Procrastination

Sigh.  I need to do my taxes...at least my portion of the family taxes.  I need to get together my knitting pattern receipts and homeschooling curriculum receipts to Knut.  I need to enter them all into the spreadsheet and get him the exact numbers.  It's just so... so...

I should make some scones.

I need to call customer service of some company for a particular issue.  I hate calling customer service and getting something straightened out.  It stresses me out.  I hate arguing with people.  I have to prep myself with herbal tea.  And what goes better with a cup of tea but some knitting?

Of course, not knitting that should be getting done.  By the way, how many patterns do I need to finish writing up?  4 was it?  Maybe 5?  Hey look!  Another sock pattern I should knit.  I think I might have yarn for that too.  If the yarn is from my stash that makes it feel much more responsible.

I also have to find some suitcases.  Also, I need to find a better cage for Silje's pet rabbit before our new chicks come and kick the rabbit out of the brooder where we've been keeping her.  I'm sure there was something else I'm supposed to be doing.

I'm sure if I sit here knitting long enough I'll think of it...

I'm Blessed

This weekend I have been so stuck.  Knut has been around, so there has been an extra adult around which has allowed me to slide a bit.  I may have watched a few seasons of "Gilmore Girls" on Netflix.  I have been a bit paralyzed, out of sheer expectation.

I have such a full week this week.  Looking at my calendar is stressing me out.  Every rule I have for household management and keeping collective sanity is getting broken this week.  There is nothing to cut.  Should we just not go to the kids' choir concert?  Or maybe it should be Solveig and Ingrid's birthday party we should skip.  Not to mention not one, not two, but three Christmas "parties/banquets/year end parties" on the schedule this week, each promising to be lots of fun.  Fun, but another piece of busy-ness this week.

I'm told I should be working on some sort of Christmas baking too, soon, which hasn't started yet.  I may have to delegate some of that to the kids.

I'm so frustrated with myself because I worked so hard last year to make room for advent.  This season is actually about the birth of Christ.  I want my family to celebrate that.  I want my focus to be on Him.  I'm failing at that this year.  We are perpetually one day behind in our advent readings this month.  We try to catch up, but then we miss the next day.  Every day has been a 2-reading day, when we actually remember.

I don't want Advent to be an afterthought.  I want it to be the main event.

I was working last night on a devotional to give to the Women's Ministries Christmas banquet at church tonight.  It won't be long, and it's not a big deal.  I actually like doing that.  Anyway, it actually made me stop and reflect a bit on Advent, without the hurried "catch up" feeling in my stomach.

I was thinking out the idea of the birth of Jesus.  The incarnation certainly boggles the mind, but I was actually thinking about birth.  Every woman who has been pregnant can relate to the stress of the last few weeks of pregnancy.  There's the discomfort, the constant moving within, the skin pulled tight, and most of all, the constant wondering if it was "time."  I don't know about you, but I always wonder if it was "time" for each of my births right up until about an hour before the baby came.  My kids liked to keep me guessing.

As I was thinking about the rush of the season, and the tendency for the moms in families to take the bulk of the present buying and wrapping, and food preparing, and wondering "why is that?" that we women put so much pressure on ourselves during this season...

it dawned on me that Christmas holds a special spot in my heart, not only because of the beauty of the season and the love of the music, and the joy of the lights.

God chose to enter this world through a woman.

Christmas was delivered through a woman.

I don't mean to get into a battle of the sexes, or dare say that males or females hold more weight or significance in God's eyes.  That's not my intent at all.  I just find it ironic that women often hold the weight of Christmas duties...which is what it was like in the beginning.  I doubt any woman has ever felt Christmas weigh on her like it did for Mary.

What an honor.  What a privilege.

Please don't establish doctrine of duties through my words, but pause and reflect what an honor it is to share the message of Christmas with your children.  You get to set the stage for the message.

And just like birth: Christmas is going to come whether or not we are ready.

We can scurry about our house, nesting for this birth, crossing off to-do lists and driving our spouses crazy as our stress hits the roof.

Sounds like the 3rd trimester, days before birth.  Right?

It's easy to forget how hard those last few weeks before birth are.  When the stress hits, and we start tearing up, "It's not all going to get done" and you're not sure which ball will get dropped, just remember what you are doing, and what this is all for.

It's about a baby.

A baby that's coming whether or not we're ready.  A baby that we know will change everything about our lives.  Life cannot possibly be the same after this birth.  It's about anticipation and expectation.

When you are feeling overwhelmed this season, and hit that point where you think you just can't do it all, remember God picked you to deliver this message to your family.  He picked you.  It's one of the biggest honors he can bestow.  It may feel like the only way to survive this season is to have a very organized calendar and to-do list, and remove all toddlers from the house.  The truth is, Christmas will come, like it or not.  We can't hold it back with our disorganization and over-scheduling.  The way to survive it is to fix our spiritual eyes on what is actually happening.  Breathe.  Visualize.  We must keep our eyes fixed on that baby.  We must pause and take delight in the sheer thought of this baby.  Oh my goodness, a baby was born, and came to turn this world upside-down...or maybe it was to turn it right-side-up.

Either way, this baby changed everything.

Let the scurrying stop now.  Let the distractions and stress fall away.  We all know that "when mama's not happy, nobody is happy." Let me add to that, when mama stands in awe, they all stand in awe... or at least look to see what stopped this busy, crazy woman in her tracks.

I get to deliver this message.  What an honor.  What a privilege.

I'm blessed.

