The Real Deal

I tried something new a few weeks back and bought "Lite" apple juice. We don't usually keep much juice around the house, but this looked appealing and assuaged some of the sugar guilt since it had less sugar (and more water) than regular juice.

It has sat in the refrigerator for these few weeks with about 2 cups worth missing. My kids weren't fooled by the claims of "All Natural! Less sugar! Great taste!". It tastes watery. It takes one sip to see through the attempt at the advertising on the label.

Out of desperation last night for a drink of juice, Sam poured himself a glass. He had a wistful expression and said, "Mom, can we get grape juice next time? I want the kind that stains your shirt if you spill it." The juice currently in his cup could have been added to a load of laundry in my washer and you wouldn't have even suspected its presence.

There is an authenticity to the grape juice he mentions that is missing from our current fridge resident. I thought about this on my Full-Moon Thursday, when the wheels fell off of my emotional vehicle, when I unloaded on an unsuspecting mother-in-law and questioned my ability to parent and lamented every other life option that could have been chosen. It was truly a moment of deconstructing Robert Frost's "The Road Less Traveled By" and having some certainty that at the end of that poem-- he wasn't praising his choice of the less traveled path, but questioning the worth of the one he didn't take. It was a moment of grape juice stains on your shirt honesty.

Maybe it was the fact it was a full moon. Maybe it was because Brenna was sent home from school for the day and I had to adjust accordingly. Maybe it was finally realizing what everyone has meant when they say that parenting is the toughest job on the planet; they weren't just talking about sleep deprivation.

It felt good to just lay it open. Here it is! Here is where I'm at! And I don't want to be here in this moment, by the way.

We'll finish off the weak apple juice at some point, but the grape juice is here in the house. The warning is clear on the label "NOT A LOW CALORIE FOOD. 100 % juice: grape." It has added ingredients and 36 g sugar. It will stain my kids' shirts unless I immediately run the area under crazy hot water. But it's real. I'll take real.

There is a place for me, even when I feel confused, inadequate and out of my league. There is a purpose for me, even when I question my spiritual gifts or talents. I hold as much value as the mom who is holding it all together today and is knocking it out of the park. I will choose to be genuine about my struggles and at the same time cheer on the ones getting it right today. I will cry with the moms who also question "why" and promise not to fix it but listen.

How's that for a stained shirt? ;)

 1 Corinthians 12 vs 1-31

A good afternoon

My sister called and asked if I had had a good afternoon with my family. The only honest response I could come up with was, "We tried. We really did try to have a good one." After a Saturday spent with our family running (some of us literally) in opposite directions, Sunday afternoon had been deemed 'family time'. We would come home from church, eat lunch and then proceed to Deming Park in Terre Haute followed by ice cream. This plan sounds so noble, so reasonable in writing.

Upon arrival, there was the reality that it was significantly warmer and sunnier in Terre Haute this afternoon than it was in fair Charleston. They loped through the park, Brenna sat in a swing; at one point we sat in the shade and I realized that I am just over summer. Over the past few months, I have taken my children swimming, visited parks, enjoyed bike rides and have played board games. I am now feeling old and I am tired of parenting. As I stood by the slide, mystified that my children weren't frolicking through the park, I realized I didn't really want to stand in the hot sun either. After 15 minutes of park time, we decided we had fulfilled the park quota and could move on to Baskin Robbins.

Baskin Robbins is much like a forbidden bowl of Fruity Pebbles-- it brings back all that was best in my childhood. The ice cream was fabulous. The ride home, however, quickly deteriorated. Because this afternoon was about quality time as a family with no screens, because it was about enjoying each other's company and watching the trees and hills roll by outside the van window, I had not allowed any screens on our outing. Full of bravado, a few hours earlier it was easy to take a firm stance, "We're going retro! You're going to enjoy an afternoon like I did in the early 80's. You'll look out the window for entertainment and talk to each other."

