Pumpkin Bread and Contentment

The Papa is out of town - he surprised his dad in Florida with a visit. I am, therefore, trying to make the most of these days with the kiddos. Thus the pumpkin bread.

We spent the first half of the day getting ready to, and then going swimming with friends who have access to a local time-share/resort. This wore the kids out, and they came home and napped for nearly three hours, waking up after 5:00. We took it easy, ate leftovers for dinner, played Play-Doh, watched a show, and ate fresh-from-the-oven pumpkin bread. Oh. Yum.

This brings me to thoughts of my deep contentment in mothering. Oh, it's hard. When we jumped from two kids to four overnight it got really, really hard. It's actually been a lot of unromantic ugly in the last several years. (I keep meaning to write about the two-year transition, but as much as I think about things to say, the words just won't come out of me quite yet. So I will just keep alluding to that time, and you can anticipate the big reveal that will one day come.)

Our home is loud, way too loud for my sensitive nerves. It's boisterous, which is really just code for often supremely chaotic, which triggers my clamp-down response as I try to get a handful of control back in a life that feels so out of control to my INFJ personality.

But there is peace, too. There are sweet moments of sharing, or times when playing Play-Doh is a calm and creative experience rather that a wild, squashing, mixing-all-the-colors-into-puce experience. There are apologies and hugs when the feral wrestling matches end up hurting someone. There is the sharing of a toy out of the blue. There is even cheerful helping in the kitchen on occasion. There are moments when I read to a crew all snuggled up on the couch, and moments where a little girl is sounding out words and demonstrating the amazing transformation that occurs when the brain learns to read. There is lying down in each kiddo's bed at night and listening as they share their thoughts.

I used to dream of going back to work. At something. Just about anything. Like, I thought being a barista at Starbucks sounded heavenly. I wanted to do something mindless. Something you could leave at work and not bring home. Something that did not require endless self-doubt, invasion of personal space (OK, let's be clear here...groping and being slobbered on and leaned on and interrupted), and constantly seeking perspective - reading, talking, praying, reading, talking, praying...so much processing and trying to figure the crazy out.

The days are more manageable lately. And this has allowed me to reconnect with the joy I once thought I would have in parenting. The joy and wonder I DID have before our world got rocked. At some point during the trying times, I found a necklace at World Market. It was just a piece of flat circular pottery on a leather string, but it bore the imprint of a symbol that (supposedly) meant "joy" in some African language. I bought it immediately and wore it as a reminder to find the joy in my life. It took a long, LONG time for that to sink in on a daily basis. But I have it again.

I have joy. I am content. I don't dream of escaping to a job anymore. I do freelance from home a few hours a week. I like being home when the kids get out of school. I like that my presence is a dependable part of their day. I'm not always in a great mood, but I am here. I am accessible. I dislike the hectic routine of making dinner--it's probably the lowlight of my day, but I love that I am able to cook dinner from scratch most nights. It's meaningful for me and sustaining for them. We are in a good place right now, and I am enjoying it.

I catch myself enjoying moments IN the moment. Not later. Not looking at pictures, in fact, I am taking fewer photos lately in part because I just want to be. Be present. Not be trying to capture it all for someone else. I am perhaps selfish in that--I want all the moment fully. I want all its senses burned into my memory so that I don't need a photograph in order to remember it.

In contradiction to all the "positive thinking" philosophy out there, I have learned that you can't just "fairytale think" your way out of tremendous upheaval. You can't change everything by simply willing yourself to be happy or different. It's a process. The only way through the storm is, wait for it...through the storm. Real growth, permanent change, and wisdom come from enduring and learning from, reflecting on, what was endured. And that is no picnic. Right? You can't picnic in the middle of a hurricane.

I found that several things help me tremendously.

1. Gratitude. I read Ann Voskamp's one thousand gifts a while back and have intermittently kept a gratitude journal (actually I can never find one when I need it, so I have three or four journals scattered throughout the house). I dove in again when my mom got me a devotional based on the book, and it has been such a lovely experience - there is room to respond to the text as well as to continue the list of gratitude. I feel refreshed afterwards, even if I only spent ten minutes on it while waiting in the pick-up line at school.