Yarn Along

I'm creeping along snail-paced in both of these projects.  The sleeve on this cardigan is going about 2 inches per week, at the rate I'm going.  There is just so little knitting time this time of year.  Yet I refuse to put the project away and say "after the garden's done."  This has been in my purse, and I get a few rows done waiting in the car here and there.  That's how knitting is often done--those stolen seconds here and there.

I'm nearly done with The Egg and I.  I've been reading a chapter a night, a few nights a week.  I think I have 3 chapters left, so I should be done soon.  I have loved this book so much.  It's hilarious, and as a farmer's wife, it makes me laugh out loud.  I have read reviews about the racism in the book towards the native "indians" that the narrator has.  I saw little traces of it, and then this last week I saw a whole big chapter of it.  In our politically correct world, I don't often hear people say the things that she said, and it really got me thinking.

In my area of the country, I don't really notice racism.  There's not the clash of races here that there is other places in our country.  There were times of my youth that I truly believed it had disappeared, and it was all in people's head.  I hated when people played "the race card."  Now that I'm in my 30s, not only do I see racism everywhere, but I see prejudgment everywhere…even in myself.  Goodness, we all prejudge people to some extent.  Racism is a prejudgement that can be done without even speaking to someone.  I'm not justifying it by any means, most especially in myself.  I'm just stating that when I look at myself, I have really strong opinions about things, and those opinions are not always correct.  To say I was never wrong would be a greater hypocrisy.

And yet…though this narrator has blatant ideas in her head, before she even meets her native neighbors, what solidifies her disgust is the total acceptance in that community of beating and degrading women, of encouraging and allowing blatant alcoholism, with even 10 year olds getting drunk consistently.  She ends up making friends with a small handful of them, but overall, she just can't stand it.

Which brings the other issues to the discussion, if I dare.  It is a delicate balance to not prejudge a people, and to love them as the human beings God created them, and yet not ignoring the very real dangers or issues within that subculture.  It is not acceptable to speak badly of a minority, but what if there are major issues needing addressing within that minority?  Not every Native American she met was a drunk, and some became close family friends, but drunkenness, drunk driving, and wife beating was a very common problem among the families she met.

Or was it?  Maybe she just saw what she wanted to see, and wrote it down.  Is she a reliable narrator in this instance?  I don't know.  In some instances she is not speaking from an attitude of love.  One phrase  she used about how she was glad that land was taken from these people sent chills down my spine.

But it has gotten me thinking.  I know this book has fallen out of favor with many literary people because of these passages, but I think that these passages only got me thinking, and mulling over the issue of racism.  Isn't that the point?  Shouldn't we read things that challenge our thinking, and make us analyze what we believe to be true?

The hard part in this culture, I think, is that people get so scared to talk about it.  It's so easy to screw up that kind of conversation and look like a fool.  There are terms to use, and terms that offend.  To be honest I'm not always current with the proper terms.  I have met indians who prefer the term "Native American" and ones that prefer "Indian."  I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to being properly politically correct.  While some element of the politically correct crowd annoys me, the side that offends without care or compassion to people's feelings annoy me too.  So it feels as though I have no camp that I belong in.  I'm in the camp that desires to love people, but does so imperfectly.

Linking up with Ginny's Yarn Along.

Break in the Clouds

This last week was really hard.  I crashed and burned a bit.  Okay, a lot.  This winter was so long and so cold.  So many of the kids' weekly activities just finished for the year, which is usually a big sigh and then crash.  I was dealing with some cyst/health issues on top of that.  All of our usual babysitters, including Grandma had been busy or sick for at least a month so there just hasn't been many breaks.  On top of that Ingrid had about a 2 or 3 week stretch (I stopped keeping track) of getting up every 2 hours at night again.  We couldn't figure out why.  Then Knut made some thoughtless comments, and then the rain came...literally.  The skies got gray, the air got colder, the sun left, the kids were stuck inside, and I spent a whole day on the couch.

I just couldn't deal with it all.  I just shut down.

I don't do that often.  I did it a lot after my car accident, but I thought I was past this darkness, but I guess I wasn't.

Thankfully Knut was home from the farm due to the rain, and took over a bit the next day.  He allowed me time, and I got to fill my stomach with nourishing foods, and I got to exercise, which is always a huge help.  It took a few days of prioritizing self-care, to get my mind on straight again.  Ingrid even cooperated and started sleeping at night again later in the week.  I'm very grateful for that.

I hate the darkness.  I hate it.  It makes me want to pray for, and reach out and hug my dear friends who live with that depression day in and day out.  It's suffocating.

I think one of the hardest parts of being a mom is balancing taking care of others and taking care of yourself.  You'd think that's a simple line to draw, but it never is.

On Saturday I was feeling a bit more myself.  Shaky, but at least more steady.  Knut took a few of the kids to the farm's workshop to work on a "secret" Mother's Day present for me in the morning.

They got back home just before lunch.  I saw on Facebook that morning that one of my friends was having a jewelry party at a coffee shop in town, selling jewelry made from women in Uganda paid with fair wages.  I asked if it was okay if I ran into town to do some shopping by myself.  Knowing my fragile state, and seeing the sunny day, he told me to go and have fun.

So I got to stop by a few places in town.  I ordered a pretty beaded bracelet at the party.  I got to talk for awhile with my friend there, which was so good for the soul.  I picked up some deals at thrift shops/antique stores that had some sales, particularly items for my newly painted kitchen.

Mostly I just breathed in the warm air, stood in the sunshine, talked with my friends about deep things, since we're all awkwardly bad at small talk.

