The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

We pulled it off.

After a rather odd and stressful week leading up to Christmas, with kids with fevers and husbands with bronchitis, and missed Christmas Eve services, and last minute trips to buy new sleeper couches ... it all somehow came together. I had my lingering doubts right up until 9:00 the night before Christmas, but then it was there: that moment when all is right with the world, that moment when life is fuzzy and warm and we're all together and the kids are happy (at the same time!) When no one's worried about to-do lists or expectations or stresses; when life is just about the holiday, about being together, and about celebrating.

And it was good.

Christmas day was busy and fun, as were the days that followed.

And just like that, another year is over.  I noticed in my online wanderings this morning that lots of bloggers were honoring the end of the year with a list of the "best of the best", sort of a round-up of their top - or most interesting or most noticed or most read - posts for the year.  Never one to miss a party (at least the virtual kind where I don't have to actually be social and talk to people), here is mine.

Best wishes for a healthy, happy, prosperous, and peace-filled 2011.

My Future Street Sweepers

Teens and Toddlers

He Who Spareth the 1/4 Inch Plumbing Supply Line 

Harry Potter, Hiking Shoes, and Vacations

Condemnation 

My friend is one... who take me for what I am

Discipline

It's that time of year again, folks

Attachment Parenting:  Freedom and Joy

Offensive, defined

The Anatomy of a Gingerbread House

This was the first year we bought one of those pre-packaged gingerbread kits, in all its hydrogenated, artificially colored glory.

Everett immediately put himself in charge.

"I'm doing something fun with my brothers and it involves CANDY!"

Sometime around here, 2 year old disappeared.  She was clear across the house.

"No, I don't have a mouth full of candy."

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen.....

It was when I was taking pictures of the finished product that I saw the ever-widening gap on the ceiling.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

The whole thing took an hour, from box to table to mouth.  And it was worth every second, and every penny.

Seven days till Christmas.

Making a list, checking it twice

Last year, we decided not to send Christmas cards.  I wanted to save money, I was concerned about the trees (oh the trees!!), and it seemed just another thing to stress out about during an already busy holiday season.  

Not sending cards made me sad.

This year, we have twice as many things to do, as evidenced by my lack of blogs (another thing that makes me sad) but I was not going to miss my cards again.  So we took some pictures, found a good deal, and cards that were printed on recycled paper, thank you very much.  The kids and I visited the post office for some Christmas stamps, hit the Dollar Tree for some fun stickers to decorate them, and spent an afternoon addressing, licking, sticking and sealing.  

And now it feels like Christmas.

Dora, Breathing and Other Life Lessons

Christmas is in 19 days. In one fell swoop November ended, December began, and we were thrust head-first into holiday mode. We've decorated, we've shopped, we've ordered Christmas cards. We've hung the tree, the stockings, and the advent calendar. We've started the Jesse tree. We've made paper snowflakes, we've gone to the company Christmas party. We've mailed holiday cards to soldiers.

And I feel...

tired.

It's not the kind of tired you feel when you're running around all crazy, stressed and frazzled and trying to do too much. I think far too many people turn the holidays into some sort of competition - even if it's just a competition with themselves - a race to see who can stretch themselves the furthest, and push themselves the hardest. Out-shop, out-gift, out-decorate, out-spend, out-party. It's a race I have no interest in joining. No, my fatigue comes from the simple fact that life is busy with four kids, and as much as I try to live in the moment, try to find peace and stillness no matter what's going on around me, I get caught up and forget how. More than that, I simply forget to breathe.

It seems crazy to me that one can forget to do something as basic (and important!) as breathing properly, and yet I do. One of the things I love about yoga is that it forces me to breathe again... to concentrate on breathing, to calm everything down again, to return to the moment and be able to say, "Ah yes, that feels better." But because not every moment lends itself to the feasibility of spontaneously breaking out into a downward dog, I have to find other ways to return to that place of calm, other ways to remember to breathe.

My kids don't seem to have that problem. They are almost always in the moment, almost always happy. They know that life isn't just about the little things, but that life IS the little things. That's where the happiness is. Not in money or toys or "stuff," but in the little things. In the moment. In the breathing.

