestly quite a bit to find grace and joy in if you have kids. Yes, sometimes there's also quite a lot to find frustration and misery in, but here are five things in which I find grace and joy when it comes to my kids.

1. Passion - Right now, Brynna is passionate about art and Maren is passionate about horsies, but whatever they are passionate about, kids are almost always passionate about something.

2. Cartoons and Kids' Show - I do really love kids' shows, but sometimes I feel stupid watching. Having kids means that I can watch Wizards of Waverly Place, I'm in the Band or the New! Coming Soon! Tangled! Even if I watch without the kids, I can always claim that I am watching to find out if I'll let them watch.

3. Smiles and Giggles - Kids just smile and giggle so much easier than adults. It's hard to stay down when you have a room full of giggles and the light of a six year old's smile.

4. Fashion - While I'm a little reserved with what I wear, my kids can totally wear anything they want and look 100% fabulous. Furthermore, I can live vicariously through their ability to look precious even in a waaay too big t-shirt and leggings.

5. Kids' Books - I totally went to the library this week to check out a Wayside School book "for Brynna." It had absolutely nothing to do with my desire to read the next installment, no, I was completely thinking about Bryn.

Friday, October 22, 2010

5 Things on Friday - I WANT That Edition

You know what I like to do when I get depressed? Take the Tour of Beautiful Things that I Can't Have. Or, window shop. Pick your phraseology. (I will always side with Anya on this one.)

Sometimes it cheers me up and sometimes it's like wallowing in my own freakish misery, but either way, I usually feel somewhat better when I'm done.

So, here's Five Things I Totally Want the Way Dane Cook Wants Acid Spit:


1. A new car. I couldn't even decide what kind. I'd love a Crysler Town and Country, which I consider to be the Rolls Royce of the minivan. I would pretty much settle for any minivan whose dashboard wasn't lit up like a Christmas tree. I'd also love a Morgan. That's the lovely piece of heaven right there. Yum. Or a vintage 'Vette. Or pretty much anything other than the "Hm, I wonder if it will work today," lovely that I have.


2. Raincoat - I've wanted a real live grown up raincoat for a long time, but they are so expensive for something to wear when it's not even cold enough for a coat. It's a philosophical problem for me. Yes, I love a raincoat. Yes, I want a raincoat. No, I don't want to pay for a coat just for rain. But this one... C'mon. Who doesn't want a purple rain coat. I may cry.







3. Bed Set - I'm so tired of my bedroom. I used to have a lovely purple and black bedroom and when we moved, I took that opportunity to be nice to The Husband and make the bedroom slightly more masculine. You know, to be nice. To The Husband. Well, three years later and my stupid brown walls mock me daily. Furthermore, my red curtains make the room look all whorehousey during the day. Stupid red curtains. Look at that though. Doesn't that just make you want to go to bed. Ah, bed.




4. Boots - Boots are quite possibly the best thing about fall and winter. And I love everything about fall and winter. I am greatly in need of a new pair of tall boots and the ones I am replacing are lovely heeled boots that quickly drove me nuts. So, I'm ready to take advantage of the flat boot trend. Oooh, aren't these tough? The truth is that I think I like the gray ones best, but the brown ones are so much more practical. I love the slouchy look with the flat sole.






5. Curtains - Because even my daydreaming is boring, I would really love thermal curtains. To reduce my heating fuel cost and warm my vast expanse of living room. Oh, and sheers. Cream ones. Okay, everyone bored now? Good.






So, tell me what you want most right now?

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Thursday Nights

Many of you may have read my heartfelt and delightful (TM) post about my brother D and his trek off to school. What you may not know is that since then, he has come home every single weekend. I would mock him mercilessly for not being able to stay away from home for more than four days straight, except that when he comes home on Thursday (an event that I amazingly always find an excuse to hang around for) it's like welcoming home a long lost relative that's been gone for months.

We crowd around and we ask about school and the roommates and what he's eating and who he's hanging out with and where he's going. His current favorite show is Top Gear and he doesn't have cable, so he dials up Monday's episode on mom's DVR and we all sit around and watch it while D backs it up to watch the good parts over and over again.