So I also came home this rubber spatula I saw at the Nordic Galleri with a design of a knitted sweater!  Getting this was a no-brainer.  In fact the owner of the store is a great knitter herself and I've met this sweet woman a few times.  She probably brought this back from Norway thinking, "Hmmm...Gretchen will buy this."  It's really a conspiracy.  Plus they were handing out heart shaped pieces of homemade waffles with lingonberry jelly at the check out.  It's sort of my happy place.  I asked the lady working there what spice I was tasting in the waffles that was so delicious.  She said it was cardamom.  I'm so doing that next time I make waffles...with my Norwegian-sweater-spatula of course.

(picture taken by one of the kids)

I also knit a lot over the weekend.  Some people jog for clarity.  I knit.  One of my friends gave me this verse, that I've been saying to myself as I've been knitting:

"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken."  Psalm 62:1-2.

It was very healing.  I've been diving into the subject of "God is our rest" for the past months.  I can't think of a more practical time when that concept has hit home for me.

Grace Rules

This morning I woke up in my own bed.  Flannel sheets, and a large warm body to my back and a small warm body to my front.  My alarm went off.

I thought long and hard about setting my alarm last night.  I was tired, and I was pretty sure the kids would sleep in after our long trip.  I was eager to start our first day back home in a good way.  I had so much to do.  Suitcases needed to get unpacked.  Meals needed to be made.  Children needed to get cleaned.  The kids were craving some structure and normal.

I spent a good hour the night before crafting the perfect schedule for today.  Everyone had jobs to do.  Everyone was scheduled some outside time.  Preparation for the healthiest of meals to get all of our traveling stomachs back on course was scheduled in as well.  With such a full day, I knew I would need some time with God first.  So I set my alarm.

I know I've spoken before Ingrid was born how I often pray that God will wake me in the morning at the right time to have some Bible reading and prayer time before the rest of the family wakes up.  I fail so badly at having regular devotions, but if I leave it in God's hands to remember, and simply obey and get up it's much easier.  However, God has given me much grace since Ingrid has been born to just get the sleep I can get and not get confused in the morning when she wakes up at 5:30 and I wonder if I should be having devotions or going back to sleep.

So I decided to just rest in grace, and return to my daily devotions when I felt God leading me to it.  Now that Ingrid is over 3 months old, I'm missing that time dearly.

I hesitated setting my alarm, even though I knew it wasn't a sign of my lack of trust that God would wake me if he wanted to.  No, I just wanted it to be that much of a priority.  I was that desperate for it.  However, it reminded me of all my years of failing to get up when that alarm went off.  It reminded me of all the times I've set out to have a spiritual life, and fell flat on my face.  I felt to vulnerable for failure, but so desperate for some time with God.  So I set my alarm despite my memories.

This morning as the alarm quietly went off, Knut told me that it was too early, and I should sleep while the kids sleep.  So I lay there for about 10 minutes, and then got up.  I whispered that I needed some prayer time today.  As soon as I sat down in my chair in our bedroom, Solveig started crying.

I went into the girls' room, and picked her up.  She had pooped out of her diaper again, this time all up her front.  She was still feeling the effects of the road on her system.  So I brought her to the bathroom and changed her pajamas, and got a warm washcloth and wiped her all down.  She snuggled back into my arms, and I laid her back down in the crib to sleep some more.

I opened up my Bible, but wasn't sure where to start.  I have been reading some devotionals on Lent lately, so I figured I should start somewhere near Holy Week in the gospels.  So I flipped towards that part of the Bible, and landed somewhere in Luke.  My eyes went to the story of the Good Samaritan, so I started there.  I read how holy people with busy schedules walked past by a man in need, because he was not a priority.  I kept reading and next Jesus went to the house of Mary and Martha.

One sister was doing all the work, and the other was sitting at Jesus' feet and listening to him teach.  The working sister asked Jesus to make her sister serve and relieve some of the burden as well.  Jesus said the one who was sitting at his feet had the right priorities.

It hit my heart very hard.  My day was scheduled so perfectly.  While that was all well and good, I felt like God was telling me that while the schedule is good, and grace is good, my priority should be the grace. My priority should be his teaching.

The schedule is good, but it is not the god.

Afterward, I went downstairs and made some oatmeal for the kids for when they woke up.  I was determined they were going to eat right so I made plans to feed them comfort food even from breakfast, even though that's normally something Knut gets up to do.  I was so full of hope, and full of joy in being back in my own kitchen.  Today was our get-back-on-track-day, and we were going to get back on track.

All the kids woke up well and loved their oatmeal.  All except Solveig.  She woke up cranky and yelling.  She was yelling at everyone, and wasn't sure what she wanted or how to communicate what she wanted.  All her words left her as she used only pointing and screaming.  She cried.  I held her.  I put on some fun music.  I laughed with the other kids while she was on my lap.  None of it helped her snap out of her bad mood.

I couldn't get one thing done on my schedule because Solveig needed me to hold her.  I started the other kids on their tasks, and thankfully, they did them wholeheartedly.  Solveig still stunk from the trip and the night before.  Elias was asking for a bath, so I decided to stick them both in the bathtub even though it was a break from my perfect schedule.  They weren't supposed to get their bath until that night.

She didn't like the bath.  She either screamed or stared straight ahead.  Elias had fun with all the toys she didn't play with.  Finally, I picked out a cute, comfortable outfit and got her dried off and dressed.  She was all out of screaming and yelling.  Only the snuggles were left.  So we snuggled until Elias got all prune-y and I had to take him out as well.

I asked the older kids to finish up their un-packing chores and then instead of moving onto their other jobs, I let David and Elias go play in the snow, and let Silje just read a book by the fire.  I set Solveig by the t.v. instead of the coloring I had planned for her to do and put on her favorite show as she just rested her head down.  I got out the fish from the freezer that is supposed to be supper tonight.  I finished my oatmeal and coffee.