2. A high-altitude perspective. Individual moments can be very overwhelming. Emotion, stress, uncertainty, and other people's disregulation can whip up the intensity of a problem or issue. We have dealt with ADD impulsivity, anxious attachment issues, speech therapy, massive tantrums, hours of occupational therapy, loss/grief, death, sneaky passive aggression, temporary depression, declarations of not believing in God, declarations of hatred towards me, my own grief over my flawed responses to my children, and, at one point early in the transition when we had two kids in diapers and a third regressed due to the upheaval and everyone was sick, I changed 12 gag-inducing poopy diapers in one day. All of it, ALL OF IT, even the stuff that brought me to my knees in tears and frustration, was ultimately handled by clinging to the truth of God's plan and supremacy. Clinging to the truth that these kids are not my own, but God's, and therefore I am called to do my best to be a faithful parent and let God handle the healing. I cannot plug all the emotional gaps for my kids. I cannot fix the sorrows in their stories. I cannot take away the challenges they were given in their natures or their brain chemistry. I teach, coach, feed, hold, discipline, and stretch them. God's going to have to see to all the super-human stuff because, ahem, I'm only human.

3. Community. This part is so very beautiful. I have more loving community than I know what to do with, and it's why I am sane. Um...really. I meet monthly with a few other adoptive mamas. We are free to be raw and sad and mad. Adoption is beautiful, and it is very hard. Some situations are mild, others eat the family. In my little group, we are all dealing with some thing(s) specific to adoption and our kids. And so we cheer each other on as one finds a glimmer of hope, a medication that works for a child's issue, a neurologist who "gets it," a teacher who makes all the difference in a school experience, resources that support healing. We make an annual getaway - once we escaped to a cabin in the mountains for a weekend, another time to a hot springs spa for a day. We can laugh at things that most people wouldn't find laughable, and while it is sometimes a dark, wry laughter, it brings some relief.

I also have a community of mamas through my church. These mamas have children in the same age range as my own, but as mamas our own ages span more than a decade. This is life-giving. We get together with our kids, do Bible studies, read books, and take our book club to Big Bear because we are fun like that. We know each others' stories well. We keep each others' kids in line. We babysit at the drop of a hat when an emergency arises. We pray for one another, text each other goofy updates and memes, and generally instigate a healthy amount of belly-laughing. 

I am not alone.

It feels so good to be sure of my place and to be happy in it. And tonight I was reminded of that, so I thought I'd share.

THE TALK

One of my goals for this summer was to teach the two oldest kiddos about sex. We now have a 3rd grader and a very mature Kindergartner. How did I know either one of them was ready? The trigger was the oldest child's scientific mind: as we were driving around town he asked, "Mom, I know how a baby would get DNA from his mother because he grows inside of her. But how does he get DNA from his father?"

It's pretty impossible to answer that without being honest about the details.

And it's pretty hard to put off that answer without sending the signal that somehow it's taboo.

And because this child is such a persistent learner, the question was clearly not going to go away on its own.

And since the second child is already FAR more aware of bodies and body stuff than I imagined at this age, and because she's the most committed sidekick to the first child (who I'm guessing would not be able to keep his mouth shut forever), The Papa and I just decided to teach them both together.

For a little more background, studies have shown that it's healthier (and kids make healthier decisions in the future) when parents talk early and often about sex--kids who get the scoop from parents learn to trust their parents to give them accurate information; they are also more likely to have sex later than their peers and use protection when they do; and they tend to pick up their parents' attitudes and values surrounding sex.

A family therapist once told me that the average age when children hear about BJs for the very first time is first grade. FIRST GRADE, people. Now of course they don't have the brain development to totally get what they're hearing but still. Do I want my kids to trust playground wisdom or do I want them to come to me? I am not going to keep my head in the sand about this subject.

For more authority on the subject, here are a few articles and facts that might be informative:

TIME Magazine shares why it's often "Too Little, Too Late."