A few days ago, Tegan was sitting on my lap at the kitchen table, playing with Moon Sand. Now as any parent can tell you, Moon Sand is cool, but messy. Really messy. But I already had the trash can out, along with the dust pan and broom, because I'd swept up the bits of paper from snowflake-making earlier. I'd clean up the Moon Sand, then move onto the kitchen, which still held most of the mess from the cookie-making we'd done during our play date. There were dishes to be done too, and I had to rinse out Everett's little medicine cup, because he'd need another dose soon. I'd taken him to the dentist for a tooth extraction just the day before, and while it was healing fine, I wanted to be sure we kept up with his after-care. We'd have to think about dinner at some point, and I wanted to try to go to bed fairly early, because I was to babysit at 7:00 A.M. the next morning.

My mind was focused on a million insignificant things. I was sitting with Tegan, but I wasn't there. I wasn't breathing.

"Shhhhhhhhhhh." The girl put her little finger to my lips. Had she heard my racing mind?

"Shhhhhhhhhhh," she said again, in a whisper. "Dora's sleeping."

I made sure to lower my voice before asking, "Where?"

"In here. This is her castle. She was tired from picking blueberries with Boots, so she's sleeping."

And just like that, I was breathing again. I. Love. These. Kids.

Being invited to share in a child's imagination trumps messes. It's more important than clean kitchens, and what we have for dinner, and whether or not I get my 8 hours of sleep. Even though my body was there, I wasn't being present, and she ever-so-gently brought me back to the beauty of the moment... the moment of just being, and playing, and breathing. Together. It wasn't the first time she'd done it, and I imagine it won't be the last. I thank God for these kids, and what they continually teach me. For some reason, they don't need that reminder that adults might need. They know how to live in the moment, and they know how to find peace.

And it's even better than downward dog.

Because I Must

There's a scene that I keep thinking of in the movie Blast From the Past. Blast From the Blast was a very mediocre popcorn movie from 1999, which I watched when I was going through a phase of having to watch every movie Brendan Fraser ever made. It was cute but ridiculous, and it wasn't exactly a cinematic masterpiece. He IS a good actor, but you have to watch Gods and Monsters, School Ties, or With Honors to see it. But I digress.

In the movie, Brendan Fraser is born, and grows up in, a nuclear fall-out shelter, cut off from the rest of civilization until he's 35. There's a scene where his father is trying to explain baseball to him, and his character doesn't understand why the person up to bat runs to first base after he hits the ball. He keeps asking why, and his father keeps saying, “Because he must!” Later in the movie, after he's joined the rest of the world and is able to see a live baseball game for the first time, it clicks. He finally gets it, and he excited yells out, “Oh! Because he Must!”

That is how I feel about writing. I write because I must. It's not even something that I chose for myself. It chose me. For better or worse, there has always been something intrinsic in me that needs to create things out of words.

This is November, which means that I've been working on a novel for NaNoWriMo for the past three weeks. Which also means that the past 20 days have been exhausting. Fall on the floor, body aching, weary-boned exhausting. I have four kids to take care of, a Mike, a house, and 12 pets. I don't have extra time time to write a novel in 30 days, so I have to make the extra time. And I do it simply because I must. I don't always want to, but I have to.

One of the greatest things about homeschooling, and unschooling in particular, is that my kids have the opportunity to follow their passions right now. They don't have to squeeze them in in between school and homework and activities. By design, their lives allow them to do whatever it is that they're passionate about, whatever it is that they must do, almost anytime that inspiration strikes. I remember sitting in school as a kid, hiding behind my book, jotting down an idea for a short story, or a few lines of a poem, or at one point even song lyrics. I remember the frustration of having to sneak it, and the desperation of the time constraint, of trying to get it down I paper before 1) I got reprimanded, or 2) I had to go to my next class. I remember carrying ideas around for days, never getting the chance to translate them onto a page. I am so thankful that I have the opportunity to create something different for my kids, to be able to allow them the freedom to not only find what it is that they're passionate about, but to follow it. Right now.