Personal space was encroached. Seatbelts did not remain in the proper position. Ear wax was waved on small fingers as a true threat. Strange smells came from the back seat. By the time we reached the Charleston city limits Greg had turned off the radio and asked that the children stop speaking. We finished the ride in zen-like silence. I began to remember what long rides in the Buick had been like when I was small and realized that by the time I was the same age as my kiddos, my brother and sister had moved out. That's why I had nostalgia over a quiet backseat with cornfield rows passing by my window.

Within 15 minutes of arriving home, we sent the children outside to play and Greg and I dozed off on the couch. After that nap I felt like a new woman and parented the remaining evening hours like a champ. Granted, two of them were gone to youth group for a few hours, but I digress.

I saw a reminder on social media today that my remaining Saturdays with my crew are limited. I realize that they are. I just find that when I stop trying so hard, we enjoy the weekends so much more. There can be an internal pressure to schedule fun for them, make every moment count, squeeze each last great experience we can out of the days we have. I think I squeezed too hard today and wound up forcing an outing on my children that none of us were truly up for. Note to self, only local parks for the remainder of fall.

More Than Coincidence

I love hummingbirds. For the majority of our summer, we have faithfully kept fresh sugar water in the plastic feeder and watched from the kitchen window as frequent customers make trip after greedy trip. But then, three weeks ago I dropped the feeder while trying to reattach it to the hook. The plastic end broke off, making it impossible to hang (unless I used duct tape-- which I refused to do).

This was disappointing, but I reasoned that since flowers are low to the ground, hummingbirds could access the feeder close to the ground also and promptly placed it on the fire pit. Nope. No dice. The ants thoroughly enjoyed it, but not a hummer in sight.

Fast forward through 3 brand new pairs of school shoes, new school outfits, school supplies, registration fees and all that comes along with the end of summer. Each trip to the store, I debated buying another feeder, but decided against it. There were so many other things needing taken care of-- it could wait a few more weeks.

Because of the three new pairs of shoes, new "first day of school"outfits, the entire list of school supplies (yes-- one of my children donated their supplies: scissors, art box, the whole shebang, on the last day for needy children overseas) and registration fees, the checking account was tapped out. With a week left before school would start again, we had last minute summer fun to squeeze in and "Minions" to see. The solution for extra cash flow? A rummage sale, of course! The items to potentially sell were plentiful: from a Roto Rooter to Uno Attack--- we were well stocked and ready to sell the treasures cluttering up the house and garage.

Friday evening (night one of the two day household liquidation extravaganza), a gentleman who used to attend church with us approached us and asked to buy Greg's power tools. As he walked to his car, he turned and asked, "Do you guys ever feed the hummingbirds?" Greg replied that we did. The gentleman dug around in the backseat and pulled out a brand new feeder. "Could you use this?" It was a heavy glass feeder with a plastic moat at the top to discourage ants and a small ring to allow the hummingbirds to perch as they ate. It was perfect. Greg, unaware that our feeder was broken, accepted the feeder, planning to hang it in another part of the yard.

When Greg walked into the house with the feeder, I was speechless. What are the odds of someone we haven't seen in almost a year coming to our home and then offering us a hummingbird feeder just weeks after ours had broken?

I've heard this kind of thing referred to as a "God-wink". It felt like far more than a wink: it was a big bear hug that lasted several seconds and squeezed any lingering anxiety right out of me.

Matthew 6:25-26 "For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on . Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?"

This went beyond me and my desire to watch hummingbirds linger at my kitchen window. This was truly Him feeding those tiny birds.

Deactivating

Several weeks ago I deactivated my Facebook account. It isn't as though it spiraled into nothingness and can't ever return--- it can be reactivated at any time. However, I needed to step back, take a break, unplug.

I had begun to notice that whenever I finished up with a block of time on Facebook, I felt worse afterward than I did before logging on. Then there was the comment a family member had made several months prior, "I don't need to call as often because I can go to your Facebook and see pictures of the kids." Nice.