Someone will say they are hungry and D will say that he can't stand to get back in the car and we all settle back, content to let him direct after such a *long* absence.

Through the rest of the weekend, it's like he never left. Sunday, when he comes to church with us and dinner afterward, we (and by we, I mean I) may get a little weepy, knowing that soon after he's gone again, but for the most part, he wanders around doing D things: working on his car, eating Ramen noodles, leaving a mess behind him.

But Thursday nights - Oh, Thursday nights. The girls run outside to meet the car, led by D's girlfriend, the fabulous Morgan. The rest of us sit up a little straighter, talk a little quieter and wait for him to make it in the door, typically carrying one or both of my children with Morgan on his arm. It's like watching a war hero return, except he's only been at school for four days.

We are probably a little pathetic. I mean, really, four days, people. But, I don't want to spend any Thursday night in the next two years any differently. I'm sure that at some point he'll stop coming home every weekend. That's how these things happen. He'll get a job or an apartment or the car will break down (ha!) but for right now, I'm going to enjoy these nights to the fullest.

And also, celebrate the fact that Supernatural moved to Fridays, because that really would tear at me.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Hold Happy

Let me tell you about my relationship with the library.

My mom did the mom thing with regards to the library. I participated in the summer reading program, checked out a million and a half picture books and cut my reading teeth in the children's biography section. I moved up to the adult library with my mom's permission and started in on the (at that time, tiny) young adult fiction section.

I would have lived at the library if they had a kitchen. As I grew older in school, I became more and more attached to my school library. I honestly think I read just about every fiction book my high school library held.

When I got to college in Kansas, I was enamoured of their lovely, spacious, amazing library, but I was terribly disappointed by the stacks. It wasn't that it wasn't a good library, it's just that academic libraries are so focused on academia and there just wasn't much fiction around. It was during this period that my adoration turned toward bookstores.

I love a good bookstore and have had many, many dates in my life that consisted solely of dinner and the bookstore. Kansas had a fabulous Borders and a lovely Barnes and Noble, and Lexington, which is the large town near me now has one of the best small booksellers in the nation. Just ask Alton Brown.

I have spent many an hour in these stores, browsing and reading and trying to make a decision already. I love the feel of a bookstore, the luxury of a good bookstore. And I love to buy a book, to take it home and know that it is entirely mine.

So, when our personal finances started to crash a couple of years ago, and books had to become a smaller portion of our budget, it was with some reluctance that I returned to the hallowed library halls. I had been taking Brynna there for a few months, but had yet to really seek out anything for myself.

In the past couple of years, our budget has not loosened any, has in fact, tightened significantly, but if there is any good to be had in that trauma, it is that I have rekindled my love affair with the library.

I love that I can take as many books as I want, not as many as my budget allows. I love that I can take a book that I don't know beyond a shadow of a doubt I'll love, because if I hate it, I'll just take it back. No biggie. I love that if they don't have something, I can request it, via Interlibrary loan and they will find it for me. But most of all, most of all, I love the online hold request.

For the uninitiated, the entire library catalog is online and when you search for a book, you will have the option of requesting a hold for that book. If the book is currently in, they will pull it for you and put it at the hold shelf. If it is not in, they will call you when it is in. Can I repeat that, they find it for you. It doesn't matter if it's in the large print section or the paperback section, they will find it for you and call you. All you have to do is drive there and know your own name.

I'm not sure I could live without this now that I have become accustomed to it.

Only last week, well, last week, I searched for about a million books on the website and none of them were in. So, I placed holds on all of them. All of them. So now, I am a little overwhelmed. I have more books than I have time and two of them can't be renewed.

Which means that I should be reading right now. Except that I also should be cooking supper, crocheting and getting some work done. Oh, and laundry. I pretty much should always be doing laundry.

Wish me luck!

Monday, October 18, 2010

He Would be Seven

Seven years ago, yesterday, my son was born. He was early, 30 weeks, gestational. And he was stillborn. We knew he was dead before he was born. I've always looked at that as a blessing. It would have been much, much worse to be expecting a baby at the end of the rainbow.

The 17th, his birthday was hard. The 18th was harder. So was the 19th and the 20th and every single day for a long while. Then it began to get easier, lighter. Now, this year, the 17th crept up on me. I almost forgot it completely.