Ingrid was getting clingy and I spent the next hour holding her.  She's finally sleeping in her favorite spot by the warm fireplace.

Elias came in from outside with a bloody nose, but not too bad.  David had just thrown a snowball at him in fun, and Elias' nose bleeds easily when he is overly tired.  David came in from outside and apologized.  I told him I knew he was just playing and it wasn't intentional.  He wanted to come inside so I asked him to pick up his skis and put them away and he did so without so much as a complaint.

Silje needs some alone time.  David needs some outside time.  Elias needs some rest time.  Solveig needs some snuggles and rest.  Ingrid needs to be held.

The schedule failed.  Grace ruled.

It's a lovely day, isn't it?

Why Caroline Ingalls is My Hero

Whenever I read The Little House series to my kids, especially the 1st two books when the kids are little, I love noting the mom.  I love the mom in these books so much.  When I think of the pioneer woman, and wonder how she did it, I read between the lines of these books and see the answer to my question.  Here are some things that I really admire about Caroline.

She was always teaching her children and she had rules.  She also had good expectation of herself.
I sometimes feel guilty that I'm not a "fun mom."  OK, I feel guilty about that a lot.  I feel like I should be creating these huge events for my children, and setting up this amazing life of imagination and blessings on them.  Things Caroline is quoted saying are things like "put on your sunbonnet" and "set the table" and "bring in some wood."  She managed her household and parented her children, and recognized that kids can find fun easily by themselves.  You don't hear her say "Let's do this fun art project using 423 pieces" or directing games for the kids.  She's always working.  She gives her kids responsibility, and doesn't feel guilty about it.

I don't see Caroline feeling like she's a bad mom because she doesn't have huge birthday parties for the kids, or lamenting over not ever making those cupcakes as cool as the ones on Pinterest.  She's quite content with just making sure everyone is fed and clothed everyday.

She lets her kids get dirty.
Mary and Laura are playing in rivers, climbing trees and tossing around a pig's bladder like a balloon.  Sure, she's sometimes helping Mary with her nine-patch quilt, but she doesn't mind Laura making mud pies in the background.  To her, kids getting dirty is just a part of childhood.

She's openly in love with her husband and honors him in front of her children.  Ma and Pa are mushy together in front of the girls all the time.  Caroline puts her handprint on each corn cake she makes, because Pa says that just having her handprint on it means he doesn't need to add any other sweetener.  She's seen playing with his hair when he's resting in the grass.  She laughs when he's being silly, and she lifts him up in status when she talks about him to the girls.  He's the hero of the family, and she speaks of him to the girls that way.  She doesn't act jealous that the girls seem to love his jolly attitude and violin playing when her time with the kids consisted of saying "take a nap" and "watch Baby Carrie."  It almost seems that she sets it up that way.  She gets the girls excited to see Pa come home, and pumps them up for the fun they'll have when he gets back from hunting rabbits.  She just loves seeing her family enjoy each other.

She's levelheaded and strong.
When Indians come to the house, she feeds them, and shows no fear in front of her girls.  She knows what needs to be done from the dangerous to the practical, and she faces the challenges before her with such logic, but also with lots of honesty.  She has no shame in saying when she's afraid, but she doesn't let that fear rule her...all when her girls are watching.  She's their role model.

She makes everything beautiful, and is content to work with what she has.
She puts the china doll on the fireplace mantel, and lets the family admire it.  You don't hear her whining to the family, though, that she wishes she had a whole china doll collection.  When Pa builds a house, she encourages him to rest instead of be too ambitious.  She doesn't feel entitled to things, but when things come her way, she uses them to bless her whole family with the gift of beauty.  She takes care of what she has rather than sulking over what she doesn't have.  She takes the little ingredients she has, and makes meals special.  She is happy when they have sugar and makes a party of it, but when they don't, she makes the lack of sugar not seem so bad.

She's a total pragmatist.  It's hard to argue with that.  However, even though her life is full of practical things, and doing things the right way, and working hard, she still appreciates a violin playing at the end of the day.  She doesn't just make blankets to keep warm, she makes them beautiful just because.  Beauty and art are as important to her as practicality.  She doesn't let either of them dominate.

She is not controlled by clutter.
I used to wonder how a pioneer woman made it without a washer and drier.  Well, when people only have 1 old set of clothes to wear on laundry day, and 1 new set of clothes, there's not much to wash once a week.  Laundry for her took an hour or two once a week.  She laid everything out on the grass to dry and went about her day.  You don't see them hauling everything but the kitchen sink across the prairie.  No, she's the master of "make it work."  She makes do with so little, and actually THRIVES on little.

She doesn't have a baby book for each of the kids, and she doesn't stay up late writing in there which tooth they lost on which date.  She doesn't take pictures, or feel bad when she misses taking a video of first steps.  She's in the moment all the time.  Her mind thinks about what they will eat, making sure everyone has bedding for the night and has what they need.  There's not a long list of "things good mothers do" in her head, from blogging to scrapbooking, playdates and date nights.  Nope, her life isn't controlled by the clutter of things, nor the clutter of activities.  She keeps it simple, and does a few things well.

She doesn't read books on parenting.
I'm not saying reading them is bad.  I hope not, because I have a whole shelf of them on my bookshelf. I love to read articles on the subject.  However, I envy her just doing what needs to be done.  Maybe she did agonize over what sort of life her kids would have not going to the library every week, or if her kids would end up in therapy.  It doesn't seem so, though.  Maybe she wonders if they're ruining her kids' lives by putting so much responsibility on them and isolating them from their peers.  There's no hint of that, though either.  She doesn't agonize over how to discipline, or their self esteem.  She knows who she is, and what she's about, and she doesn't need any expert to help her figure that out.  She teaches them about life, about work, and she teaches them manners.  Those 3 things are the theme of her quotes.  Almost all of her quotes from the books are commands.

