The Land of the Free

I was in a mood on the fourth of July. For 364 days of the year, I don't think about New Hampshire... it never enters my consciousness at all. But on the fourth of the July, I miss our tiny NH town and its holiday festivities. I don't even know if it's the actual town I miss, so much as it is the idea of it... the whole All-American, baseball-and-apple-pie, small town goodness of it all. We'd watch the parade (and the kids would happily scramble to catch us much candy as they could, tossed from the passing floats), walk through the vendors eating our hot dogs and cotton candy, and return later in the evening to claim our spot on the hill to watch the fireworks overhead.

There were of course lots of various places to watch fireworks around the valley, as well as celebrations, parades, and concerts... but we've never been before, they were sure to be crowded, a lot of them cost money, and many were far away.

So we spent the greater part of the morning of the 4th sitting - and occasionally moping - around, trying to decide what to do. As exciting as that was, we really didn't want to spend the entire long weekend doing it. So at the last minute, we called Mom and Dad and invited ourselves up north. They can watch fireworks right from their driveway, and because they're far away, the noise is not an issue (an important consideration for a 2 year old's first fireworks experience). We watched the fireworks, spent the night, and ended up having a beautiful day driving and geocaching in the Mogollon Rim, the likes of which we couldn't have experienced in Andover, New Hampshire.

All in all, an unexpectedly nice weekend, and a really lovely holiday.

Dressed for bed and ready for the fireworks:

Camping on Maba's floor:

I was about to write that this had nothing to do with Independence Day... then realized it had everything to do with Independence Day.  Paxton and Everett trying on their great grandfather's custom-made Navy dress blues from World War II.  I miss him, and wish the kids could have known him.

Mogollon Rim, another beautiful corner of the world:

Happy Fourth of July to all.

Condemnation

Every religion on the planet, and there are so many more than you are even aware of, has the potential of absolute thriving. But when you think that you must prove that you have the only one that is right—and you use your condemnation to push against the others—your condemnation separates you from your own connection that, before your condemnation, you were finding in your own religion.

Several years ago, sometime during that mired haze between having one child and having four, we stopped attending church. Though there was plenty of turmoil in the church we went to at the time, we didn't leave because of the drama, hadn't engaged in any fight. We didn't leave in a huff, and we didn't leave to prove a point to anyone. We left quietly... simply stopped going, as much to move toward a better relationship with God, as to move away from a unhealthy environment. No one asked us why we left (they seemed to prefer to come to their own conclusions) and we never really offered up an explanation.

Though there were a few reasons, this quote reminds me of perhaps the strongest one.

Mike and I both grew up in churches that were very... set in their ways, to put it kindly. Intolerant, to be a little more blunt. This was a church that believed its way was the only way, that any deviation large or small would not only be incorrect, but be sinful. I'm not proud to admit it, but I was one of the worst ones! I remember when one family left to attend a different church. It was the family of a good friend of mine, and while I of course missed my friend, I was also terribly curious as to where they landed once they left. When they were inevitably gossiped about - in that hushed, whispered, let's pray for their souls kind of way - I found out. They were attending a Methodist church. ! Oh the scandal! As ludicrous as seems now, I was flabbergasted. How could they do that, when they knew the truth? What were they thinking? Didn't I know them at all?

Yes, all that judgment over another Christian denomination. Though most of the church treated them as though they'd “fallen away,” they hadn't changed religions, didn't start worshiping some other God, hadn't given up their faith. Back then, it didn't matter. Methodist, Buddhist, Muslim, Jewish, Atheist... I knew nothing about any of them, and I wasn't allowed to ask questions. They were all lumped together. They were all WRONG.

It wasn't until I left the church as an adult that I could look back on my teenage self and truly see how egregiously wrong I'd been. It made me feel sad that I'd joined my congregation in being so judgmental, and angry that I'd been taught to look at others through such a narrow, narrow view. It made me feel small.

It was then that I decided to learn, for the first time in my life, about other religions. So I did.... by myself, and for myself. It wasn't so much that I wanted to change my religion (I never really liked the word “religion” anyway), as it was that I wanted to understand others. I wanted so badly to learn, appreciate, and yes, even EMBRACE different religions, and I knew I couldn't do that while I was continuing to be taught at the school of “This is right, everyone else is wrong.” My quest turned out to be one of the most rewarding and liberating things I'd ever done. Even now, years later, I still site that break we took from church as one of the most influential periods in both my own personal faith, and in my acceptance of others.

I'd been going nowhere in my own spiritual walk, so focused I was on getting it “right” and condemning others who'd gotten it “wrong”. I needed to break free of that limitation, and leaving that church was the catalyst that did it.