Every year, on Ethan's birthday, I try to set aside time to remember him, to imagine who would have turned out to be. He would be seven, in first or second grade. I can't help but think that he would be an awesome big brother with Brynna so close behind. He would be funny, because all our kids are funny and I think he would have been a little geeky too.

It's nice to imagine him at seven or five or fifty, but it's melancholy, too. Because I don't know. I don't really know that he would have been funny or geeky or anything. I don't know what color his eyes were or what color his red, red hair would have ended up being. I don't know what he would have liked or who he would have emulated. And I never will.

At the same time, though, I recognize how very, really and truly blessed I am. I have two beautiful daughters. I wasn't dragged totally into the never ending pit of depression that often accompanies the loss of a child. I kept my head, my work, my sanity, my love. I ended up okay.

And also, also, I am the ONLY human being on this earth who really got to know Ethan. I know that he loved lemonade, because he would get all kicky when I had some. I know that he loved music, because he always kicked to the beat. I know that he was a squirmy little thing and a snuggler. 

I believe with all my soul that this world would be better with Ethan in it. It would be more complete, more beautiful, more amazing with my little man as a part of it. But I also believe that there was some reason for him to stay up there. Some reason that I may someday get to know.

This is a sad day for me, the annual remembrance of the day I went home empty handed from the hospital. The day I put on non-maternity sweatpants and got in the car without a carseat full of baby. The day I carried out a box, rather than a child. It is a lonely bereft day.

But it is also a day that I can't help but see myself as truly lucky. To have known him, to have held him, to have walked away at all. To have made it out relatively unscathed. To have lived to fight and love and give birth again.

Ethan, there were days when I wondered if I would survive, but I can certainly say that you made me a better mother. I will hold you someday. Wait for me.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Hate

This post is part of my 30 Days of Truth Journey. You can learn more about that madness here.

To be perfectly honest, this day, "Something you hate about yourself," was one of my major deterrents to this project. How can someone like me ever hope to tackle such a subject.

I thought about it all last night. In one self-pitying fit of desperation, I thought, "I'll write about how I hate that I hate everything about myself." It was borderline pathetic.

Since then, I've calmed a little. Taken off the panic dance outfit I was sporting earlier. I don't hate everything about myself. I kinda like myself. I try not to tell people that, because, well, you know. I'm a lady or something, but truly I think I'm a pretty cool chick. I even like my faults for the most part. They are the kind of faults I can live with. I don't like how down I've been lately. Down enough to consider maybe seeing someone. In the profession. I don't like how quick tempered I get when I'm tired. I don't like my tendency to blow off things that are important and totally panic about things that are stupid.

But I don't hate any of those things. And, I know, I can work on them. I can seek help or zero in on what's making me unhappy and change it. I can work on my temper. Take more deep breaths. I can better prioritize my life. If any of those things bothered me enough, I would work on them and I would change them. They are things that I can live with.

What I hate, what I truly hate is my appearance. I hate my weight, my pointy nose, my hair, my clothes, my apathy that I fight and can't seem to change, my pale skin (which when paired with my black hair and even a smidge of make-up makes me look like I could audition to play a Cullen - if there were fat Cullens).

And I hate to talk about it, because people chime in to tell me how pretty I am and I always, always assume they are lying. I am almost never seeking that kind of praise and it frankly makes me uncomfortable.

And for the most part, that does not bother me. I don't think too much about my appearance. I am not affected by my self-hatred when it comes to appearance, because I honestly don't see myself as a person for whom looks matter. Let me put it this way, in the great movie of life, I will never be Meg Ryan, Katherine Heigl or Penelope Cruz. I am Kathy Bates. And you know what, I freakin' love Kathy Bates. Who wants to be the stupid simpering romantic lead when you can be Kathy Bates? Who wants all the crap of being the center when you can be the one with a funny joke and a bottle of wine? I bet at some point in time every tall, leggy blonde to ever grace the silver screen has thought, "Damn. Why couldn't I play the funny best friend?" Because that's always the better role.