She likes a good adventure, and she dreams.
I've read other books like Giants in the Earth where women crossing the prairie didn't do as well as Caroline.  Some women literally went insane.  Some women complained every mile of the way westward.  Not Caroline, though.  Her husband proposed an adventure that required leaving her home and family and everything she had ever known.  It was hard, but she did it.  You see her cry when she leaves her parents, but you never hear her complain.  She doesn't puff up or make light of the challenges to her children, but when her husband is there, she is a tower of sense and open-mindedness.  Sure, let's build the fireplace this way.  Um...let's put the well over here.  She seems to welcome this life interruption of moving West with such grace, that I admire her.

I'm Blessed

God has really been working on my heart on one issue lately, that I thought I'd share today.  It's not one I've conquered, and maybe will never conquer.  Like one never says they've conquered weeds in their garden.  It's the issue of my need for Him.

You see, I find that especially since I've become a mother, but even before then, there are things that I feel I must do.

I must eat.
I must sleep.
I must shower.
I must see people every once in awhile.
I must get out of the house.

Sometimes as a mom, your needs get down to the bare minimum.  You re-evaluate what is actually a need, and what is actually a want.

This list above is a very incomplete list, and mostly so because I don't have something very important on it:

I need to spend time with God. 

However, that seems to be trumped by my need for sleep, my need to eat, my need to see my friends, my need to knit, my need to catch up on Facebook, my need to go through a magazine, my need for a clean house, my need to just vent to a friend over the phone...etc.  Somehow my need to spend time with God gets shoved to the bottom of the list, and becomes something I complain about not having, instead of actually moving it up in priority.

Over the years, I've tried to take opportunities as I see them to ask mothers with kids older than mine, or who has more kids than me, and someone who I regard as spiritually mature: "How on earth do you spend time with God?"  How is it done when you're a mother?  How do you do it?  How do you deal with the interruptions?  How do you focus on just Him?  This was something that I used to do, and yet find so difficult at this stage.  Honestly, it's always been difficult, but I seem to be more satisfied with my excuses during this stage of my life.

One mom said that she doesn't ever find big chunks of time anymore, but simply has a stack of Bible verses on her counter, and throughout the day, each day, she memorizes a new one.  That whole day she just says that verse over and over.  I tried that for awhile, and it was an improvement.  I liked having God's word to comfort me throughout the day.  It was very powerful.

There was still a void, though.  I missed praying.  I hated just shooting prayers up throughout the day like flares in an emergency.  I missed the relationship, and the quiet of prayer time.

The answer of "how do you spend time with God" question that I have heard most often, I heard once again this summer when I talked to a speaker at a convention who had 7 children.  She said that she prayed every night that God would wake her up in the morning, before everyone else, so they could have their time together.  She knew that if she set her alarm, everyone would get up, and then what's the point?  No, she said she prays for a quiet wake up from God himself.

I had actually done that before: pray before bed that God would wake me up at just the right time when the house is quiet and we can spend time together.  It does work, or at least it has for me.  It's been a few years since I've done that.  You see...

I need my sleep.

I don't fall asleep easily at night, and many times I don't get to bed before midnight.  I'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.  I know that God gives us rest, that God asks us to rest.  I don't think sleeping is bad, because sleeping is from God.  And I love sleep.

However, God has been teaching me that I need to find my rest in Him first.  He is the source of rest.

That's what I'm learning: God is the source of rest.  Not sleep.

God is the source of unwinding.  Not Facebook.  Not knitting.  Not mom's night out.

God is the friend to vent to and talk out my problems.  Not my sister.

God is more important than coffee in the morning.  I'm talking serious stuff here.

The thing is, I don't crave him like coffee.  I don't love him more than that precious last hour of sleep in the morning.  However, I wanted to crave him like coffee.  I wanted to love him more than sleep.  So I started praying that God would help me want it even more.  He told me to obey.

The longer I've been a Christian, the more I see things happen through obedience.  So many times I wonder why God asks us to do things.  So many times I see that he doesn't tell us why until after we obey.  We don't understand some doctrines until we walk in them.  We would love to desire first, but the fact of the matter is, sometimes we have to obey first.  Maybe all the time we need to be obeying first.  

So lately, no matter when I go to sleep, my eyes pop open about 5:30am.  Sometimes I tell God "not today" and always regret it.  He is always willing to give me another chance.   I've been trying to more often say, "Thank you, God.  Yes I would like to spend some time with you."  Turning him down should be as absurd as turning down your husband when he offers to dance with you.  I want to dwell on the thought that my Creator, the God of the universe who designed the wing of every butterfly, who tells the Sun when to rise, and controls the tide...wishes to spend time with me.  I want to be present to what is actually happening here.

It's often still dark, so I climb out of bed, so I don't drift back to sleep.  I wrap a blanket around me, sit down in a not too fluffy chair, and grab my Bible and prayer notes on my bedside table.  By the light of my cell phone (I should really find a flashlight or buy a reading light or something) I read a chapter from the Bible.  I think about it, and reread certain parts.

Then I start sharing my heart with God.  I use my prayer cards for this. My brain isn't working so well that time of morning, so on each of these index cards I have things that have been on my mind.  I have a card for me, for every person in my family, for my siblings and extended family, for Knut's siblings and extended family.  I have one for our church.  I have one for people in our government.  I have cards for people I worry about and feel tempted to meddle in their lives because of that worry.  This isn't my wish list, this is my list of things on my heart that I want to share with God.  Sometimes he removes the worries and fixes the problem.  Sometimes he explains why they are there, and helps me process through them.