A couple of years ago, we started attending church again. It was a huge, non-denominational Christian church, with a beautiful campus, a rocking band, and a joy-filled atmosphere. It was a lovely church. I still think it's a lovely church, and a welcoming church, even though it's been awhile since we've been there. We'd been attending for just a short time when we had the opportunity to take some friends and family as our guests on a few different occasions. While a few seemed to enjoy themselves, others were compelled to critique it.

~It was too big.

~It was not reverent enough.

~It was not personal enough.

~It was more like a concert than a church service

~It was wrong that people were sitting back and enjoying themselves rather than worshiping (which was the most ridiculous to me, because 1) you can't open people up and see where their hearts are at, and what they're getting out of a particular experience, and 2) whatever else a spiritual experience may be, shouldn't it at least be enjoyable?)

The frustration I felt from these comments, and the attitude of judgment that came with them, was immense. “This judgment is why we stopped going to your church!,” I wanted to yell, but I didn't. I let them say what they needed to say. And in time, we stopped going to the new church too... partly because we had a toddler who couldn't sit through the service, and partly because the most recent of the negative comments had struck an (immensely irrational) fear in me. The ones with the strongest opinions were Christians. Is that what going to church does to you? If we got really immersed in a church again, would it happen to me too? Would I become judgmental and condemning as I once was?

What I realize now – finally – is that my negative feelings towards the church I grew up in (and my frustrations with some of the people who still go there) are no different than the judgments that I'd so carefully tried to avoid. Besides being entirely wasted and non-productive emotions, it is wrong. Their beliefs, their feelings, and their attitudes, are just that – THEIRS. And while I do fully believe that anyone who holds condemnation towards others is hindering his own journey, it does not have to hinder mine. In church or out of church, I can hold firm to my beliefs, which include loving and accepting people from ALL religions, or lack thereof, and recognizing and embracing the freedom that makes it all possible.

Fish, Mud, and Puberty

Last week, we joined a group of homeschoolers and checked out the new aquarium here in the valley. We clearly weren't the only ones with the same idea, as it was crazy and crowded. We all enjoyed it though, and look forward to going back someday when it's not as busy (ie: when it's not still newly opened and 110 degrees outside)

I was catching up with a friend while the kids played in the playground area.  She asked me how we'd been doing, and I answered with my fairly standard, "Good.  Busy."  "What have you been busy with?"

Stumped.

What have I been busy with?  So much of it is just... life. Life with an active two year old who's in my arms a large portion of the day.  Life with a busy six year old and a driven nine year old and an inquisitive thirteen year old.  There's school (my school) and summer movies, and playdates, and an endless list of weekend activities.  The days are quickly getting away from me, and I continually need to remind myself to breathe, to soak it in, to take the time to sleep, shower, go to the bathroom ENJOY IT.

On Saturday, we took the kids to something called Mighty Mud Mania.  Apparently it's an annual event, but this is the first I'd heard of it.  It's only been going on for 35 years, so you can see where I'd have trouble. But now I know, so we went.  It was a long, hot, and fun day.

I've noticed lately - when I'm going through my hundreds and hundreds of snapshots that I've taken at various places - that there are far fewer current pictures of Spencer than the other three.  I was somewhat wracked with guilt and confusion over this (why am I excluding one of my children?!) until I realized why.  He's either beside me when I'm taking them, or he's off doing his own thing.... unless it's 3 in the afternoon, in which case he's sleeping on the couch.  He's at "that" age right now, that in-between, not quite a kid/not quite a teenager age.  When we were at the mud event, he enjoyed himself, but didn't really want to do any of the activities.  He was happy to hang out with us, drink his water, and watch.

I remember with great clarity - oh so painful clarity - what it was like to be thirteen.  I was awkward and confused.  I didn't fit in anywhere.  My body was doing strange things.  I had a group of not always nice "friends" who sometimes treated me so badly that I dreaded going to school.  I was the one with frizzy hair and bad skin.  I was mercilessly taunted by older kids.  I had a tragically huge and unrequited crush on a boy who was four years older than me.  I had no idea who I was or where I was going or what I wanted.

I was not yet ME.

I share this humiliating history to show that I can fully commiserate with my barely-a-teenager son, but also to give a praise of thanks that he is so much better off than I was.   He knows who he is, and a great majority of the time he's happy.  The friends he makes are true friends.  He has a close relationship with us, and with his grandparents.  He's excited about life and he's following his interests (currently that means hours at the computer, researching the ins and outs of operating a construction business) And the great torture that was provided to me at school?  Not an issue for him.  He's able to become a young man as gracefully - and painlessly - as possible.