But it's tiring sometimes, too. It's tiring never having the right thing to wear, never knowing what to do with your hair and knowing that by and large it truly doesn't matter. There are times when it is all I can think about, all I can concentrate on, all I can focus my attention on. There are times when it leads me down a sucking vortex of self-pity, anguish and misery. There are times when I hate how I look so much that I think, for just a second that I hate myself.

Gah! That was miserable. I hope the next one is easier. Better. Something.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Truthy Truthiness

Earlier in the week, My Tornado Alley started writing this 30 Days of Truth series, and I thought, "Oh yeah. I'd like to do that. That's pretty cool." And then I read the list of thing and I thought, "Oh, no. I'm not sure I can do that. I'm not sure I'm okay with quite that much truth."

And now, two days later (or maybe even just one, time makes my head hurt) here I am. See, everyone's doing it and I don't know, it seems like such a good idea. Truth. Unfettered, undressed, uninhibited truth. (On a side note, has anyone else ever thought that uninhibited is probably just the same thing as hibited?)

Truth is the golden word, isn't it. Truth, justice and the American way. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. Truth is the ivory castle we all hope to achieve, the center of what we long to be, the hope at which we continually grasp.

It isn't so simple as the opposite of a lie, or even the opposite of an untruth, because I can fail to lie and still not truly express the truth. And after all, there really only is lying, but there is truth and then there's Truth.

And look, I'm babbling. I'm babbling along, praying I never get to the truth. Which, I think, is the point of this exercise. To make us get to the truth. To put ourselves out there in a new and exciting way.

I just wrote and erased this whiney bit about how no one is ever truly "truthful" with anyone else, because we are never really and truly that exposed. And yeah, whatever, that's true enough. But we are also talking about the internet here. I can be truthful, I can share things I've never shared before, talk about things I don't talk about and still not tell everything. For one thing, because no one wants to read all that, but for another, because I think (to me at least) that this isn't about losing control, but about taking control of your own truth.

It's about telling your stories, your secrets, your truths without shame, without self-loathing, without hurt. Because it makes you a better person, a better story teller and a better friend/wife/mom/whatever.

If life is an oyster and there is some elusive pearl being formed from the pain and anxiety and joy and hope and strife and misery and mundaneness all around us, then there must be a tiny grain in the center of that pearl. A grain who will determine the final shape of that beautiful pearl. I can't see it, but I know it's there. And I want to tell you about it. Little by little.

So, tomorrow I start telling the truth in a whole new way. I will not do this for 30 straight days. I'll take breaks and it may take me months to get through it. I may still be writing this series next October. I'm okay with that and I hope you are too.

If you want to participate, I think that's great. If you don't, I think that's great too. If you think this whole thing is stupid, feel free to use this post as a drinking game - just take a shot every time I say truth. Please, though, use something light weight, because I don't want your alcohol poisoning on my head.

I don't think there's any organization to all this. Just a bunch of bloggers blogging. Here are the topics:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

Monday, October 11, 2010

What's in My Crochet Bag - Bowl Edition

So, remember when I talked about stiffening - way back here? And, remember where I asked, oh so casually if anyone had ever stiffened anything heavier than thread and everyone totally ignored that question? Well, it wasn't so casual.

You see, this bowl that I made would not turn out with thread. My gauge was correct and my size was working out, but no matter how I did it, my stitches seemed too loopy and loose. And when I used a smaller hook to tighten up the stitches, the gauge got wonky. It was tres frustrating.

So, I got out some nice cotton sport weight and tried again. And it turned out perfect. Perfect stitches, perfect gauge, perfect finished size. But the whole bowl I was stressing the stiffening part. What if it made everything feel gross? What if my head exploded from the unnecessary stress? What if I finished the whole thing, stiffened it and had to throw it away?

So, Friday while working from home, since it was nice and sunshiney out, I took my breaks thusly:
This is my punchbowl on drugs. No, actually it's my punchbowl covered with tin foil and then with my floppy, soon to be bowl draped over the top. The tin foil is so that the bowl won't stick to my punch bowl.

After trying really hard to follow the directions and "paint" the stiffener on with my hands, I gave up, squirted and squished. This worked muuuuch better. The only downside to this whole experiment is that I used the entire bottle of stiffener and will need more for snowflakes.