The question I have faced lately is whether or not it's healthy for me to use it. Some people have the ability to log onto Facebook once a day, or even once a week, and feel content. I would find myself logging on multiple times throughout the day, sometimes even throughout the hour, and feeling anything but contentment.

And then there is the issue of nosiness. I am a nosey person. I just am and probably always will be. The time that I spent scrolling through status updates fed the nosey monster inside. "When did they go on vacation? Wait a minute-- are they still together or separated? How many sports are their kids involved in?" It was ridiculous.

Then there were the vague, yet unhappy comments that Facebook friends would post "just sayin'" and then letting me know "rant over". It contributed to a feeling of yuck in my gut that wouldn't go away.

Approaching the one month mark of being Facebook free, I find that I miss feeling in the loop on things. I miss getting invites over Facebook-- seeing pictures of new babies, finding out what is going on in other people's lives. And yet, there are things that I don't miss too.

I'm not sure yet whether it will be a brief vacation from Facebook or a permanent departure, but at the moment, I am content to be clueless and out of the loop.

The Little Things

Typically, either my husband or I pack lunches for my children before they head out the door for school. The lack of nutrition in their 31 bags is rather shocking at times-- other times we do a pretty decent job. By the end of the year, I have essentially given up on worrying what goes into their lunch.

Each day, a note is hastily written on a napkin and tucked inside. One child hides all evidence of this embarrassing tradition. I have even found it partially shredded and hidden inside of the reusable sandwich container. This morning when Greg went to throw yesterday's napkin away, my other sack lunch child stopped him. "No, I keep those. See? Here are the ones from last year in the other lunchbox. It has a special place to save them." Inside the old lunch bag were neatly folded napkins. It made my heart hurt a little.

Sometimes I don't know what to write on the napkin. Sometimes I feel removed from what their days truly look like at school--- it can be a bit of a mystery since I don't work in that building. Other times, I can write something more specific on the napkin. But whether it was a mundane, "Have a great day" or something of greater meaning, it matters to this child.

When I get busy, I can be lulled into thinking small gestures don't matter. But they do. The napkin for my "saver" child is a touchpoint to home, a reminder she is thought of and valued. To see a small pile of saved napkins is the quiet whisper to my mama's heart, "She needs these little things--they are important to her." So, I will keep writing and drawing pictures on the napkins. The napkin is what holds me back from asking them to regularly pack their own lunches. There are just a few short years left with them to do these little things while they are in my home.

Forgetting and remembering

Sometimes the day to day feels  unexciting, unimportant and predictable, which somehow translates to me feeling unexciting, unimportant and blah. As I unloaded the dishwasher this morning I found myself praying the prayer that gets offered up about every 4 months or so, "God, is this it? Is there something else I should be doing? A goal I should be setting? "

It doesn't help that today comes shortly after a failure in my personal life. That failure finds me questioning what I stand for, who I am, what God's specific plan is for me and if I'm living it out effectively. Am I saying yes to commitments for the right reasons? All of this has appeared on the ticker in my brain, slowly repeating the same questions over the course of time.

I spent some time in 1 Corinthians 12 this morning, rightly titled "The Use of Spiritual Gifts".
12:4-7, 18 "Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit. And there are varieties of effects, but the same God who works all things in all persons. But to each one is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. But now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired."

Sometimes I try to hard to contrive my giftedness. I need to remember the varieties of gifts-- that mine looks very different from a friend's, but that it is working for the common good. I tend to question the importance of my gift, looking for validation, assurance, praise, worth. (vs 14- 24 addresses that whole can of mess).

And then when I dig around with the whole validation issue, it leads me to the question, "What do I mean to God?" When I have failed, when I feel ordinary, when I stumble in my parenting and yet consider it my main goal and task at hand-- where is my value then?

