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I know...it's been too long since I've blogged. It's out of character for me to wait so long, but with home schooling, housework, and special home improvement projects, etc. etc., it's hard to find time to write. Actually I wrote and discarded two that were insanely long (lucky for you!), but this one will be a short update on situations here. Connor was recently diagnosed with Pervasive Development Order, Not Otherwise Specified. PDD is a fancy term for a spectrum of disorders that includes things like Autism and Aspergers (mild autism), and PDD-NOS just means that it's a disorder that is not specified as another disorder on the spectrum. One website puts it this way: A PDD-NOS diagnosis "means there is marked impairment of social interaction, communication, and/or stereotyped behavior patterns or interest, but when full features for autism or another explicitly defined PDD are not met." http://www.med.yale.edu/chldstdy/autism/pddnos.html. To make a long story short, it means Connor wil need some different long-term therapies that will consume my time and energy, though thankfully not my dollars, since mandatory medical assistance makes sure the state pays for it (finally I am seeing my tax dollars at work for ME!!!) Keep us in your prayers as I juggle these new responsibilities. In more important news, my grandfather from Florida was laid to rest this past Tuesday after suffering for years with a very weak heart and, more recently, prostate cancer. The cancer spread over the course of a year and was eventually what took him. He was surrounded by his family and had a peaceful homegoing. The funeral took place in New Jersey and was absolutely wonderful. It is certainly true that we do not mourn as those who have no hope (I Thess. 4:13). My sister and I were able to attend the funeral and were so blessed to be there with family once again. My grandmother is holding up very well, considering, and she lives near my mom in Florida. She, too, knows the Lord and there is a tremendous sense of peace in knowing that there is a reunion waiting for us all in time. My brother had to stay behind at his home in Virginia because he had a final exam in one of his seminary classes. His wife is expecting their first baby this summer, and I couldn't be more happy for them. They will be living with my mom in Florida by then, saving for pre-field expenses, and will hopefully be on foreign soil in a couple of years. Until then they have lots to do, between language classes and visiting churches to raise support. My sister, too, is expecting their fourth baby in May (SURPISE!!!). All I can say is, I'm so happy for everyone, and very happy that it's not me! But then, I'd better not jinx myself by saying so. Merry Christmas to all who read this (yes, both of you!), and a Happy New Year! Kim |
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In my latest issue of The Old Schoolhouse magazine there's an article featuring Lamplighter Publishing, a company that publishes Christian literature teaching life-changing truths and Christian values. They have books for the very young (i.e. God's Wisdom for Little Boys by Jim and Elizabeth George, as well as several salvation stories for children) and also for adults (i.e. The Spanish Brothers, a true account of the Spanish Inquisition). Many of their books are rare and collector editions that I am drooling over at the moment. They are beautifully bound and good quality written stories from as far back as the 1800's. If anyone out there has read any Lamplighter series books I'd love some comments. For those interested in what they have to offer, here's the link to their online catalog: http://www.lamplighterpublishing.com Happy reading! |
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I'm so proud of my brother and his wife, Lindsey. They just finished candidate classes to become missionaries with Associated Baptists for World Evangelism (ABWE). Lord willing, they will be in Iquitos, Peru in a year or so. My heart is still in Iquitos in some ways, having lived there for six months while my parents did some short term work alongside the full-time missionaries. That was many years ago when Brent was but a kindergartener! He's matured significantly since then. Check out his blog at http://missionsiniquitos.blogspot.com/. On another note, my 3-year-old daughter is running around al fresco right now in the hopes she will be potty trained by this method. All other tactics have resulted in a serious need for a quality carpet shampooer (thickly padded underwear and rubber pants only hold so much). I find myself saying once again, "if I can just get past this stage..." then I realize that after one child-raising issue is dealt with, there are five more waiting in line to take its place. I need to go practice my smile for a few minutes. It really does work on lifting my spirits and enhancing a positive outlook. Not to mention the kids respond better to it. Keep smiling everyone! |
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Last night I went to a PJ party at my fellow blogger Melissa's house, where I FINALLY got to meet her friend Maggie Hogan. We all had a blast, but after playing a few games I learned I'd better brush up on my reading skills. Here's what happened. We were all playing a great party game called "Apples to Apples." Each person has seven cards in her hand. Each card has a famous person, noun or verb on it. Some are rather bizarre or gross (like "barfing" which was one of mine). A adjective card is then placed in the midst of the group, and each person has to pick one card from her hand that she thinks will best match that adjective. She then places it face down by the adjective card. Whoever the judge is for that round will look at all the cards and vote on the one she thinks is the best match (not knowing whose card she has chosen of course). The person whose card was chosen wins that round. It can get pretty funny, depending on the sense of humor of the person who is judge for that round. Then it was my turn to be judge... The adjective card was "extreme." The cards thrown down for me to choose from included words like "Madonna," and one that I thought said "Marilyn Manson." Clearly they were both pretty extreme, but Manson was my choice. Everyone was like, "whaaat? MORE than Madonna? How is Marilyn Monroe more extreme than HER?" Marilyn Monroe? I looked at the card before me again and realized my reading error. I tried to explain myself and one of the teenagers present asked, "who's Marilyn Manson?" "He's the guy who brainwashed some girls to commit murder," I explained. Duh!!! That would be Charles Manson. Apparently I also need to brush up on my studies of the depraved minds of history. Poor Marilyn. Hasn't she suffered enough? All in all, it was a good laugh at my expense, which after 36 years I'm used to by now! I suppose not paying attention to words and keeping certain facts straight is one of the perils of being an ADD patient, which by the way I was finally diagnosed with last week. I'll be blogging on this in the future, I'm sure, now that I have official papers to prove I'm in the club. To be honest, it's a little embarrassing to be put in this category because I know it labels me in the minds of some. But there needs to be more awareness and understanding of the actual disorder. This is not about being stupid or forgetful or sloppy or lazy or clumsy or air-headed or hyper