When I have prayed through each card, I place them back inside my Bible.  Then I climb back into bed and warm up next to my husband.  When I get out of bed for real later, it's much lighter.  It's starting the day without those worries dragging me down.  I start the day knowing God is handling it.  I'm sure once God has started working on me more, I won't go back bed after our time together.  I'll go downstairs and make a big breakfast for my kids and present myself to my husband all dressed and bright eyed.  That miracle has not yet come to pass. 

It's been easier to go to bed at night.  I think I'm sleeping heavier too.  I guess I'm saying that I've been feeling more rested being woken up in the morning, not less.  God is not some sort of trick.  He must feel like banging his head against the wall all the time when I try to tell him all the things that I need, and he says back: "Yes, but don't you think I know what you need?  Don't you think you should listen to what I say you need?  Don't you think I might know just a little bit better?"  All this time I've been telling him, I need my sleep.  He's been trying to tell me, "Let me worry about your sleep.  What you need is me."

I have not arrived, and I don't want to brag that I have, nor do I wish for this to be another level of legalism that I wish to encourage other mothers to achieve.  I just want to share with everyone who feels tired:

God is the source of rest.  

God has been blessing me abundantly with rest, both physically, and mentally.  If we are feeling constantly weary, perhaps we are trying to find rest outside of God.  Perhaps our list of needs needs rearranging.  Yes, God has given us sleep, food, coffee, friends, fellowship, etc.  Those are not bad things.  They are improperly used, though, when we use them to replace God.  That's something God is showing me. 

"In vain you rise early, and stay up late, toiling for food to eat—for he grants sleep to those he loves." 

Psalms 127:2

Ironically enough, if you read the verses after this one in the Bible, it talks about how having lots of children is a blessing too.  I always found that ironic that God talks about blessing with sleep and blessing with children in the same breath.   I'm not sure if he meant for me to laugh every time I read that passage.  I think he's trying to make a point.

As I've been preparing for this post on how God has been blessing me with rest, this song has been going through my head day in and out.  I'll leave it with you:

1. I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold;
   I’d rather be His than have riches untold;
   I’d rather have Jesus than houses or lands;
   I’d rather be led by His nail-pierced hand
   • Refrain:
     Than to be the king of a vast domain
     And be held in sin’s dread sway;
     I’d rather have Jesus than anything
     This world affords today.
2. I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause;
   I’d rather be faithful to His dear cause;
   I’d rather have Jesus than worldwide fame;
   I’d rather be true to His holy name
3. He’s fairer than lilies of rarest bloom;
   He’s sweeter than honey from out the comb;
   He’s all that my hungering spirit needs;
   I’d rather have Jesus and let Him lead

Do we have a mother's verse?

I'd rather have Jesus than playgroups or sleep;
I'd rather know him, than than beauty keep;
I'd rather have Jesus than crafting or friends;
I'd rather be His, and on Him depend.

         Then to have the best behaved children in the land
         Or have my house constantly clean;
         I'd rather have Jesus than anything,
         To know Him, and be led by HIS hand.

That's all I got.  Like I said, this does not describe where I have arrived, it describes my journey.  It points where I want to be, not where I am.  I am so grateful, and so BLESSED  that God has been working on me...

and meeting the needs he knew I was neglecting all along.
        

As always, please leave in the comments how God has been blessing you this week.  If you have the inability to be concise like me, feel free to leave a link to your blog post on the topic.  Whether it's something big or small, spiritual or material...God is blessing us everyday and it is good to "shout it from the rooftops" and praise Him.

The Law - A Devotional

When talking with fellow Christians, and dealing in my own life, I think understanding God's law and it's purpose can be the most confusing.  It's not just what God asks of us, but WHY God asks it of us.  If we are not saved by works, but through faith in Jesus Christ, than does the law even have a purpose?

I grew up, and have remained an evangelical Lutheran.  Lutherans are big into the "Law and Gospel" when it comes to theology.  Growing up, I had it divided into the "bad and good" parts of the Bible, at least mentally.  The law was bad, and I did not like the law.  The gospel saved me, and I liked the gospel.  Now, I'm pretty sure that is not what my church taught, but it's how I interpreted that teaching.

As I've grown older, I've come to love the law.  I'm so grateful God did not abolish it, but fulfilled it.  I think about it often, and I dwell on Psalms like 119 that goes on and on about how good the law is, and how good it is to meditate on it.

How can we reconcile the law and gospel?  How can the law be good when it condemns us.  Do we cling to legalism, as if it could save us?  It cannot.

As I've dwelt on this thought, I've been given a picture of the whole law/gospel situation, that I'd like to share with you.  It's more like a vision, or parable.  I don't want to put too much weight on it, as it is extra-biblical.  Like all allegories/stories, there will be holes I'm sure.  It's just a thought I've been dwelling on.

Let's imagine we are in darkness.  We are separated from God because of our sin.  Let's make this place a deep mine, under the ground.  It's so dark that we cannot see our hands.  We are utterly lost.  In this desperate state, we start to see these air shafts come to light.  Burrowed down from heaven, God created these shafts to bring us light, and hope.  Each shaft that forms gives we who are in the dark mine a glimpse of heaven...and a glimpse of God Himself.  Light floods the area of each shaft.  He calls these shafts "Law."

We peer through them, and see unattainable beauty---beauty that we've never imagined.  The jewels glimmer...the light flickers against the gold.  We see a place of no sin...no selfishness...no greed...

complete holiness.