Book Review: The Heart Mender, by Andy Andrews

The Heart Mender's inception was purely an accident. Author Andy Andrews stumbled upon a buried treasure next to his home on the Gulf Coast: an old, metal can containing Nazi artifacts from World War II. In his research and his quest to discover their origins, he ended up unearthing an amazing and touching story.

This book shares with us his discovery, then takes us back to 1942 to bring it all to life. Helen is a young American widow who lost her husband to World War II. Josef is a German sailor, wounded and left for dead on the beach. Still broken and grieving over the loss of her husband, and bitterly angry about the role the Nazis played in his death, she is at first tempted to leave the young sailor alone to die. She ultimately decides to come to his aid, and the story that follows is one of intrigue, heartbreak and forgiveness.

I'm not normally attracted to historical fiction, but this one won me over. I truly loved this book. The characters were so likable and relatable that they could have been friends of mine. The dialogue was crisp, real, and funny. The suspenseful pacing was excellent, revealing just enough at a time to make you keep reading, and it made it impossible to put the book down. The central theme of forgiveness was woven throughout the entire story, and it was illustrated in a powerful way. An added bonus? Some truly fascinating history about World War II that I'd never heard anywhere else.

If you're a fan of historical fiction, like to be inspired, or just love a really great story... read it.



Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Out in the Desert

I've said it so many times, I've tired of hearing myself say it. But nothing makes me happier than being with my family out in the desert. It feels like home, moreso than any of the other places we've lived since we've been married.

This past Saturday, we went to a geocaching event, and after a big breakfast at Denny's, got to explore a new part of Camp Verde.

Came across these guys a couple of miles into the winding mountain road:


This one wasn't sure he wanted us to get out to look for the nearby cache:


The horses were more friendly.


In fact, they wanted to get in the car and come home with us.


No geocaching trip is complete without at least a couple of scrapes or scratches:


But it's all worth it. Really, how can you not love this?








Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home. ~Daughtry

Harry Potter, Hiking Shoes, and Vacations

Daniel Radcliffe, the actor who played Harry Potter, has apraxia. I know very little else about Daniel Radcliffe. I don't know how old he is, I don't know what other acting he's done, I don't know his favorite ice cream flavor. I read a little interview with him once though, and I will always remember the apraxia, because that is the one diagnosis we received for Spencer... a whole decade ago, back when we were still in "the system." I think it's cool that he decided to speak out about it, and Spencer thinks it's cool that it's something he shares with a celebrity.

In short, apraxia is a motor-planning disorder. With Spencer, it is most noticeable in his speech (verbal apraxia), but it can also affect other motor skills to varying degrees. Things like tying shoes and handwriting (two things that Daniel Radcliffe specifically mentioned) can be difficult.

The first couple of years, I researched until I could research no more. I'm truly glad that I learned what I did about apraxia, because it helped me to understand, and understanding is always a positive thing. But just as positive - if not more so - is the fact that I no longer spend my time thinking about it. Some of the beauty of homeschooling is that your kids are not bound by labels. There's no one trying to "fix" them, no one trying to make them fit their octagon shapes into round holes, no one trying to get them "caught up" to the herd. Spencer, like the rest of my children, can BE. His not being able to tie well or write neatly are not an issue unless he decides they're an issue.

A couple of weeks ago, we returned home from a week-long trip to Colorado. It was an odd trip... a frustrating trip... a fun trip... a sad trip. A stomach bug took down three of the kids, and teased the adults as well. I recognize that as stressful as it was at the time that it's just an unfortunate part of life. Lousy timing to be sure, but we didn't let it ruin the vacation. We hiked, we went on a mountain drive, we enjoyed the hot springs, and we toured a wildlife sanctuary. We actually had a few days of good health in between sick days, and did not take the beauty of the area for granted.


The whole album is here.

When we returned back home (yes, I'm still on the subject of Harry Potter and apraxia. Stick with me), we desperately needed to go sneaker shopping. The younger boys' were getting too small, Spencer's were falling apart, and my trusty old Skechers that I've had for around 6 years had finally decided to give up the ghost and left their soles on a mountain somewhere. They never even made it home, deposited in the trash bin before we left the resort.

Just like Daniel Radcliffe, Spencer usually chooses non-tie shoes. He seemed to hesitate this time though,and browsed through some of the lace-ups as well. We told him that if he wanted to get shoes with laces that we could help him practice some more, or we could get those things that go on the ends so you don't have to tie, and can just slip them on and off. We talked about Harry Potter again. He asked me, "Can Harry Potter do the first part? Because I can." I told him I didn't know. Still undecided about the shoes, he decided to take a day to think about it, and we'd go back when he made up his mind.

That night, I was laying in bed thinking about Spencer and shoes and Harry Potter.