or impulsive or a myriad of other things that can be fixed with a proper education or some good old-fashioned discipline. It's about the brain not correctly transmitting information from one synapse to the other. Depending on the area of the brain affected, this can manifest itself through emotional instability, anger, depression, lack of mental clarity, and a basic shutting down of thought processes under stress. Don't get me wrong. There are a ton of people who are lazy or sloppy or not properly educated or not disciplined. I'm not talking about discipline issues here. I'm talking about a disability that often manifests itself as a discipline issue. Both exist but must be dealt with differently. The result? Humiliation and embarrassment. Am I hitting a nerve with anybody out there? Anyone own an ADD child who is starting to recognize those same symptoms in him or herself? Anyone reading this who struggled in school academically (and perhaps socially) despite your best efforts to do better? Or were you the class clown who tried to make up for academic inadequacies by being funny all the time? This is not just a kid problem, and many kids correctly diagnosed do not grow out of it. Instead they are left by the wayside when pediatric treatment stops. Incidentally many of these teenagers and young adults turn to illicit drugs because it gives them the same clarity of thought that the ADD drugs once did (hence the incorrect assumption that Ritalin will turn you into a junkie). Finding someone in my hometown who was open to receiving new adult patients and who was qualified to diagnose me was hard enough. And the journey to treatment is just beginning. For more info on this, please, please, PLEASE visit Dr. Daniel Amen's website www.brainplace.com. Also go to the library and find his books, including Healing ADD. Dr. Amen pioneered the use of SPECT brain imaging, which shows actual images of brain activity, or the lack thereof. Y'know...the kind of lack of activity that turns Marilyn Monroe into Charles Manson! |
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Oh geez! Do I really want to open this can of worms? Well, yeah. This is something I haven't been able to completely settle in my mind. I bring new meaning to the word "waffle" when I say that I keep changing my beliefs on this subject. When my oldest was a baby he received his two and four-month vaccinations (as any good mother would, right?), then I met two different chiropractors who introduced me to the concept that the cure might be worse than the disease in this case. I never knew there was ANYONE who would even consider NOT innoculating their children against diseases. After doing a little research online (which is always reliable...cough,cough), and in reading various books on the subject, I learned some things that concerned me about vaccine risks. I won't bother going into detail here, but I decided as a result of my research to discontinue giving them to my son. When my second son was born I second guessed myself and as a result his vaccinations are current (interestingly enough, he has some delays which may or may not be a coincidence...who knows but God?). For my daughter I straddled the fence and allowed all but polio, which, as her doctor put it, would be one he would skip if he ever believed in skipping any, since it's a miniscule threat unless we travel abroad. Thankfully he is an understanding pediatrician who doesn't believe in putting pressure on parents to immunize their kids. I wish I could clone him (Many thanks to my friend, Linda, for recommending his office. Best advice I ever took). Anyway, I know there are homeschoolers (and non-homeschoolers) on both sides of this fence, and I am desperately looking for some valuable wisdom. For those of you who are die hard shot givers, I beg your gentle spirit. I know for some this can be a hot issue. Comment away and don't be afraid to be lengthy. I'll take all the advice I can get. I thank you in advance. Meanwhile, if there was ever a reason for me to have kept Son #2 up to date on his shots, it's this recent comment he made on the way home from the mall when I told him to stop sucking his germ-infested thumb: "But mom, I washed it with my mouth." Gee, I feel better. |
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I thought I'd never get through I Corinthians. I called my brother (a seminary student at Southeastern) more than once for insight into several of Paul's writings. He was such an eloquent writer, and coupled with the archaic language of the KJV, for which I had to keep an NIV as backup, I had a hard time wading through the verses. But I finally completed it, and darn it if Paul didn't decide to write those people in Corinth a second time. So once again I will be running up a phone bill talking to my bro. Anyway, as I finished up the last chapter yesterday, which contains Paul's closing thoughts, I didn't figure on getting much meat out of my reading. As usual, I was wrong. Here's the verse that smacked me around: I Cor. 16:14 "Let all your things be done with charity [love]." I thought about what motivates us as believers to do good deeds. We may say we are motivated by love, but secretly crave the affirmation and attention. This is only human. Not acceptable motivation, but human nonetheless. I remember arguing with someone who tried to convince me that any person's motivation for doing good is ultimately selfish. I asked how he could come to that conclusion, and he asked me, "how do you feel when you've done something for someone?" Of course I told him I felt good inside, and what's wrong with that? He said that was the ultimate motivator for people, and therefore an act of selfishness. Now, mind you, this individual loved to argue a point, no matter how ludicrous, but I could understand where he was coming from. I would like to think that my warm and fuzzy feeling is merely a by-product of a good deed done out of love for another person, but perhaps in some ways we all need to feel good inside about something, so we turn to good deeds in order to get that emotional high, so to speak. But this motivator will ultimately backfire. A personal example: Several years ago I was training a replacement for my job. I was about to go on maternity leave (for which I had NO plans to return), and my office hired a temp in the hopes that she would become permanent if she worked out. It just so happened that she was a Christian. Things seemed to be going okay and I was optimistic. During this time she had a falling out with her landlord, a real scuzzbag. She was on her own with no place to live and desperately searching for a new apartment. Out of compassion I offered her to stay at our home, rent free, for a couple of weeks until she could find something else. She was extremely grateful and took me up on it. I also took her to church with me since she was looking for one. Shortly after she moved in I began to notice a serious deficiency in her office ettiquete, not to mention her social skills. I took it in stride and tried to mentor her as best I could. But things went from bad to worse and it was becoming clear she would not work out. I had to honestly inform the temp agency of what was going on. I knew it would eventually get back to her, but there were some serious issues to be addressed that I could not avoid. One Friday afternoon, to my relief, she informed me she would be moving out of our home. She actually removed her stuff quickly and