A Poem For Fellow Messy Mommies

Disclaimer: I love to write, but I nearly flunked poetry in college. Frost I ain't, so read at your own risk.


My car is not clean, not even close
It’s dirty, it’s cluttered, it smells like burnt toast.
On the window, a hand, quite clearly seen;
Imprint created by Grant, aged three.
His artwork was painstakingly made;
Using only the finest marmalade

A quick look down and you might see the floor,
But I haven’t seen it since 2004.
Instead of carpet are banana peels,
And ridiculous trinkets from Happy Meals.
There are sippy cups-- now growing mold;
Cheese-Its and Cheerios, 3 weeks old.
Candy wrappers, the “icky” skin of a pear;
The discarded coats they refuse to wear.

A glance in the trunk and you might be appalled,
To see “extra clothes” now two sizes too small.
I’ve forgotten to remove the stuff from the game,
But most days I’m happy I haven’t forgotten my name.

The cup holders aren’t used for cups anymore;
They’re filled with used tissues from Wilson, aged 4
This is the reason on the front seat you’ll find;
Stains of all colors, all sizes, all kinds;
From spills that occur when Mommy here drives.

The armrest cannot be used now you see,
Because my arm blocks the view of the DVD.
And every mom knows that the key to peace,
Is continuously run movies like Beauty and the Beast.
The console’s days of opening are done,
Because shoving coins in the hinges is loads of good fun.

People say, “hey, get something new to drive”
Now why would I want to give up this sweet ride?
I could be stuck in a blizzard alone and forgotten;
And survive on gummies and goldfish au gratin.
I think there is water down under Grant's feet
Cause something is wet and cold under my seat.

The back bench will have permanent car seat indentations,
So too bad for friends and family relations.
Unless they feel like sitting in a hole,
Created by Greco, Baby’s First and Costco.

The juice stains on the door are actually quite new;
They occurred during a laughing fit on the topic of poo

My car is a mess, but it is my oasis;
As I carry my kids to dozens of places.
I suppose I could clean, but I don’t, you know why?
Cause instead I am found playing with my kids outside.

My car can be messy, but my kids won’t remember
If I’m carrying beach balls around in December
20 years from now, I doubt that they’ll care;
If our car was a little worse for the wear.

Wherever we go, we go together,
And in a few years we’ll upgrade to leather.
Why is leather important to me?
It’s not, but I hear that it’s easy to clean.
So maybe by then I’ll work a bit harder;
To keep my ride from becoming a martyr.
But for now it’s a mess and I just cannot win,
But you’ll have to get over it, or just don’t get in.

Well Walking

A man sits by a pool of water. His legs are twisted an useless. He can do little for himself, so he begs for his lively hood. Life has not been cherries for him, so he curses the wind and growls as people skip by. He stopped dreaming long ago of the life he could have led. A stranger approaches him. There is something about him that seems...? The stranger asks the man a question. "Do you want to be well?" The man listens to the question and wonders if he heard correctly. Here he sits dirty, alone, and motionless and the stranger dares to ask him "do you want to be well"? The answer should be simple. It should take the minimum effort of one word. YES. Instead, he finds that his mouth can't form that word. He gives the stranger a what? An excuse. My life is terrible. No one treats me well. All I want is to get into the pool and yet I can't.

That isn't what the stranger asked. So why couldn't he just say 'yes'? Maybe he doesn't really want healing. Maybe he prefers the pity to a promise that comes with a price. Effort.

That is a story based on John 5: 1-15. Jesus approaches an invalid of 38 years and asks him the most ridiculous question possible. "Do you want to get well?" That's like asking a homeless person, "hey, want a house?" The answer should be there before the question is asked. OF COURSE! Of course the lame want to leap and the homeless long for shelter. And yet...

The man responded with an excuse for laying there. As if, faced with the presence of this (I imagine) radiant stranger, he felt some guilt for just sitting there. He didn't say yes. Maybe he knew what might happen if he did. Jesus told him to "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk" (8). He didn't lift the man to his feet and show him how to move. He didn't hand him a bag of money or the deed to a new home. He didn't even offer to pick up his mat and carry it for him. In essence, he told the man to get himself up, clean up his mess and move on.