This is the bowl with the stiffener worked in re-draped. You know how I can tell. Because of the white spots where I dripped stiffener on the deck. Soo glad I did this outside.

Gratuitous bottom of the bowl shot. I love this thing!

Finished bowl. Do me a favor, okay? Just ignore the terrible light as I took this at 6 a.m. and also ignore the junk on my kitchen table in the background. We are not heathens and normally there is plenty of room for eating on the table, but I was sick all weekend and the house went to hell. It brought back postcards.
All in all the experiment was a success. I am going to line the bowl with dark green tissue paper and fill it with chocolates and voila - Christmas present for under $5. Assuming I can find chocolates for under $3. And really, the yarn for this did indeed cost $2 once upon a time, but it's really yarn that I overbought for another project, so it's kinda free. Can't beat that.

The pattern is here. Yarn is Lily Sugar and Cream in Wine. Other than my before mentioned trauma over weight, I made no changes and I love the finished project. I will say that my bowl turned out big. The circumfrence is only a tiny bit off, but it's way taller than expected. I think that if I had kept with the thread and dialed down the hook size, it would have been fine. I love this, though. It's got presence!

Friday, October 8, 2010

Five Things on Friday - Hope Chest Edition

Raise your hand if you had/have a hope chest. I didn't. I mean, I had a lovely chest and a lot of hopes, but I didn't have linens and silverware squirreled away waiting for the moment I sauntered down the aisle for wedded bliss. I was thinking the other day about how it would be nice to start one for my girls.

Sort of a modern hope chest, though, one whose opening depends on setting up house rather than on marriage. Only instead of putting in embroidered pillow cases and silver candlesticks, I would put in things like a super cozy couch blanket and plastic wine glasses, you know, the things that make you happy.

Except there's so much I couldn't possibly fit inside it. So, in a fit of absolutely horribly, terribly, mushy-gushy madness, I present

Five Things I Wish I Could Put in a Hope Chest for my Girls:

1. Sheets of Confidence - Imagine if you could just wrap yourself up in confidence when you are out there battling those life battles. It's so easy to feel insignificant or insufficient. I look at my girls and their pure, unadulterated brilliance and I wish I could ensure that they would never feel like less.

2. Grace-ware - Life will surely gift them with things they don't want and can't use. Meeting those times with grace is all it takes to find the joy in the pain. There are as many ways to show grace as pieces in a chest of silver. I hope they always find the right piece.

3. A Courage Comforter- Some days the best you can do is to conjure enough courage to get out of bed. I know my girls and they are full of strength, all they need is the courage to use that strength.

4. Hope and Faith Shakers - Hope to help them persevere and faith to carry them when they can't any longer. Sprinkled liberally over everything.

5. Mixing Bowls of Joy - As long as joy is an ingredient in everything you do, life will be pretty good, even when it's pretty bad.

What would you like to put in your kids hope chests?

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Practice Makes Perfect

This Sunday, we heard a sermon about forgiveness. It really hit home for me. I've been sort of struggling with the idea of forgiveness lately. Sort of a philosophical question of whether or not you can forgive a person, truly forgive them while also making it less possible for them to hurt you. Can a woman forgive her husband and still leave him? Can a mother forgive her child and still make them accept the consequences for their action? Can we forgive someone who hurts us and protect ourselves from their hurt? Or is that not really forgiveness?

It's a tricky question, and one I've been pondering and also totally not the point. During the sermon, the pastor said that forgiveness is easy, as long as you practice it. It will be hard in the beginning, but as you get more and more in the habit, it will get easier and easier. And a light bulb went off in my head.

How many times in my life have I heard that practice makes perfect? How many things (crafts, cooking, child rearing issues) have I applied that theory to? And it never occurred to me that it applies to everything, not just what you do but who you are.

I want to be a forgiving person, therefore, I should forgive. Over and over again, until it's easy.

Or, more to the point, I want to be a happy person. A joyful person. I want to see the amazing in the mundane. I look at those people, those people who always have something nice to say, something to smile about, some pleasant perspective on the world and I am envious.

I don't want to be a smiling automaton who never sees the dark side, and there is a certain appeal to my snarky cynism, but I do want a little more joy in my life, a little more light. And I will only get it one way - practice.