left before I even arrived. I had a feeling she was already aware of her poor review. That weekend I received a nasty and insulting email. I was angry, then I was hurt, and then I cried. "After all I did for her!" I said. My husband consoled me, the office staff called me a saint, and I focused my energy on training someone else more emotionally stable. Why was I so offended? Why did I tell everyone at work what happened? Why did I get angry? Sure, she took my kindness and stepped on it, but it was more than that. She took away my good feelings about what I was doing to help her. My motivation may have been pure at first, but I was feeding on the compliments I received at work about my patience with a difficult person and my willingness to open my home to her. My motivation shifted from one of being kind and loving toward a needy person, to feasting on the praise and the warm and fuzzy feeling I experienced. Emotionally motivated do-goodism can turn you into a cynic. Everybody's gonna get burned while trying to help others. A cynic's response is "forget it! If people are gonna bite the hand that feeds 'em, I'll stop feedin' 'em!" But Paul says we're to be motivated by love. We submit ourselves to helping one another out of love for them as fellow believers, even if they turn on us. Then, if they need our loving help, we give it again, and again, and again, without the praise, without the affirmation, without the love in return. It's really hard to serve this way, with such pure motivation isn't it? I haven't arrived. When Paul spoke of love as being a debt we can never pay off, I feeling like I haven't even begun on the principal yet. My collectors are knocking down my door. Do I love people? Do I love my family? Do i love my husband's family? Would I do anything for them? Would I truly love and help a believer who hated me? Would I do anything for a believer who hurt me? Would I only love those who loved me back? Would I give the shirt off my back to an enemy? In the comfort of this vacation home I can say, "of course!" But in my heart I know I am not so good as that. But I want to be. This is the type of love that sent Christ to the cross. The kind of love that died for the people who mocked him. There was no good emotional high in this. Christ was in physical pain and emotional anguish and yet made the choice to stay hanging there, forgiveness and compassion still on his lips. If I can't love someone else this way, why on EARTH would they want fo follow my God? Thank goodness I'm done with I Corinthians. I've had it up to HERE with conviction. |
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That's right! To all you drivers who slap oval "OBX" stickers on your back windshield, as if to say "look where I've been, aren't you just soooo jealous?" I say "HA! Brag all you want you snooty travelers, I have been to the Outer Banks. Not so special NOW, are ya? C'mon honey--let's go buy us a sticker!" We are really enjoying ourselves here in Duck, NC. We couldn't ask for more beautiful weather or a more comfortable rental house. We all (Ryan's family that is) chipped in for a nice place just a block from the beach. We've fished, swam, shopped, and hunted for crabs on the beach at night. My brother-in-law took some incriminating video of me losing my cool as I sqeamishly held a harmess little sand crab...I'll need to organize a search and destroy mission for that later. The cousins are having a blast together. It's really neat to see them enjoying the simplicity of life. And Ryan is finally getting the break from work that he's deserved. We are so thankful the Lord has given us this opportunity to unwind and reconnect with his family.We only ask that our oldest son doesn't do anything to land him in the emergency room like he did last vacation. |
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Clearly, emotions are God given and are as valid a part of us as our hands or eyes. And just like our hands or eyes, emotions can be used for good or evil. Emotions can motivate us to help another person in need, and yet can also drive us to react in unholy anger. Over the last several months I have had to come to terms with my own emotions and how some of my music choices affect them. A case in point: For the past few years I have been a huge fan of Josh Groban, a classically trained twenty-something singer whose amazing voice, deep brown eyes, unpretentious attitude and quiet charm turns many females to putty. His popularity has grown over the last few years, and I got sucked in quickly after I first heard him sing. Let’s face it, he’s a gifted singer, and I’m all about that. Much of his music is in a different language which, if you interpret it, is quite depressing, but the chicks don’t care—they dig ‘im. He does perform a lot of English music to satisfy those who want to know what the heck he’s singing.I remember Ryan telling me once that he wasn’t too fond of Groban. I was surprised. How could he not appreciate such beautiful love songs? Ry could clearly see how they affected ME. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t like anyone else doing my work for me.” I laughed at his comments, but now realize he had a valid point. Groban’s music stirs up some pretty powerful emotions that could easily draw many women to the musician. For a married woman, this of course would be unacceptable. Understand me now—my heart belongs to Ryan alone. But couldn’t the power of music such as Groban’s slowly and subtly turn my heart away from my husband? I had to honestly admit that it could (you realize the risk I am taking by opening myself up here). Be assured that my marriage to Ryan is wonderful and quite strong, but many marriages are not so intact. A vulnerable woman (or man) who is constantly saturated by modern secular music could very well be emotionally driven by the words, the beat, the theme. The music becomes a tool that drives the wedge deeper, turning once united hearts apart and toward alternate relationships or at the very least into a fantasy world, which is unhealthy at best. As far as teenagers go, emotion-packed ballads can inflict just as much damage. Teenage girls especially are driven by the desire for romance and love. Boy bands croon their sweet words, fueling that fire, even feeding young girls the lie that a sexual relationship is part of that romance. Once a girl experiences those emotions encouraged by the secular music industry it’s hard to get them out of her head. They’ll likely drive her to make mistakes she’ll regret. Maybe some of you can even identify. If you’re a man reading this, you might think it silly that a song could evoke such emotions in anyone, but before you start casting stones, consider the testosterone induced "tough-guy" music containing attitude-packed lyrics tempting men to tell off their boss, throw their weight around at home, and toss back a few with the guys, no matter what the wife says (country music comes to mind). As a matter of fact, some of those same messages are being pumped into music geared for women. As a result we have a masculinized, headstrong generation of women who feel they are even above their husband’s authority--women who have forgotten the beauty of femininity God gave them. As men can tell off their boss, says the secular music world, women can tell off their husbands and usurp control. Not good. This is the essence of secular music that toys with the emotions. So what does this have to do with CCM? After all, many of the lyrics are teaching Christian truths and encouraging holy living, and these musicians are trying to reach the lost using modern styles (both in music and in appearance) that many of us, especially teens, can identify with. Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? I used to think so. There are some pretty influential CCM artists who have also “crossed over” into the mainstream pop/rock circles. Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant come to mind. I have never been a fan of either, but I have enjoyed some of their songs. The crossover arena, in my humble opinion, is dangerous territory for both the performers and those who follow them. Complete strangers in the audience falling all over them during performances…tons of fan mail…huge sales in merchandise. It would be enough to give the holiest person a big head and feel pulled toward the “love” coming from his or her fans. Being a Christian artist doesn’t inoculate him or her against the temptation that comes with that kind of attention. Some have indeed fallen and my heart breaks over the mistakes and choices they have made, not to mention the destruction it caused. So now what? I can’t make the choices for anyone but myself, and I am relying on the strength and leading of the Holy Spirit to make the choices that will honor Him. I am praying that He will help me to be honest with myself and be willing to part with anything that would feed my flesh at the expense of a closer walk with Him. I covet your comments, so please don’t be shy. You can remain anonymous if you prefer. And if you have questions, post them as well and I’ll try to answer them in a future blog. |
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I think I understand Jonah perfectly now. No, I have not been called to preach to Ninevites at the risk of being boiled in hot tar or anything. But Jonah, seeking shelter from the burning sun, became attached to a certain tree. Then God sent a worm to destroy the tree, and Jonah mourned it. I am now able to identify. You see, I’ve been sitting on an airplane for an hour and a half, however we’ve only been in the air for 30 minutes. After boarding, the pilot told us there was a malfunction in the process of being repaired. Though the risk of being driven crazy by other people’s children was very high during this long, hot, boring ordeal, surprisingly they were all largely content, especially since they had their own electronic entertainment available. No risk of being boiled in tar here! Finally, we took off. I have plenty of elbow room since the seat to my left is unoccupied, and since I have a window seat (my favorite) I can enjoy the lovely view. So far this promises to be a very comfortable and pleasant flight, albeit prolonged. To make the most of the next two hours and fifteen minutes, I whip out my laptop. I already blogged during my four hour layover in Milwaukee, and I’m tired of reading my magazine. Time for solitaire! I go to where it can usually be found, using my hubby’s work laptop he was willing to loan me for my trip. I open the menu bar, click here, then click there…hey…where’s the “games” selection? In front of me a baby starts to cry. I search through all the menus, my pulse quickening as panic sets in. Finally, I request a search of the entire hard drive for the coveted game that will ensure my survival from boredom. It is non-existent. WHAT? You mean to tell me I have a two hour and fifteen minute flight on an airplane with several children (one now screaming) and I don’t have SOLITAIRE!? Dear God, you killed my tree!!! Wait—they’re handing out meals…and homemade cookies. A new sprout rises from the ground. Ooooh, they’re chocolate chip, and they’re warm. Sigh…I might just make it after all. Except, I really have to pee, and the very large guy beside me is sound asleep. Perhaps an aisle seat next time…. |
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Well, here I am, halfway to Tampa. After the nagging thought in the back of my mind that I needed to go down to help out my insanely overburdened mom, the thought became a reality when my brother phoned on Thursday to tell me she’d had a heart attack. Thank the Lord it was minor, and little damage was done, but doctors agreed it was due to tremendous stress. And at fifty-munuhmunuh years of age, she’s got way too much on her shoulders. Besides trying to run her new business, my grandparents are temporarily living with them while my Mom-Mom recuperates from a broken shoulder and elbow. My Pop-Pop, however, has proved to be the more care-intensive of the two, as he is suffering with prostate cancer and all that goes along with it. Rather than go into detail, let me just say that Mom’s house has become a full-fledged nursing care facility, and she and her friend, Kathy, have both worn themselves out cleaning up after them and attending to their every need. My dear husband was the first to speak up and insist that I needed to fly out there, as he could easily take some time off work and take care of the kids. Upon my return I fully expect him to be curled up into a ball in a corner of the room mumbling something like “save me, save me.” Joking aside, he’s actually quite capable and trustworthy, though from experience I know that being alone with the kids for several days can wear a person out. I’m always glad when he returns from his business trips. It’s a funny thing, I always seem to look forward to time spent alone without children hanging on to me and begging for something, and yet my eyes misted over the minute our minivan left me behind at the airport. I miss them already. There was no lack of opportunity to sharpen my parenting skills while waiting to board the plane, however. I was entertained by an energetic toddler, whose single mom was en route to Colorado. He was pleasant and kind and shared his magic markers with me as we chatted and played. His mother assured me that he has a dark side, and I’ve learned to believe moms when they tell me this, even though it may not be apparent at the moment. True enough, his horns came out when it was time to buckle him into his seat, ever so fortunately in front of mine. Oh! The kicking and screaming and hitting. I didn’t know a two year old could have such nerve to beat up on his mother the way this one did. I felt for her. The flight was only an hour, and I did my best to help keep him entertained for his mom’s sake. At one point I allowed him to sit beside me at his request, but within moments of helping him buckle in he decided the grass was not so green on my side and climbed right back to his mother. We tried it again later at his emphatic request, but he changed his mind before he even parked his bum in the seat. The flight was only an hour, but to mom (and some of the passengers to be sure), it must have felt like ten. The only word I can think of to describe how she must have felt was shame. Shame… It seems to me I remember that feeling only yesterday at the boys’ gym class. My oldest was less than enthusiastic about participating. In fact, he seemed almost deliberate in having a lousy time. He hardly paid any attention to the instructor who was leading the kids through a really fun obstacle course. Truth be told, it wasn’t all his fault. I set the tone before we even arrived. During the car ride there something irritated him and he got huffy about it. My words of rebuke were harsh, critical, and communicated disapproval rather than love. It