The CDC has sexual risk statistics for 2015.

The Guttmacher Institute reports on how teens learn about sexual health.

The Palo Alto Medical Foundation emphasizes that parents are the most important sexuality educators for their children. 

Now I didn't need all those sources to tell me this is a good idea, but they provide some evidence of the importance of being the first and the best source of information for our kids, as well as an ongoing source of information. It's not a one-stop talk.

I headed into the first conversation today lead by The Talk by Luke Gilkerson. I'll tell you about that in a minute, but first I want to share a few tidbits from the parent introduction. Gilkerson talks about the work his organization does with families that have been affected by porn obsession, including kids who have been exposed as young as 8, 9, or 10 years old. One of the things the parents say is this: "I wish I would have spoken with my child sooner about sex."

Another point I appreciated: "In some conservative religious Christian circles, sex is treated as gross, a necessary function they'd rather not talk about. In the world, sex is treated like a god, an ultimate source of pleasure, meaning, and value. Neither of these is a right biblical attitude. Sex is not gross. It is not God. But it is good. As parents it is not only our job to communicate to our children what sex is, but a godly attitude about it."

The introduction also explains why, in most cases, the best age to begin talking about sex is between the ages of six and ten. I won't go into it here, but it's comforting to read, actually.

Now I don't want to betray my kiddos by sharing their responses in too much detail. You can imagine the "Ew!" and the "I'm so embarrassed" and so on. But what was curious to me was the complete respect they both had for the womb--talking about how the body produces and brings a baby into the world blew their minds in the best way possible. When I asked them what they found most interesting about all the stuff we talked about, they both had their spin on that information. My firstborn found it even more fascinating than anything he learned about his own body.

I'm pretty sure that, while they didn't mention it, learning all the technical terms for the parts of the body "down there" was exciting for them. Like looking up the rectum, and understanding how the urethra works, and comparing the male and female systems.

And I did cry from laughing at one point as one child gyrated in an attempt to get down the logistics of it all.

If you are curious about this resource, I highly recommend it! There are seven lessons, all Biblically based. (We accomplished the first two today, because the BIG QUESTION of "HOW" was left unanswered by the first lesson.)

1. God Made them Male and Female
2. Go Forth and Multiply
3. Wonderfully Made
4. The Two Shall Become One Flesh
5. You Shall Not Commit Adultery
6. Do Not Violate Me
7. Bought With a Price

Get The Talk on Amazon.

May this be helpful, fellow parents, as you navigate this tricky subject. I am already loving it!

Like Air, Really

A couple of weekends ago, Brent watched the kids for me so I could get out of the house. I had no plan; I just knew I needed space between me and the continual onslaught of noise and need. I left while the kids were resting, around 3:00. I didn't come home until their bedtime.

I drove in a bit of a daze to the bookstore. Since jumping from two kids to four, this feeling of fog in my head has never really lifted. Some days I fight through it; some days I lean into it and let everything go. It has taught me to stop being concerned about everything being "just so" - Sadie's hair is usually a mess; I have been unable to host any get-togethers; this blog is terribly vacant lately; I have lost the bandwidth for maintaining well-organized details of any sort. And while this lesson in imperfection is one for which I am grateful, it has cost me the ability to maintain my side of a coherent conversation - and the public loss of my train of thought is sometimes rather embarrassing; unless I'm one-on-one with someone, I generally refrain from talking.

I was only in the bookstore about six minutes before my eyes began filling with tears. I almost started sobbing. The solitude (in the midst of strangers, yes), the instrumental music playing, the chance for my mind to quiet, the peace of the moment overwhelmed me. That hollow, starved place inside me swallowed the solitude and spit out tears.

So I wandered around, picking out a few gifts for people, drinking a fancy coffee drink, and splurging on an Imogen Heap CD. By the time I left, a damp darkness had fallen.

I was not ready to go home.

Putting on my new CD, I drove to the top of a hilly street and parked. The small town lights twinkled and I absorbed the music. I think I was there more than an hour.