An interesting thing that I've begun to notice is that the more I support them in their endeavors, the more they support me in mine. A few days ago, when I was discouraged, plagued with writer's block, and frustrated by my out-of-control house it was Spencer who said, “Don't quit. Finish your book....” Not because he particularly cares one way or the other whether or not I finish it, but because he knows it's important to ME. He knows I need to do it. As a mom, it's always a delicate balancing act to make time for your own pursuits while still putting the kids' needs first. And they do still come first, no question about it. Which is why a one month writing spree is perfect for our family... For just thirty days I stay up too late, drink too much coffee, and enter the hazycrazywonderful fog that comes with being immersed in my own little made up world, populated by my own little made up characters.

And then November ends. I've fulfilled that need, we all celebrate, and then we move on to December. If November is about writing, which is in effect about me, December is the exact opposite. December is not about me. December is about the kids. December is about giving. December is about hanging the advent calendar with the 25 different activities leading up to Christmas. December is about creating wonderful memories as a family, and December is about celebrating the birth of Christ.

Every bit as vital as the part of me that was meant to write a novel this month, is the part of me that was meant to create a magical holiday experience next month. I look forward to December so much.

So in ten days, I will (God-willing) have the 50,000 words I need to happily put my novel to rest, set it aside until after the new year, and focus 100% of my undivided attention on the kids, on Christmas, and on celebrating.

Because I must.

Offensive, defined

There is a "nurse-in" today on Facebook, both to celebrate breastfeeding, and to protest the removal of many, many breastfeeding pictures, and in some cases entire profiles, because the powers-that-be find them "obscene" and offensive in some way.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.  Clearly, Facebook is just confused as to what constitutes "offensive."  Maybe this little pictorial will help.

OFFENSIVE:

NOT OFFENSIVE:

Any questions?

P.S.  Thank you to the beautiful moms who allowed me to use your pictures!

Attachment Parenting: Freedom and Joy

This is in response to an article by Erica Jong, entitled Mother Madness, in which she attacks attachment parenting. You can read the entire article here. Or, you can skip reading the article, and just read my blog, because 1) I'm going to share all the high points (or low points as it were), and 2) my blog has a picture of a really cute breastfeeding toddler and hers doesn't.


I actually read the article all the way through a couple of times, both because I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything, and because I sort of enjoy reading things that make me shake my head and go "huh?"  Her arguments make absolutely no sense to me, and I'm still not sure what it is exactly that has her so bent out of shape.    She comes across as sarcastic (and not in a funny way) and angry, and blames it on everything from societal pressures to Angelina Jolie.  She lambasts Dr William Sears and his Baby Book, and complains that the very idea of attachment parenting is an unrealistic and harmful "trend" that just sets women up for failure.


The first thing that had me scratching my head was when she called The Baby Book "today's bible of child rearing."  Now, I think Dr Sears is great, and have read several of his books.  My well-worn copy of The Baby Book is still on my shelf somewhere, dog-eared and dusty.  It's been years since I've picked it up, as I've been busy living and parenting and doing the very things that Ms Jong finds so distasteful.  I was a brand-new mom 13 years ago, and yes, I was thrilled to discover Dr Sears and to learn that what I was already instinctually doing actually had a name.   I never looked at it as a baby-rearing manual, and even if I did... this is a book that was first published in 1993.   Nearly twenty years old, it could hardly be considered the bible of a current trend.


And let's just be real for a minute.  While it may be gaining visibility, attachment parenting is still far from the pop-culture, trend-setting, hip thing to do that the author makes it out to be.   I am exceedingly thankful for the like-minded friends that I've made throughout the years that I've been a parent, but I am (and believe I will remain) in the minority on this.  And that's ok!  


This article seems to assume that attachment parenting is something that is done as a means to an end, a painful prescription for raising perfect children.  Towards the beginning of the article she says,


"Someday "attachment parenting" may be seen as quaint, but today it's assumed that we can perfect our babies by the way we nurture them. Few of us question the idea, and American mothers and fathers run themselves ragged trying to mold exceptional children. It's a highly competitive race."