would have been better for me had I remained silent until I could cool off and choose my words more wisely, but I excel at knee-jerk responses. My “attitude adjustment” lecture did anything but encourage a better attitude. Instead, I realize, it only fostered and intensified the crummy one he already had. It’s like I could hear him saying, “Mom’s yelling at me again. Now I’m really mad. So I’ll be miserable on purpose just to make her mad.” Well, it worked. Twice during the class I had to pull him out in the hallway for a scolding, and the second time I actually had to take him out and give him a thump on the behind. Oh yeah, that cheered him right up. By the time the class was over, I felt that same sense of shame. I can only imagine what other parents there were thinking—the same things I would have thought if I had been them. The day just went downhill from there. So what’s the “shoulda?” Well, I should have calmly but bravely taken him by the hand and sat him down beside me for the remainder of the class to watch his brother and the other kids having fun. I unfortunately was not brave enough to do that, like perhaps the others there would think I was being too harsh. I guess I also hoped that somehow things would get better, but they didn’t. The ride home, needless to say, was pretty ugly. Great—the day before I leave for a week, and this the memory I leave with my child. Shame on me…. So why on earth do I have the guts to expose myself for the crummy parent I can sometimes be? Perhaps it’s my way of keeping myself accountable to others through my openness and honesty. I also often reread my blogs, so this one will serve as my constant reminder to be gentle, even when I must be firm, and to be silent when I cannot trust myself to be gentle. Above all, I need my kids to know that no matter what they do or how they behave, I will always love them unconditionally. I don’t think my son felt that way as I put him to bed. There was a bit of a wall. This morning all was pretty much forgotten, but bit by bit I can see attitude issues creeping into his mind that stem from many scenes like this one making an impression. Sometimes he is sullen and withdrawn. His medication doesn’t help, as it can make him feel a little depressed, but I know it’s not the meds alone. I earnestly pray that my time away will serve as a reminder to me just how precious is each gift that I check in on each night before I turn in, and to behave toward my children the way I feel inside. When I browse through my baby albums and then see my children as they are now, I know my time with them is shorter than I realize. I only hope and pray that God will give me the strength to control my emotions so that eventually my proneness to anger will simply die. In the latest issue of The Old Schoolhouse Magazine Publisher Gena Suarez put it best when she said “I am not disputing that God gave us emotions. I am disputing the idea that we are to be ruled by our emotions…emotions themselves can be tailored and shaped and changed. We can control how we feel. The things that we exercise and feed will grow…stop feeding it and it will starve to death.” Here’s to self-control and a lack of shame in parenting! |
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Okay, as some of you already know by word of mouth, we did have to get rid of Chester. Even after he was treated for his bladder infection his new urinating habits stuck. My vet was ready to try something stronger, but I had had it after he peed on my couch cushions. I sobbed all the way to the animal shelter. It's a wonder I didn't get into an accident. I think he's already been adopted because his picture was only on the Humane Society's website for a short time. Some have been there much longer, and since it's a no kill shelter now that they've expanded their facility, I know he wasn't put down. He was too cute to put to sleep anyway! In other news, we initiated a no TV month, after the Super Bowl of course (hooray for the Colts)! Ryan and I had been talking about how TV was affecting their behavior, attitudes, and expectations. It was just not doing their brains any good. Actually, I was doing the talking, Ryan did the listening (such a good hubby), and after I had said my peace, he suggested we unplug for a month. We've only cheated twice. Once was when we let the sitter pop in a video for the kids when we went on a date a couple weeks ago. The other was to watch the news to get updates on the snowstorm that hit the 'Burgh. Oh...it's also been on almost nonstop today because Grant was sick with the stomach flu and I wanted to keep the kids separated. So Em and Connor spent the morning in our room watching TV while I kept Grant in our family room with TV to keep his mind off the queasies. That's it in a nutshell. Believe it or not, I don't miss either the cat or the TV as much as I thought I would. Ryan and I have played lots of Uno (where I beat him at almost every hand) or just talked or read or surfed the net. I have to make sure I don't spend too much time on the computer. I don't want it to be the replacement for TV. Too many other things to do! If anyone has ever tried to go without TV or ended up throwing it away altogether I'd love to hear from you. I can use the encouragement. It's a rough road, being addicts and all, but we're doing pretty well! |
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So it's been nearly three weeks since we turned the TV off in our house. It's staying off for a month, and so far it's been pretty sane, believe it or not. I'll blog about the why's and wherefore's in a later blog, after the month is up. If I don't remember to do this, someone please remind me. Since things were soooo quiet once the tube was turned off, I replaced it with some educational computer games for the kids. I found that by substituting several hours of TV with several hours of computer time had similar negative effects, so I had to limit the computer time to an hour tops. For a little background noise (as if kids don't provide enough), I started playing classical music. I figured it was a good opportunity to introduce a little culture. The kids all really seem to like it. If I try to change stations or turn it off when we're out driving, they ask me to put it back on. Ryan and I have attended the Pittsburgh Symphony several times and we both enjoy it. I've even taken Grant to a Fiddlesticks performance, which is geared for kids his age and teaches them the basics of music with the aid of a big cat named Fiddlesticks. Last week the Youth Symphony had a free concert at Heinz Hall and I bravely brought both boys. Connor hoped fervently that there would be a harp, and was sooo excited to see TWO of them on stage. They kids actually did pretty well, even though we did leave before it was over. Then, just yesterday morning, I got an email about a free Piano Trio concert. I had no idea what that meant, but figured it was three pianos playing together. It turns out a "Piano Trio" consists of a piano (big surprise), cello, and violin. When I checked out the video clips on the Pittsburgh Piano Trio website I was impressed with their lively performance, so I brought Grant and a neighbor friend of mine. The performance did not disappoint. Since it took place in a smaller hall the crowd was not so overwhelming and we had decent seats. We did have to prop Grant up on my purse so he could see. He was clearly the youngest one there by about several hundred