We see a world and a God we are separated from.  We try to climb through the shafts, or "Laws" and stumble out.  We cannot do it.  We fall.

Some wish the Laws never came and that we'd be better off living in the darkness.  How much worse is it to see paradise, and not be able to get there?  Others try multiple shafts, trying to scale each one, in a tiring, exhausted way.

Then word comes that God in heaven sent his Son down to the mine, and made safe passage up for us.  He came down in our muddy hole, and found a way out for us.  He rescues us from our mine.  We each have an invitation in hand to go up with Him.  We now wait for our name to be called.

The wait changes things.  Now this God we have seen through these air shafts has made us a way...has given us a promise.  He's given his Word.  Do we think him a liar, and try to climb out through the air shafts again?  No.  Do the air shafts disappear?  No...God made them, and nothing can destroy them.  They remain.  He leaves them for us to study Him when we ache for heaven. 

As we wait for our name to be called...for that moment when we get to leave the mine, and breathe in the fresh air of heaven for the first time, and smell the smells, and feel sunlight all around...we wait.  We wait in faith in the one who made the promise to bring us there when the time was perfect.

What do we do during this wait?  Do we sit in a corner of the darkness?  No!  We cannot stand it anymore...especially knowing where our home is!  This news is so transforming that we run under each air shaft to see it more...see it better.  This is our future home we are seeing...this is our God.  Some sit under an air shaft, and paint what they see.  Some just sit and stare.  Others sing songs about the glory.  Heaven is on the brain, and it is evident with all who see it.  It becomes evident in behavior who has spent time looking through the laws, and who ignores them completely.

We look through the law and try to understand God better.  We know He is our Master and Savior and we just want to know Him.  We look through these light holes and study Him.  Often, we try climbing these shafts to try to just get a better view, and are reminded every time that this is not the way.  We can not forage our way up  there through our strength. 

Over time, we find our favorite laws to stand under and stare.  We form groups under each law, and some even start to declare "Our law is the most important."  "Our law has the best view."  "You can see God best through our law."  We get confused...because all of the laws God made are from Him.  Even more importantly, we should all know that our salvation is not coming through these laws, but through the passage made by Jesus Christ.

Some start to condemn the laws, saying we should ignore them until our name is called.  They only divide.  They only discourage.  They start to call these laws "evil."  They call those who live under them, "legalistic."  Which is a bit of a stretch because the proper definition of "legalistic" in this imaginary world, would describe the people with the climbing gear trying to scale the miles of shafts up to heaven.  They block the light in their efforts, and fall every time.

No, those who spend their days studying the law, and soaking in the light of the law are not legalistic.  They are simply full of hope...and they cannot get their minds off of this heaven, and this God.  While they wait for their name to be called, they want to spend every moment soaking in the rays of heaven.

I suppose what I'm trying to explain is this: God gave us the law as an image of His character.  It is His standard, and though we cannot reach Him through it, it is not evil.  It is His character...His unattainable standard.  We will live this standard in heaven where there will be no tears, no death, no sin, no selfishness...just worship.  If we hate the law, and disregard it as meaningless in a life where Christ has made the way for us...isn't that disregarding the world and God in whose presence we will enter?

My purpose in writing this is not to convict those who feel oppressed by the law.  My purpose is not to make people "more good" because that is not possible.  I do not want people to try to climb to heaven this dangerous way.  My purpose in writing is to encourage and inspire my fellow Christians that: to study the law is good.  To love the law is good.  It is full of encouragement and hope.  We as a generation should not push it aside, and wait in darkness.  The law is not the past...something old that makes no difference.  The law is our future.  It points to heaven, and the One who created the law, and called it good.

Granted, some of the laws, such as sacrifices, have been fulfilled through Christ.  Studying them as well teaches us more about God.  There will be no sacrifices in heaven.  It's part of God's story, though, and we should value it.  There are many parts of the law, and categories of the law.  It is a journey to see how each of them points to the character of God.  I fear sometimes that my own generation casts the law aside, saying it's old fashioned, and it no longer applies, and the gospel (aka New Testament to many believers, although the gospel is found just as freely in the Old as well as the New Testament) well, the gospel is the only "important" part.

I make no claims that we are saved through the law.  I will always stand behind this, though: if it comes from God, then it is good, and it should not be cast aside as meaningless.

Pardon the Small Talk

Some of you who know me, and many who don't may guess that I write as a way of processing.  It's my way of thinking and recording and documenting.  I like to be as honest as I can be because otherwise it is without purpose.  I don't think that I owe the world an explanation of my life, and I don't think it's bad to keep things to myself.  However, not sharing something that I desire to write about is very difficult.  If you can picture all the words floating around my head, it's like there's a big elephant standing right in the middle of all these words getting connected.

So imagine what it's like having multiple elephants standing in my head, and how difficult that has made writing.  One elephant is of course designing a big project that is due at a magazine at the end of the month.  I want to write about that process, and I will...just not yet.  Then there's a few elephants roaming in my family life that are really big, and I can't wait to tell you all about them, but they're hinging on making sure we've finished getting everything prepared for those announcements.  There are favors to be asked of people, and permissions to still come through etc. etc.  So I have to wait, and while I'm great at keeping other people's secrets, I'm terrible at keeping my own.

Then there's one elephant I'd love to talk about but am too chicken to.  Plain and simple.  Talking about it will put me into some sort of mothering camp, and I hate mothering camps.  Some mothers do things this way, and they sit in one camp and throw stones at the other mothers doing things a different way in the other camp.  So if you start rattling off some place, or belief you have arrived after a journey, people say, "O, you've arrived in 'This Camp'", then all the mothers know which category, or camp you belong to, and it's just annoying because I like having mom friends in all camps.  This day in age it's tricky to do because each camp only sees the genius of their own philosophy, and sees the flaws in the philosophy at all the other camps.  Sometimes I feel like keeping my mouth shut so I can walk in between camps and glean knowledge from each of them without someone thinking I'm in their camp to judge because I obviously belong in a different one.