Perhaps after I've mastered joy, I'll just work my way through the rest of the fruits of the spirit.

In the meantime, I'm focusing on joy. I want something to smile about. And it's really not all that hard. To that end, I've joined Grace in the Small Things, started by the very funny and successfully snarky, Schmutzie.

And Practice: 5 Things (Not Even on a Friday) in which I can, today, find grace and joy.
  1. They Might Be Giants - Otherwise known as the only CD that both of my children AND I enjoy in the car. And okay, they are burning me out a little on "Why the Sun Shines," but then they humor me enough to listen to "Birdhouse in my Soul" a couple of times and we're all good.
  2. Supernatural - Tomorrow I am going to be home on a Friday night (gasp!) and I am going to watch my most favoritest show and swoon every time Jensen walks onscreen.
  3. Haunted Houses - I haven't been to one since before Brynna was born, but I'm going this weekend. And hopefully, I'm not going to be pulled out for hyperventilating (which I only do when it's claustrophobic). 
  4. Halloweentown - Brynna and I have been watching these movies all week on Disney Channel and I have no idea why I love them so, but I do. I really, really do. Bless Marnie.
  5. Cake - My meeting of church ladies tonight is at the baker's house, so I'm really looking forward to some sort of culinary delight. I'd be perfectly happy if she only served dessert. Perfectly happy.
Let me know what you find grace and joy in and maybe I'll be able to find it there too. Oh, and feel free to weigh in on the forgiveness issue.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Important Words

Sometimes I get all hung up here about the power of words, about how amazing and important words are. About how fragile people are and easily injured by harsh words.

The past few days have seen more and more mounting proof of this issue. All of the coverage over "bullying" and "teen homosexual suicides," though misses a critical point. Everything seems to be focused on making broad sweeping statements - Bullying is bad. Being gay is okay. And fine, I'm not arguing with that, but... But... Aren't we missing the bigger picture.

The bigger picture that words are important. This bullying, there's violence there too. It's not all words, but that's where it starts. That's where it always starts. Then the words grow to something bigger. And it's the words that do the most lasting damage.

Tell any kid that they are stupid. Tell them day after day and over and over again that they are stupid and they will believe that they are stupid. This is true whether you are calling them stupid, worthless, ugly, fat or bad. They will grow to hate themselves much, much more than their bullies ever did.

And yet. And yet, we teach kids that words don't matter. That sticks and stones will break our bones but words will never hurt us. That throwing words around is okay, expected even. Most of us will reprimand and punish our kids for hitting one another, but how often do we lay down the law about name calling, about hateful words, about cruel language.

A couple of weeks ago, I helped out with a group of church girls. Most of them were in elementary school and as they played and talked among themselves, I heard one of the girls call another girl "retarded." When I called her out and told her not to use that word, she said that no one had ever told her not to use that word. Later, when my own daughter called someone stupid and I pulled her aside for a conversation, she said, "I don't really think she's stupid, I'm just mad."

It made me think about how I act. Not to her or her sister, because I would never, ever talk to them like that. But to other drivers on the road. To their father. To people I'm losing my temper with. I will never teach her that words are important, that words can hurt and sometimes kill, if I don't model that behavior.

I have beautiful children, smart children, talented children. And I see so much potential in them, but the thing that I most want them to develop and nurture is compassion and kindness. I want my girls to grow up and have that uncanny ability to see the world through the eyes of others. To strive to help and never to hurt.

In this moment, there is not much I can do to stop bullying or to comfort someone who is being bullied. I just don't believe you can talk to someone about something like this that you don't know. If you do know someone, know that your words can matter. Words that comfort, words that teach, words that affirm. Words that say, "I love you." Over and over again until they are heard. And I encourage you to say those words.

What I can do is play my part in the next generation. There isn't very much time until Brynna is at the prime age when bullying starts. I don't want her to be bullied and I will teach her over and over again that it's okay to stand up for herself, that it's okay to talk about it. I will tell her I love her and that she is smart and beautiful. I can't picture my perfect angel ever being a bully. I can't picture her taking delight in someone else's pain, but I doubt that any mother can. So, I will also do my part to make sure she knows that words hurt.

It isn't much, but I hope that it makes a small difference.