years. During the second half of the concert Grant started to get sleepy and a little bored (the performance went from 8-9:45 p.m.), so my friend provided him with a pen and paper for drawing. He sketched what looked like a cello, but insisted it was a violin. On the way out of the building after the performance we ran into the cellist, Mikhael Istomin (he's Russian, if you couldn't tell). He was surrounded by a bunch of old people who were giving him accolades and getting their pictures taken with him. I encouraged Grant to greet him and thank him for his performance. When Grant finally got his turn, he could hardly say a word before Mr. Istoman noticed his drawing. He immediately took it from Grant and complimented his work on such a fine cello. "It's not a cello," Grant corrected him. "It's a violin." Mikhael screwed up his face, pretending to sound disappointed, but was still very jovial the whole time. In the next moment, another crowd of folks gathered around him, practically sweeping him away, picture and all. I felt bad. "Is it okay if he keeps it, honey?" He said it was. We turned to leave, and all at once Mikhael literally bounded forth from the throng, waving the paper in his hand and saying "OH! I still have this boy's picture. I must GO!" He came over to us again and bent down to Grant, telling him what a wonderful picture he drew. Then he explained how the way he drew it made it look much like a cello. Grant said, "okay, it's a cello." Mr. Istoman straightened quickly to his large height, puffed out his chest and in a mock stern voice said, "okay, NOW we talk!" I asked if he would be willing to sign Grant's drawing. "Of COURSE!" he bellowed, and sped over to a counter, grabbed a pen, and enthusiastically signed it along with the comment "Great picture!" I was amazed and grateful for this man's kindness and care for someone who could not possibly have appreciated his music as much as the other concertgoers. Finally we said goodnight to him and made our way home. I was proud of my son for being so well-behaved and for drawing a picture that I will NEVER throw away. Grant came home sleepy-eyed but happy, and carefully hung that little piece of paper on the wall above his bed. All day today he wanted to know more about Russia, so I opened up our atlas to show him where it was. I also had a book about the last Tzar, so he got to look through that too, and was wowed by all the pictures of the ornately designed palaces. What's funny is, he was looking for a picture of his new cellist friend, and I had to explain to him otherwise. Even if he forgets this day, I never will. Not to add anything negative to this story, but Grant must have brought something else home from the concert. It's 11:55 p.m. and he's got the stomach virus. Sounds like we're in for another momentous night! |
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A couple of weeks before Christmas we got a second cat, an 8-month-old stray that had been wandering around my sis-in-law's home. It has turned out to be a great thing for the kids, who really enjoy him. Chester is a playful cat who is very friendly and even though Cookie, our older cat, would prefer to be the sole ruler of her kingdom, she begrudgingly shares the space (he acts more like the court jester anyway). If Jester, er, Chester gets too playful however, Cookie gives him a whack and a hiss. Luckily for Chester, Cookie just had about six teeth extracted to the happy tune of $500, so she's less of a threat to him than she used to be. With some forethought I could have saved the teeth, sold them to some company who turns around and sends them to a Peruvian tourist trap where they could be strung on necklaces and passed off as monkey teeth. Might have been able to finance part of the surgery that way. But I digress.... Cookie required some liquid post-op meds that had to be cleverly disguised in soft cat food, so Ryan purchased some fancy-shmancy stuff good enough for a person to eat. It even had whole pieces of shrimp among the shredded fish. With this stinky concoction I managed to successfully get the medicine down her. Not wanting to be left out, Chester came to the feline diner anytime he heard me open a new package. In fact, he would leap over our other cat, race into the kitchen, slide across the tile floor and crash into the cabinets. Then he'd beg and whine till I shared some of Cookie's meal with him. Now, even though the gourmet fare has been cut off and they are back to their normal hard food, my stepping into the kitchen for a glass of water is equivalent to ringing the dinner bell as far as Pester...I mean, Chester is concerned. It's been two weeks since the last of the soft food was served, and he still comes running, sliding and crashing into the kitchen. This same cat has also been guilty of stealing chicken breasts off my counter. I think I'm getting a taste of what it will be like to have teenage boys in the house. I can hardly wait. Now to the crux of my story. Chester has been litter box trained since we got him, and up until a couple of weeks ago there were no accidents. Then I started to smell urine in the living room and had to shampoo a small section of the carpet. I began noticing the odor elsewhere. My relationship with the cat was quickly turning sour. I like any cat till he pees in my house, then it's off with his head. Ryan assured me that after he's fixed he'll be different. Since he's a "whole" cat, he is trying to attract a mate (aka Cookie). Seems funny to me that animals do this. "Hey baby," wink wink, "you're lookin' pretty good there...c'mon over here and...smell my pee." How romantic. Things really got bad after Ryan left on Monday for a business trip to Chicago. It was promising to be a busy week. Aside from taking care of three kids on my own until Wednesday, my uncle was in town on Tuesday to do some consulting work, and I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. I was also helping my pregnant sister-in-law who had hurt her finger and needed help with her nine-month-old. And since I don't sleep well when Ry is gone, I was a little cranky. Tuesday afternoon I was in my bedroom and smelled it again. The cat had done something somewhere. I stuck my nose over every inch of my carpeting several times but couldn't find the source. I probably resembled a bloodhound, but I was determined to locate and annihilate the stench. I finally found it...on my bed. My down comforter, my sheets, and my blankets had all been used as a litterbox, and I knew the culprit. Fuming, I dragged the now-ruined comforter down to the garbage can (fortunately I wanted to get rid of it anyway). Then I sprayed Febreze on the mattress. It wasn't wet, but I could smell the odor on it. As if that weren't enough, he did it again right in front of me the next day, just hours after I brought Ryan home from the airport. This time it reached the mattress. Ryan and I spent some quality romantic "welcome home" time in the bedroom on the mattress, shampooing it with the carpet steamer. Ryan promised to get the cat fixed right away, but I wasn't convinced this was the problem. After all, he wasn't spraying, he was squatting. A cat trying to attract a mate usually sprays. I began to wonder if he had a urinary tract infection. My suspicions were confirmed last night as I sat on the couch in my PJ's, all snug and cozy under a blanket. Chester, seeing how comfortable I must have looked to him, hopped up on my lap, squatted, and peed on me. You read right...my cat PEED ON MY LAP!!! We called the vet this morning, who told us that Chester certainly has some kind of UTI and needs to be seen. Peeing on me was a desperate cry for help. Often, she said, a cat will do this to the person he associates as being his primary caregiver, and the one he has bonded with most. Yeah...I feel the love. It is warm...and wet. |