This is what moms do.... we lay in bed when we can't sleep and think about our kids, and how we can help them solve problems. I thought about the question he'd asked me, and it suddenly occurred to me that if he could do the first part (the part where you cross the laces) that he could just do it again with the "rabbit ears" method, instead of struggling with the "loop, swoop, and pull." I was so excited that I had to force myself to stay in bed instead of getting up then and there in the middle of the night.

The next morning I told him what I'd realized, and showed him what I meant on my own shoes. He sat with my shoes for just a few minutes, and ultimately showed me this:


He was more excited than I've seen him in a long time, and told me that now he could choose any kind of shoes he wanted, without worrying about it. I loved for him that he found a way that was easier for him, but more than that I loved that it all happened when he decided it was important to him. I loved that it was never a battle, never an issue... that it happened like everything else should happen: naturally, in its own time, in its own way.

That is why I do what I do.

That weekend, he requested a smoothie to celebrate (Strawberry Surf Rider, thank you very much), and we took him back on that shoe-shopping trip. I don't think he really did want a pair of tying shoes after all, because he ended up choosing - and was very happy with - another pair of slip-ons. I suspect that he just wanted to know that he could tie if he wanted to. And he can.

Quote of the Day

This quote from Jerry and Esther Hicks was in my inbox this morning, and it couldn't have been more timely. It's funny how you can hear the same thing over and over in different words, and it takes that 837th exposure, in exactly the right words, at exactly the right time, for it to really sink it.

Nothing new here, but it spoke to me, and I wanted to share it.

"If you decide to make someone the enemy and you're pushing very hard against them, you don't affect them at all, but you disconnect yourself from the Stream. If someone cheats you, they cannot diminish your experience. They only diminish their experience. You cannot be diminished by someone cheating you unless you get all upset about being cheated and push against them and use that as your excuse to disconnect from the Stream."

Tegan's Zebra

Every night before she goes to sleep, Tegan and I have a conversation that goes something like this:

Me: Goodnight baby. I love you.
T: Yuv you too!
Me: Did you have a good day today?
T: Mm Hmm
Me: What was your favorite part?
T: The animals

Sometimes she specifies animals (a cow is one she mentions a lot, and giraffes and zebras are popular too), whether she has actually seen them that day or not. But her standard answer is always a happy and sleepy "animals." She loves animals, and going to the zoo is one of her all-time favorite things to do. Even when she's been home all day, and the only animal she has seen has been our dog, animals are still the best part of every day. It's as if just knowing that they exist makes her happy.

This past weekend we spent most of the day on Saturday out in the desert... off-roading, geocaching, and picnicking beside a lazy river. On Sunday, we were invited over to our friends' house, and we enjoyed a leisurely dip in their pool, jumped on their trampoline, and enjoyed good food and several hours of conversation and play. It was a lovely weekend, and a fun weekend, and still when Tegan was snuggled up to me, all cozy in her pajamas, her answer was steadfast.

The animals. The zebra. The cow.

I love that she loves animals that much, and I love that they are a bright spot in her day - every day! - whether she has seen any or not. I love that she goes to sleep happy every night, thinking about her animals. I love that no matter what's going on around her, she still has that joy, that wonder, that excitement. Who couldn't stand to take that cue from a two-year old?

I have been stressed out lately. Not stressed really, more like frustrated (and a little sad if I'm being honest) about a situation that I have absolutely no control over. None. I can't control other people being, well, thoughtless and stupid, but I can control my reaction. I can be more like my girl, and I can celebrate animals - or chocolate or flowers or sunshine or any of the other wonderfully simple pleasures in life. I can think about those things even on the not-so-good days, and just forget about the rest.

Today was a Monday. My favorite part was the elephants.

A Human Becoming

by Scott Noelle

In a product-oriented culture, there's a tendency to
"productize" and "package" people. We often forget
that a human being is a living process -- a "human
becoming."

Children are especially dynamic -- often visibly
different from one day to the next -- and no two
children develop precisely the same way. This can be a
challenge for us when we've been conditioned to "need"
the predictability (read: controllability) of static
products.

Many parent-child struggles can be avoided simply by
allowing children to be different than they were the
previous day, or even the previous minute! A toddler
may "hate" peas at the beginning of the meal and
"love" them by the end of the meal, provided the
parent doesn't pronounce the child a pea-hater
in the interim.

Today, be mindful of the way you talk about your
child. Note that *labels* tend to productize. You can
avoid labels by focusing on the process. For example,
"he's a fussy eater" becomes "he's figuring out his
tastes."

Especially avoid "always" and "never" statements
like "she *never* brushes her teeth willingly."
Someday she will. :-)

http://dailygroove.net/human-becoming

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Copyright (c) 2010 by Scott Noelle