To say she is entirely missing the point is putting it kindly.  I don't feel as though parenting is a competition.  I'm not at all interested in raising or molding perfect children.  I don't feel any pressure to live up to someone else's ideal, or to meet someone else's certain set of parenting standards.  I, along with lots of other mothers, do what I do simply because it's what feels right.  I am attuned to my children, and I am sensitive to their needs.  And yes:  For my babies, and my house, that has meant breastfeeding them, wearing them, sleeping with them, and allowing them to follow their own internal schedule for weaning and sleeping on their own, among other things.  My goal is not to "produce" perfect or exceptional children, but to love and nurture and appreciate them RIGHT NOW, in the manner that my God-given instincts (not William Sears or Angelina Jolie) tell me to.    


I am happy, and my children are happy.  Our life isn't a perfect life, but it's a joyful life.  Living a lifestyle in which needs are being met, in which everyone acts according to their own authentic truth, and in which people are being respected is to live a life of freedom, not - as the article would have you believe - one of imprisonment.


"Attachment parenting, especially when combined with environmental correctness, has encouraged female victimization. Women feel not only that they must be ever-present for their children but also that they must breast-feed, make their own baby food and eschew disposable diapers.  It's a prison for mothers, and it represents as much of a backlash against women's freedom as the right-to-life movement."


I'm not entirely sure why being a "green" parent must be lumped in with attachment parenting, or why making your own baby food or using cloth diapers would be akin to prison, but I'll bite.  Women should be present for their children.  They chose to have those children, not the other way around.  Breastfeeding has many many benefits over formula.  The fact that it is the healthier choice has been shown again and again, evidenced by the little "breast is best" disclaimer even on all the formula ads.  And cloth diapers and homemade babyfood?  Of course they're great choices, for many reasons.   But you don't want to make them?  Don't.  Easy.  You have your reasons.  But don't assume that those of us who do are doing so for any reason than our own personal convictions.  Don't assume that we're mindless drones bowing to some invisible societal pressures, or imprisoned by some perfect ideal, in the quest to somehow one-up everyone else.  


And why all the guilt?  Since when do women feel the need to measure themselves against anyone else's ideals but their own?  I have friends who grow all their own vegetables and have handmade Christmases.  Cool!  I'm lucky I can keep silk flowers alive, and our Christmases tend towards video games.  Cool!  


"Giving up your life for your child creates expectations that are likely to be thwarted as the child, inevitably, attempts to detach"


I believe this sentence is the one, on my second or third reading, that made me the most sad.  It's as if she's cautioning mothers against caring too much, and giving too much, with the fear that they'll be let down;  with the fear that they'll grow to crave children who never grow up, and never leave their side.  


The opposite is true.  


I did give up a certain amount of freedoms when I had children in order to be the parent that I wanted to be.  It was something I gladly did, and continue to do, for the people who I chose to bring into the world, and into my life.  It was not a sacrifice, or a big act of martyrdom, but a gift.  The only expectations I carry with it are those I would carry with any other gift:  none.  To truly give, you release all expectations.  You give because you want to give, because you love the person you're giving to, and because it's what we were made to do.  Yes, as parents we were designed to give of ourselves to our children.  And when their needs are met, parent and child are confident, happy, and fulfilled... and ready to move onto the next stage of their lives.  Children who know that their parents are there for them  (and haven't been forced to detach before they were ready) gain independence easily, and naturally.  In their own time, and in their own way.  They're the ones who still have good relationship with their parents when they're teenagers.  They're the ones who go off to college (or the Air Force or the work force) with ease, as secure and confident young adults who know who they are and know where they're going.  


When something - or someone - is nurtured, it grows.


Finally, attachment parenting is not a new concept.  Nor is it a conspiracy whose mission it is to heap guilt upon the masses who parent differently.  You don't have to agree with it, and you certainly don't have to aspire to be any other parent than the one that you, in your own heart, want to be.  But if you're angry and defensive, feeling guilty and pressured by mothers who make different choices, maybe that's just the way you feel.  Maybe it's not the fault of those other mothers, or of Dr Sears, or of society at large. 


Maybe, just maybe, you're not quite as happy with your own choices as you claim to be.