Everybody has certain foods they associate with Christmas--egg nog (non-spiked of course!)  ....turkey or goose...candy canes, etc. But there are a few holiday edibles that I'll bet you've never considered: Garlic and Parsely.That's right! My oldest son has informed me of their place in the culinary Christmas tradition. Why, just the other day after we dropped Daddy off at work, we drove around downtown Pittsburgh to admire the Christmas decorations. Grant took one look at the garland hanging on one of the buildings and said with excitement "look, Mom, Christmas garlic!" And just this evening I was teaching the boys the Twelve Days of Christmas song (don't ask me why...I'm a glutton for punishment). After singing it a million times, I decided to let my boys try to fill in a few of the "days." I sang all the way up to "two turtledoves, and a---" and waited for them to finish the song. My oldest very seriously and at the top of his lungs sang "and a parsely in a pear tree!" So remember, as you make out your shopping list for your Christmas entertaining, don't forget to toss that head of garlic and bunch of parsely into your cart. Believe me...after consuming the garlic, you're gonna need the parsely if you want your guests to stay. |
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We live just outside the city limits of Pittsburgh. Our neighborhood is relatively quiet, but it's not exactly the country. My boys love to climb trees and explore the woods, so I'm always looking for a great place to go where they can stretch their legs. I found it yesterday (Sunday) at Beechwood Farms Nature Reserve. Beechwood is the Audubon Society of Western PA's headquarters, located in the Fox Chapel area of Pittsburgh. It has five miles of trails on 134 acres of land that also includes a small pond and a stream, several little wood bridges, and big fallen trees to climb on. Our family had a blast, and the weather was unusually warm for November at 68 degrees, so we were quite comfortable. Off in the distance we could hear a woodpecker, and I spotted deer tracks. When we got back to the nature center/gift shop we visited this lounging area that had a huge picture window, from which we could see birds of all kinds visiting the feeders hanging just outside. The website even has a live action cam of the bird feeders that refreshes every ten seconds. If you Pittsburgh locals (or visitors) are interested in a FREE activity that will refresh your mind, body and spirit, and wear your kids out good, do yourself a favor and visit. Check out the website for info and directions at http://www.aswp.org/beechwood.html. Your family will love it. We certainly plan to go back soon. |
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Ahhh...It's a perfect morning. I'm standing by the kitchen door, sipping my coffee as I watch the birds fluttering from feeder to feeder...and my cat on the side porch, eating the head off a mole. I suppose moments of serenity that don't involve gore will have to wait untill Cookie loses all her teeth. Soon to be realized, actually. She's due to have most of her teeth removed later this month. I'm accepting donations for the bill. This brings me to the topic of my discussion. I know the day is coming when I'm going to have to slice something open that was once alive and breathing, for the purpose of education. I'm not the squeamish type, but I think I'm gonna have trouble making that first cut. I could use a little help from anyone experinced in field dressing vermin. What kind of tools do I need and where can I get them? What's a good book to help guide me through the process? If you don't have answers, please pass along the blog to someone you know who might be of help. And be sure to post your responses in the blog rather than via email. It'll help others in the future if the information is more public. Meanwhile, I'm going to go back to teaching Emily her colors. Much less messy. |
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Sounds like I'm tooting my own horn, doesn't it? Well, I don't mean to. I only wish to humbly impart some ideas for any mom out there with young children more inclined to play with legos than to sit and do a worksheet with their boring mother (even if she does hand out M&M's for incentive). Let me go back to the beginning of the school year. I had converted our little office nook into a classroom setting for my kids that I thought they wanted, complete with chalkboard, dry erase board, and bulletin board with all kinds of decorations to staple onto it. I even purchased some old desks from a local school and spent hours in my front yard in the heat of August spray painting them a bright shiny red color...after I scrubbed them down and scraped off all the gum. The spray paint had two objectives: first, to give them a clean new look, and second, to cover over the bad words etched into the old gray paint job. The classroom was now complete. Day one: The kids bound in to see the new classroom, the appearance of which remained a secret until opening day. They were all excited. But alas, things fell apart before I could even complete the Pledge of Allegience. I remember something about a fight over who should get to hold the flag. Then they all wanted to use the dry erase board. "No, this is only for mommy," I said, envisioning dry marker stains all over their clothes (they don't come out, as I discovered weeks later). They all thought this was entirely unfair. Things did not go well. I was past the idea of sending them to school, instead entertaining the thought of shipping them all straight to Siberia. I remembered the wisdom of Michael Pearl (No Greater Joy ministries) who said that parents often try to recreate the school at home, which is a mistake. No kidding. It was time for some new teaching strategies, not dictated by curriculums or magazine articles, but based on my children's psychological makeup. Fast forward to this week. We played with play dough at the kitchen table, shaping the dough into letters while learning our phonics. I recorded myself singing and reading poems about the days of the week and the months of the year, which the kids listened to during their playtime. They were like sponges, absorbing everything, not even realizing they were learning. My last remaining challenge was enticing my oldest to sit with me and do some simple workbook page. Here's where I got clever. As my six-year-old sat playing on the floor, I took his workbook in hand and plopped on the couch with a huge sigh. "Good grief," I said, as thumbed through the pages. "This is impossible! I will NEVER figure all this out." "What's the matter mom?" "I can't understand what I'm supposed to do in this book." Sonny boy energetically leaps onto the couch next to me. "I can help you, mom. I'm really good at this stuff." Poor Mommy, he thinks. She doesn't know how to do anything. I smile, knowing I have won. In moments, he has completed several pages. In only two of these sessions he has finished the whole 30 page book. My middle child sees what is going on and wants to work on a workbook too. I "indulge" him. We all have fun, and we are all learning. The kids are learing how to read and write and add, and I am learning that homeschool is indeed fun when I remove the desks and chalkboards from the equasion. Oh, they still have their place. I let my oldest practice writing his letters on the dry erase board with supervision. It's the first time he's actually agreed to write his letters properly, rather than the way HE wants to do them. And the desks? Well, they look impressive to the visitors. |