How often do I sit on my mat by the pool hoping for pity? I don't think it's intentional, but sometimes I just want someone to show they care about what I'm dealing with. "This is really hard for me. Let me tell you about it for a while" When Jesus shows up and asks me that question "do you want to get well?" My soul screams "YES", but my actions give excuses and keep me on the mat. I continue to sit, starring at the water, hoping someone will lift me into it.

Jesus gives us the ability to do what needs doing, but we have to take the next step. He'll hold you while you cry, sit with you while you grieve, but when it's time to move you have to take the step. If a parent constantly carries their child for fear they will get hurt if left alone, the child will never learn to walk. Never be able to take steps of independence. If God is our father, than doesn't it hold that he wants us to be able to take steps too?

The man was comfortable in his ailment, it was all he knew. While likely his greatest dream, to actually be healed was out his comfort zone. Pity parties are easy. Walking is not. Not when you haven't used those legs in while. There is pain as the feeling returns. There is stiffness as unused muscles stretch. But you wanted to get well.

Next he asks you to pick up your mat. Pick up the mess you were sitting in. Pick up the pieces. Don't leave it for the next person, don't kick it to the side. Get rid of it. Do it when people think you're nuts for giving something up. Do it when YOU think you're nuts for giving something up. Then "walk". Move on, get over it, put it in the rear view. Move away from the pool and its trappings and tell everyone you meet who made you well. He gave you the ability, but you have to make the move.

Live well, tell others, the end.

Letting Go

All through college, during the hot and hazy summers, I worked as a lifeguard at a summer camp. That camp was like my shangri-la. Whatever stress I had felt trying to fit into the collegiate mold melted away in the 100% humidity and heat. One of the first things you see as you enter the property is a huge wooden, for lack of a better term, jungle gym. It's called an Alpine Tower and the second you see it the kid in you says, "must climb". There are several sides to the tower, from easy to pee-your-pants hard. You pick a side, lock into a harness and climb.

The tower is 50 feet tall, and not being into lawsuits, they don't let you climb solo. You are tethered to a trained belayer. The belayer's job is to give you just enough slack to climb on your own power, but not so much that if you fall you play pancake on the ground. You have to communicate with the belayer so they know what you're up to. Before you start your accent you'd better make sure the guy/gal who has your rope is paying attention (see pancake comment above). The belayer lets you know they've got you and up you go.

The first few steps are exhilarating. You are far enough off the ground to feel gravity's insistent pull and tackling this mammoth piece of pine feels easy. As you get higher and are trying to hunt for footholds, you may start to get a little shaky. The ground starts to look very big and the people on it very small. You cling a little tighter to hand holds and maybe slow a bit (unless your a counselor named Wolfgang, but I digress..). The entire way up the belayer--who was introduced to you before you began--calls your name and encourages your progress. If you need to stop they let you, and patiently wait until your nerve returns.

You make it to the top. Amazing! You've just scaled this behemoth and now you have a bird's eye view of all God's glory (or what can be found of it in Antioch). Your muscles probably ache and your hands feel as though you've been hanging on for dear life, which you may have been, but you knew someone was there to catch you if your grip slipped.

So you've made it up...now what? What goes up...must come down. It should be easy. All you have to do is let go. The belayer says he's got you. You know he's down there, you trusted him all the way up, but now? "I have to let go?" "Can't I climb down?" "I'm a pretty big girl, or at least I feel like I am right now."

That is the best explanation I have for my walk with God. When I was young, before "life" really set in, I talked to Him. I learned His name and He knew mine. He said He had me and I trusted and begin the climb. When I started to stumble, or couldn't find a grip, He reminded me He was still there. When I needed rest He let me take it, and then urged me onward. I knew He was there, but I had some control. I WAS CLIMBING. I had the grips, He just had my back. I trusted that.

But then you reach a pinnacle. You hit the point where you have to let go. It's time to completely give yourself over. You can't go any further on your own strength. It's His turn. You can't climb down, and jumping is certain death, so you have to figure it out, but how can you let go of the only thing you understand? You understand the climb, but the free fall is another matter. You can make the decision to try to make it down on your own, but then you have to traverse the same shake-inducing path blind and backwards.

In my story, when I hit the top, I froze. The belayer encouraged, comforted, chided and eventually shouted, "Woman, I got this. Let go!" I did. If you think getting to the top is amazing...wait til you hit the ground again!

So for myself, and for anyone else reading. I know it's scary, but He's got you. Let go.