This is the thing - solitude is necessary to creativity. Solitude is necessary to good thinking. Solitude is necessary for my mental health. And solitude is the hardest thing to find when mothering a large family.

Something deep within me just split open while I sat in the car. It split, and all the grief of missing my old self overflowed. The self that lit candles and sat alone and created. The self that read hard things and had the attention span to ponder them. The self that went out and walked in the dark. The self that loved being alone in a crowded coffee shop. This noise, this fog, this constant refereeing of ear-splitting squabbles, this never-ending sense that a gazillion things need to be done right now, this incessant multi-tasking sucks the creativity - one of the things that brings life - out of me.

And, oh, sitting alone in the blackness and listening to music was so good. So good.

I don't know what the answer is - I don't anticipate consistently getting more of this time until the little people are older, in school, and easier to care for so that others can relieve me. But I do know that it's OK. This is a season of life. This is one of the costs of mothering. And when we all pull through this I'll be wiser and more durable for it.

All us mamas need something that we don't get while parenting. I guess I wrote this to acknowledge the struggle. It's not romantic - our needs not being met - even if it is for the miracle of our children's lives and growth. But it's OK, sort of, for a while, as it's part of this journey. It's temporary, and it's for the best possible reasons. And as soon as we can, whenever we can, we need to grasp those opportunities to feed our spirits.

Some might advise...just get up earlier, or put some time on the schedule for yourself, or get a regular babysitter or...you name it. The truth is - I would if I could. Really. You don't need to read a post on all the reasons space for myself is limited, but there are reasons. All mamas have reasons that are not simply excuses. One of the things I am learning is not to feel guilty that someone else's solution is not a solution that works for me and my family. (That's another lesson from imperfection and chaos - letting go of guilt and the "requirement" of pleasing others. Those are tough ones to leave behind, but doing so brings tremendous freedom.)

For now I'm going to hold on to that moment. That span of four hours of solitude. It's amazing how long I can go now on a single experience. And I'm going to listen to that Imogen Heap album on repeat while I'm driving a van full of arguing, weird-sound-making children around town. And I'm going to hold my breath until I get another chance to break the surface for a gulp of solitude.

--------------------------------------------

P.S. In order to write this post I put off going to the grocery store (which I am going to regret later when I need to fix dinner); I took two breaks to read Oli a book; I got Bella up from her nap and changed her diaper; and I still desperately need a shower (which I am going to have to rush so that I can go pick Sadie up from school). Just a reality check.

Christmas Cookies, Part I

Remember how, way back during the holidays, I wrote about practicing Advent this year? One of the elements of making Jesus' birth real is that of giving graciously, abundantly, with abandon...for this is how God has given to us. It is also giving sacrificially, that is, we don't give because we have so much that we wouldn't even notice the loss; no, we give UNTIL we see our lives being lived differently because we have given so much.

I need to practice this as much as my now three-year-old, but in the spirit of teaching said three-year-old in ways that are meaningful to him, we gave generously...sugar cookies. And that tale will be told in full in Part II.

For now let us discuss the making of the cookies. Of course, Benjamin helped to the best of his abilities. Because I got the hare-brained idea of making this a communal event involving other three-year-olds and their siblings, we had to make something like five batches. Of sugar cookies. This takes some time, as you can imagine, time during which the chief stirrer pooped out and needed to be put to bed.

On a bright and lovely Wednesday, we hosted ten or so cookies decorators. A few forgot that the purpose of the exercise was to make things to share with others and ate more than were planned for consumption. (Namely, Benjamin...I kept turning around to find a cookie in his mouth. And he would act all sincere in asking for one - "Are you going to decorate this one?" "Yes, Mama!" Uh-huh.)

This is Eli. He's my cousin's youngest. Every time I see him, I am tempted to snatch him up and hide him in the closet in order to keep him a bit longer. I mean look at him!

This is Max. He's the oldest of the little people and takes great pride in his work. While other munchkins are slathering icing on with wild abandon, Max is deliberately and carefully decorating his cookies. And while the others may have lost interest only three cookies in, Max completed a beautiful selection of confections.