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...and there will be different buildings, and new road signs, and traffic lights where they weren't before, and...oh, sorry. I'm talking about my visit to New Jersey, where I was born and raised. I moved to Pittsburgh eleven years ago when my husband and I married, and I've only been back a few times for the holidays. I've never had much chance to just drive from place to place and visit everyone, but two weeks ago my husband had a business trip to Princeton, so the kids and I tagged along. It was a blast, but boy did I have a difficult time finding something I recognized outside the five mile radius from my neighborhood! I was hard pressed to find my way around. So much had changed, and what hadn't changed had been hidden from view by large trees that were mere saplings when I left. Even my own street was shrouded by change, and yes, my very own childhood home. The new owners were kind enough to invite me in to look around. That was a real treat! But as delightful as it was to walk inside once more, there was a shadow of sadness over me as I saw how the home had been transformed from what it was when I left it. My late father's craftsman's touch had been visible all over the house, from the family room and deck he added on, to the basement he transformed into my bedroom, a bath, and a study. Some of his fingerprints still remain, but some things have changed entirely. His crowning achievement, in my eyes, was an enormous wall unit of shelves and cabinets that were actually built into one of the walls. It measured about eight feet across and almost to the ceiling. In it held our TV, childhood books, and a display of antique cameras my father had collected (in his early years he had been a photographer). I loved that piece of furniture. As I toured the home that was no longer mine, my heart sank when I saw a couple of windows in place of that beautiful piece of furniture. It had been taken out of the wall by another owner. Goodness knows what they did with it. I later found a portion of it sitting in the basement, my father's old woodshop, and the current owners said they have plans to paint it white and use it in their master bedroom. I wish I had thought of it then to ask if they'd sell it to me, but the idea didn't occur to me until just this week. I left them a message asking if they would consider it. I hope I hear from them soon before they paint the thing! I'll keep you posted. All in all, my trip to South Jersey was a wonderful one. I visited an old neighbor, spent some time with a couple of really good friends, and met their young children. I also got to reconnect with my uncles and their families. Boy have my cousins grown! If I had had two weeks to spend there, I don't think I could have packed in all I wanted to do. As happy as I am to have been privileged with such a rare visit, there is a bit of sadness attached to it. My life was a very happy one...not perfect, but the memories are beautiful, and I miss them. I loved where I grew up. I miss my dad who I was so proud of and close to. He worked hard and he loved his family. If I could rewind time, it would be so tempting. But then I look over at my kids playing together on our family room floor. Okay, they're fighting right now, but...never mind about that. Anyway, God has given me a turn to make precious memories with my kids that will carry them into adulthood. As Paul put it, "forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." (Phil 3:13b-14). My calling of God is to raise my children to love and fear the Lord. He wants me to create a safe haven from the world where they can be themselves and know they will be cherished. In short, the Lord wants me to give my children the home atmosphere I grew up in. I need to make beautiful memories for my kids. They won't care so much about the great life I had, but the great life I was able to give to them. With that said, I promised to play Candy Land with my son. Gotta go! Enjoy your day with your children. |
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So I purchased a copy of Managers of Their Homes, by Terri Maxwell of the Titus 2 ministry. I did it because I'm tired of the chaos and insanity that is my home. I'm tired of collapsing at the end of the day after working myself half to death, only to have the house look like nothing's been done to it for a week. I'm tired of my kids running amok because there is no schedule on which they can depend and feel secure in. Heck, I'm just plain tired. What is Managers of Their Homes, you ask? It's a scheduling system unlike no other. It's designed mainly for homeschooling families, particularly large ones, though any home could benefit greatly. I've tried scheduling before, but this one is different. To describe how would be too complicated. It has taken me a week to create it, suffice it to say, and there are several steps. But once the project is complete, changing the schedule around and making sure it coordinates with other people's schedules is a breeze. If you want to know more about it, visit their website (see link to right) My hope in all of this is to establish order in my home where my kids know what to expect and know what is expected of them. It'll be implemented slowly, and I know I'll make changes as needed, but I fully expect that this will streamline our days better. I'll let you know how it goes. On another note, Grant is doing okay. He's taking Focalin now, instead of Ritalin, since that was making his tics worse. His attention has certainly improved, and he's not bouncing off the walls. There may be hope on the homeschool front yet! I'll keep everyone posted on his progress as well as the schedule's success. |
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My oldest son came into our room this morning to snuggle in bed with us (my favorite time of the day). After a few minutes of idle chit-chat he said he was ready for breakfast, and that he thinks he's going to get a toy in his cereal. This was strange for me to hear because I don't ever buy the "junk" cereals that have toys in them. I didn't even know he knew that these toys in cereals existed. I told him "I don't think so, honey. We don't have any cereal boxes with toys in them." That was the end of that...I thought. Since he'd become pretty independent with breakfast, he poured his own cereal and milk before I actually made it to the kitchen. The frosted mini-wheats were drowning in a huge sea of milk, but I knew he wouldn't waste it, so I didn't really care. But as I bent over to give him a hug while he munched away, I noticed something peeking out from the milk that didn't look like soggy squares. Something small and black. They looked like tiny wheels. I took my son's spoon from him and fished out...a matchbox car. A car that until yesterday had been outside all summer lying on the ground or sitting in a sandbox. The moral of the story? I'd better buy him some junk cereal. |