My value lies in Him. It doesn't leave because I have become distracted from remembering that point. Distracted by obligations, cliques, deadlines, late PTA forms, dirty laundry and a messy kitchen counter. Distracted by focusing on images of perfection, wishfulness in the form of Facebook posts, lack of a creative teacher appreciation gift and weight gain.

Ephesians 2:4-9 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ...

Oh, how easily I forget. And how slow I am to remember-- but how faithful He is to remind me. 

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now

I have had that particular song by Clash going through my head over the past several weeks. I put off my urge to plant flowers that I wouldn't be here to enjoy,  began to paint ceilings and called in a realtor to walk through our home. Greg and I listed pros and cons for a potential move, prayed about it, listened to the crickets chirp instead of a firm, confident answer booming from the heavens or a steady peace about one way or another, and went on listing pros and cons. The hard part about listing the pros and cons, was realizing some cons were permanent and some were temporary and to decide how much weight each one carried.

Pros:
1. Less driving time
2. More family time
3. Great school
4. A coffeehouse in an old church building called "The Steeple" where I can see myself sitting on a weekly basis.
5. A Dairy Queen on the square of town, where you can hear chimes from a nearby church.
6. Perhaps getting a larger house and separating the girls into their own bedrooms.

Cons:
1. Leaving our church family
--- Monticello is not a place devoid of churches. Eventually one might let us continually attend, even when Brenna interrupts the scripture reader during service to share her connection.

2. Leaving our friends
--- Monticello is not a wasteland without other people to meet and get to know. As difficult as it is to leave friends behind, we would stay in touch. Eventually local people may talk to us and even come over for dinner. Maybe.

3. Packing/moving/selling/buying a home and having more time added on to our mortgage
--- Eventually we would pay it off

4. Joy leaves behind her jobs.
---Maybe the funeral home in Monticello would hire me. Maybe I could continue to sub in a different district--- or maybe I will sit and eat Dove chocolates.

4. Leaving Armstrong Program
And here came the deal breaker. While Greg was in Montana, I attended Brenna's IEP meeting. At age 14 for students, new questions are posed to parents: "Where will Brenna live after she finishes school? What kind of a job do you want her to have? What kinds of skills would you like her to have as an adult?" And the weighty reality clicked into place at the boardroom table: we weren't just deciding on a new school-- we were deciding on the rest of her life.

We know what services we have (at least for now, until cuts are final from Springfield) for a day program as an adult, for equestrian therapy, movement therapy, Camp New Hope for summer daycamp, etc. We know what friend we can call if we need someone to watch Brenna for a brief period of time.

Monticello is in Piatt County, which means we would not access her services as an adult through Champaign (and Champaign County) but through Decatur.

Maybe it was because Greg was gone for 8 days out of state. Maybe it was because I was tired of painting the ceiling and I hadn't even been painting very long. Maybe it was because the two houses I was excited to see sold the day before I went to look at them at a scheduled walk through with a realtor. Maybe it was because I was tired of trying to think 3 steps ahead. For all of these reasons and more, when he and I spoke on the phone, I told him I just didn't think we should do it. It was his call-- but this was my 2 cents to take or leave.

We're staying.

Part of me is happy to be staying and part of me has mixed emotions. I hate that he has such a long drive.  If it was just a decision based on Greg, Sam and Emily--- I know without a doubt our home would be on the market and we would be moving forward with relocating. But the thing is, decisions sometimes hinge on one person. I always said Brenna would be a part of our family unit and that decisions would be made that were best for all. Sometimes it just isn't that easy. I see the gains that she has made this school year, the pride she takes in her projects and accomplishments, the way she now insists, "I want to do it by myself" and the confidence she is exuding. I don't want to take that from her.

The ceilings are painted about 1/4 of the way through the house. The sections that are painted look great. The rest look like a heavy smoker spends time in that part of the home. I'm not sure if I have it in me to finish--- the way I see it, I don't tend to walk around looking up. And it's so nice outside. So instead, I'm opting to plant some flowers and enjoy the view from my backyard.