Felicity looks older than the others because she IS much older! She patiently handled the bags and tubes sticky from the little people, and produced some very artistic versions of the cookies. She's Eli's older sister. I would probably have to fight her if I tried to keep him.

As you can see, we had some real chefs in the group. Amare came well prepared for any photo opportunities that would arise.

And, dear me! Matteo is every bit as huggable as Eli! I might have to hide him in the closet next time...

Stay tuned for Part II.

How we're approaching Christmas

I know that in the history of holy days, a number of those claimed by Christianity were once owned by pagans.  It's a human irony...that something once belonged to the goddess of fertility, or to the witches, or to the worship of some lunar mystery, only to be co-opted by religious zealots.  We do this all the time, we humans...conquer somebody else's something:  land, name, resources, language, culture, infrastructure, banking system, business.  We buy out and change. Or wage war on and change.

It's all a bit sad and funny at the same time.  But whatever.  In the current era, some of us use the occasion of Christmas to celebrate the birth of Christ. It's symbolic all the way, but that's OK.  This is the time that we do it.

In honor of that, I will be starting an advent tradition in our home. We have not done this before, though I have always wished for more peace, more focus on the One who should matter most, the One who gets shoved behind the tree or lodged under piles of wrapping paper only to be rediscovered as I am vacuuming up pine needles and wondering how I missed Him this year, yet again, despite my best intentions.

We will not be forgetting Him this December. He is too precious. I want my son to know how precious the Christ is, and he'll never know if I do not first lay aside my holiday idols and bring my gifts to His feet. For my son, as all children do, learns most powerfully from my example.

So we will start with a daily observance of Advent - the time of waiting, of expecting, of hoping for the God of the universe to meet us humans where we're at...wrapped in limited, meager bodies, wracked with ailments and fears and the annoying ability to mess everything up even when we're trying our darndest to do everything right.

We are using an advent resource from Ann Voskamp, writer and blogger. If you would like to get this free booklet for yourself, you can go to this page. You will need to subscribe to her blog and wait one day for the next feed (the link is included at the end of the feeds).

We will include in our readings The Jesus Storybook Bible, which is one of the best tellings of the story of God that I know. It also has some beautiful art in it; I'm a sucker for pretty illustrations. If you wish to teach your young ones about God, and not just a bunch of apparently disconnected stories in a musty old book, get this.  Now.  It has helped me see the Bible in a whole new light; it's that good.

Finally, I can't help but share with you a bit of writing by Ann Voskamp. She has written out what we believe in the most beautiful language. For the original context, or to read more of her, visit her web site: A Holy Experience.


I believe in Jehovah God who created the whirling galaxies, the birds soaring in the sky overhead, the endless crashing waves and all that dances within them. I believe in Father of all who knits together life, made in His very own image, in the secret quiet of our beings.

I believe in Jesus Christ, the One with no earthly Father, with the dust of this earth between His toes, and with our names etched onto the palm of His hands, right beneath the nail scars…Who now sits at the Father’s right hand making endless intercession on our behalf. I believe in the stone rolled away, in the Body being raised, in the first fruits of the dead…and us all following soon, very soon.

I believe in the Cross as our only Hope, our only Claim, and our only Foundation. I believe that in the pounding surf of life we have only one thing to cling to: the feet of our Lord, hanging on that tree, His lifeblood flowing down, washing us whiter than snow.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, moving, whispering, indwelling our very skin. I believe in living by the Spirit, walking in the Spirit, and producing fruit in the Spirit…in the Spirit who helps us in our weakness with groanings that can’t be expressed in words.

I believe in the infallibility of the Bible, God’s Word – a sure Word, a pure Word, the only secure Word. I believe the words on those pages are breathed from the very throne room of heaven, are the love letter penned from the heart of the Lover of our souls; a beacon of light for stumbling feet to find sure footing on a dark path.

I believe there is more than believing. There is living what I believe.