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat; I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. " Matthew 16:25 The Message

Un-Parenting Part II

(Part of my tribe)


Okay, so this has become a serious rant, but I'm frustrated and you don't have to read, so I'm going to continue...



I have felt like the world's worst mom recently because things seem to happen to my children when I'm not around. They get hurt at school, they learn I word I know I've never used, they catch a cold when no one in my family is sick.



I work in part because I like to and in part because necessity demands it. But I often feel like I'm the only one NOT educating my kids. They learn the alphabet at school, they learn their bible verses at church and they learn colorful words overhearing the television. What do I teach them? "NO!", "Don't touch the lamp", "You HAVE to at least try your veggies", "Buggers do NOT count as a vegetable".



I watch other mother's who are able to spend all day with their kids, pouring their knowledge into them. They seem so calm. I feel like a complete failure.



Then a funny thing happened on the way to outright depression. My dad said something intriguing. A saying that goes like this: "It takes a village to raise a child". Something about hearing that again made me think. Do some villages REALLY raise kids? Why yes, yes they do. Thanks to the almost all-knowing Google. I found an article (check Part I of this rant) about tribe in the rainforest that subscribes to that philosophy, like thousands of other tribes and cultures have for THOUSANDS of years.



In these cultures the entire village takes part in raising the children. Not good at harvesting wheat? The guy in the little hut down the river is, he can teach you. Sewing not your bag, no sweat, your neighbor's grandma will teach you how.



We are made for community and I have a great one where I live. In the past two weeks alone I think I've had four different sets of families watching one or the other of my boys while I take care of some catstrophe or another. I have felt so guilty about not only strapping someone else with my brood, but also the inability to take care of everything myself. While it's still never ideal, the knowledge that I have so many people I can trust with my family brings a peace that is hard to put into words. They are my tribe, and I hope I can be theirs.



Maybe I can teach someone to dance or sweet talk their way out of homework (what? it's a marketable skill). My husband can teach a kid to fish (or at least to cast and enjoy the river). From Amy my boys will learn how to laugh and find joy in almost anything. They'll learn how to be a friend. From Stephanie they might learn patience and calm (Please, Jesus). From my mom, they learn how to organize themselves and of course how to weasel a cookie or five. From the grandpa's they'll learn hard work and discipline. From Nana, faith and the ability to field lemons that are being pelted at you from every direction and make sweet lemonade. From Andrea, they'll learn compassion.



I hope they see this in John and me as well, but I don't want my kids to be just like me. I want my kids to be villagers. I want them to be part of a community. I want them to know when to ask for help. I want them to see that life does not have to be accomplished solo. I want them to see Jesus in everyone.



Thanks to everyone in my tribe. It's an honor to be doing life with you.

Un-parenting

I have decided that this country has done lost its mind when it comes to power-parenting and I am done with it.



Easy hair-trigger, let me explain:



I read this article

http://tribes.intodit.com/page/natural-parenting-and-the-wisdom-of-the-rainforest



About an anthropologist's studies of a tribe he lives with in the rainforest. It was fascinating...because it was so simple. I run my head into walls (at first figuratively, then as my day wears on, literally) every day trying to teach my kids proper behavior, manners, sense. It's like I am trying to teach them to be good kids. Sounds reasonable, right? Two problems with this the way I see it.



1) I am no longer a kid (as much as I like to pretend to be at times)

2) I don't want them to stay kids, I want them to become adults.



Oh, I know. "Don't rush it." "Let them be kids." I get that, but here's the thing. If I were to do absolutely nothing but observe my children for days, weeks, without intervening I bet they would still be kids. They are 3 and 4. I don't need to teach them to be children. They ARE children. I am currently trying to teach them to share, to play nice, to be sweet children. I am trying to teach them to be something I'm not. When I tell my son to share a toy with his brother, I do it 90% because I don't want to hear his brother whining and 10% because I want my son to learn to share. If I teach him to share for sharing's sake I've taught him nothing. My goal should instead be to show him the pleasure of making someone else happy by the act of sharing. Being forced to do something may create a habit but probably not a behavior.

What would happen if I took this tribe's advice and let my children learn by experience instead of trying to save them from every possible calamity and heartache. I'm not saying I plan to let my kid wield a machete and march off into the rainforrest, but I am doing nothing but chase my tail when it comes to reasoning with these boys. It DOES NOT work. Maybe it works for you (your parade will begin later) but I don't think my current methods of an adult teaching a child to be a better child are making any real impact other than frustrating the lot of us.



I think we make everything in parenting entirely too difficult. Children must be put to sleep like this, at this time. Don't give them too much of this, or that MIGHT happen. Socialize them just enough that they aren't jerks, but stay-at-home with them so they have access to you at all times. Spend at least 60 mins a day on flash cards or writing, 60 mins playing outside, only 30 in front of the TV and make sure it's educational, like Elmo singing about poo.



We stretch ourselves to within inches of our sanity and at the end of the day.....they are still children. Aren't we supposed to teach them to become adults? I don't know about you, but I don't typically sing about my poo. (I am noticing I blog about the subject an awful lot though) This doesn't mean I want my kids to be "adults" by age 9, but that's because they just won't be. I don't have to try, kids will stay kids until events in their lives demand they become adults. For some it happens too soon, for some it unfortunately never happens at all (ach..lindseylohan...choooo). I have to model being an adult so when the events happen, my kids know how to behave. I don't want them to need to make a snap decision about rescuing someone from a burning car and think, "my mom always taught me to share...is there anyone else around who might like a turn at saving that poor person?"

(Not) Sleeping Beauty

Well, I'm up so I might as well be productive. Okay, so maybe productive would be cleaning my house or folding the laundry that has my name on it, but it's 2am, so cut me some slack. I hear that's actually how Martha Stewart became Martha Stewart, she couldn't sleep at night so she got creative. I'm not Martha.

It's amazing the things you notice in the middle of the night when the rest of the world (or at least your house) is asleep

For example:

• My house is a mess. It's a mess during the day too, but I suppose I don't notice as much. I guess I could clean it while I'm up, but that borders on obsessive Martha, so I'll just be a lazy insomniac instead. Although, maybe it could get me my own show...something to think about..


• My 4-year-old talks in his sleep. Sounds like he's annoyed with someone. Can't really understand the words, but he doesn't seem happy. I hate that.


• My air conditioner is loud. I keep jumping out of my skin every time it turns on. Sounds like a bear waking up from hibernation...maybe that's what Wilson's talking to...


• My husband grunts in his sleep. Every time he moves, he grunts like it takes too much effort to move.


• My dog sleeps with his ears pointed straight up...he kinda looks like Yoda.


• Cereal is bad option for a midnight snack. Milk leaves an icky taste in your mouth and brushing would wake up the grunter.


• Looking up cures for insomnia online does not actually help insomnia, as one of the cures is NOT looking at a computer screen at night. I'm told it messes with your circadian rhythm or some such thing. Personally, I don't care much about rhythm when I'm trying to sleep.


• When you're not waking up due to panic attacks, it's actually kind of peaceful to be the only one awake. Makes me feel kind of powerful...or maybe it's voyeuristic..whatever, it's late.


• When sleep does finally come, it hits like a linebacker, hard and heavy.


• Lastly, it's probably not a brilliant idea to blog at 2am. I have a feeling I'm going to have blogger's remorse in the morning. It's sort of like drunk dialing but without the drunk...or the dialing...so maybe it's nothing like drunk dialing.

So, if you're ever up in the middle of the night, I would say check in with me to see if I'm up, but according to the experts you'd be dumb to get on the computer. So I guess, get your circadian grove on and go read a boring book. Or clean your house you Martha :)

God speed and goodnight.

Stop It

So there's this video I found on You Tube. It's a MadTV epidsode with the sublime Bob Newhart. Bob plays a wise therapist who has found the solution for every mental malady. Just watch





Brilliant, right? Just knock it off! Whatever it is stop it. What's my response and the response of just about everyone else who deals with anything...IT'S NOT THAT EASY! Or is it? What if you could just turn it off? Tonight I got anxious. I have had a really hard time getting to sleep, just when I get close, BOOM goes the dynamite.

So I got up and talked to John, at some point, I started to get pissed. I'm just so tired of this. I hate feeling trapped in my own head. I hate that this all happened so suddenly. The day I got help for depression is the one day in my life I think I would take back if I could. I got mad, and John noticed immediately that my voice changed. It got deeper and the fear dissapeared.

Maybe I need Bob's kind of therapy. The kind that's not nice, but blunt and real. The kind that reminds you that there are very few records of people dealing with this before the age of self-help and medication for everything. Sorry, probably not fair.

With any luck though, maybe I can just STOP IT.