So I sit down at the computer and my words get all jumbled up, and I wonder what in the world to write, so I write little.  I am not enjoying that because it feels like I'm making small talk with a good friend over coffee.  I'm not into small talk and have the habit of getting to deep subjects so quickly I think it makes people uncomfortable sometimes. 

All those elephants are surrounded by all these little rabbits and they go running off on their little rabbit trails, and I cannot follow any of them.  I like rabbit trails too.  They're fun.

So to follow the advice of Mrs. Dashwood in "Sense and Sensibility", if I cannot think of anything appropriate to write I should restrict my comments to the weather.

I spent all afternoon a few days ago planting some flowers in pots and setting them around the garden in the rocky places.  That evening, a storm came through and in the morning, all my work was ruined and the pots were broken.  It was very discouraging.

Now that I'm on a roll, I'll try to list as many things as I can tell you that are all true.  We'll call it a writing exercise.

 -Solveig hasn't taken her afternoon nap in 2 days now because of the kids' schedule bringing them here and there and she falls asleep in the car for 5 minutes and then calls that her 2 hour afternoon nap.  I'm very frustrated by this.  She falls apart every day around supper because she's so tired.

-Solveig has started waking up at night too.  I think her sleep schedule is off during the day and that's why.  Still, knowing why doesn't make it any less tiresome.

-I'm tired.

-I should be planting the rest of my garden on this fine day and I am not.  I have no acceptable excuse for this, and for some reason, I'm fine with that.

-I moved all of the new school books, the ones in storage boxes on and around the dining room table onto the cabinet space (since the bookshelf space isn't done) in the new, unfinished built-in that Knut is working on in his spare time, even though they don't belong there.  I can move them when the place they belong is built.  This built in is designed for storage of our school supplies and growing school library.  O, and for Knut's imaginary new t.v. too that he thinks he's getting.

-Knut doesn't have any spare time.

-Another round of swimming lessons starts tomorrow.

-We have made rhubarb crisp twice now this season.

-I've given up coffee...again.  So now I just get caffeine through chocolate, therefore I'm now eating much more chocolate.

Quotes That Last Forever

Growing up in my family, and I'm sure likewise in most, everyone seemed to tell the same stories.  The stories told about me usually, in circulation to this day, I can narrow down to 2 stories.  The time when I spit out my green beans into my milk without anyone noticing, and then when I left the table, my mom made my brother finish my milk so it would not go to waste.  After all, he was always hungry.  My sister tells me that this story made my name famous among the 2nd graders at the school she taught at.

The other story is basically the first of many showdowns I had with people.  Shortly after my parents separated, my grandparents moved in to help out.  I wasn't even in kindergarten yet, and after seeing my brother and sister leave for school in the fall, I was finishing up my bowl of cereal, and my grandpa told me to finish the milk in the bottom of my bowl.  I, apparently, looked him square in the eye and told him in the biggest 5-year-old stern voice: "You're not the boss of me."  I didn't shout it.  I just wanted him to know that he did not intimidate me.

Writing that out, I realize that the stories about me both involve me not finishing milk.  Funny, because Knut complains about that too.  Huh...

Anyway, there was a moment last weekend where Silje said something that will be burned into my brain forever.  I absolutely must record it.  Last Saturday we went to an early morning basketball game.  Then we came home to do chores before Silje was going to a friend's birthday party.  Still after that, we had a family over for supper.  (Knut's doing his I'm-soon-going-to-not-see-people-because-I-will-be-planting-the fields social juggle right now.)

Anyway, I was running around vacuuming, changing sheets, etc. etc.  I had assigned the 2 older kids jobs as they are somewhat able to do chores without me in the room.  At least I'm trying to get them to that point.  Silje's job was to fold and put away clothes.  She's very good at this job.  However, there was a lot of laundry, and the socks nearly threw her over the edge.  I was planning on letting the kids take a break after about an hour of work, in which I'd most likely forget to ask them to help again.  I'm not saying I was intentionally not going to ask them, but you moms out there know that helping isn't always helpful.  So it often slips the brain when you have a job at hand.

About 50 minutes into it, Silje approaches me as I'm shuffling the enormously heavy old, old Kirby vacuum down from upstairs.

"Mom, can I be done?"
"No, Silje, I asked you to do a job, and I gave you a very easy one.  You don't have to finish the whole pile, but I'd like you to work at least until I finish this [whatever I was doing] and then we'll wrap the present and go to the birthday party."
Silje walked off in a huff.  I probably should have followed her to discuss the huff, but I was on a cleaning roll.

Silje calmly walked back to me as I was scrubbing the bathroom sink and said, "Mommy, I'm just asking you to think.  How would you feel, Mommy?  How would you feel if you had to clean for a whole hour other people's stuff.  Clothes that weren't even your own?  Huh?  How would that make you feel if someone asked you to do that?"

It was one of those moments as a mom where you know the absolute wrong thing to do was to laugh at your child, but I'm sorry to say I couldn't help it.  With cleaning grit up my fingers I couldn't even wipe away the tears as I bent over doing a "silent laugh" which is what happens to people in my family when we're laughing as hard as we can.  Even now I can't but help smile.

Knut walked by and asked what's so funny.  I tried to tell him with a straight face...honest.  He smiled at Silje and said, "Silje, if that were ever to happen to Mommy, you know how she'd feel?  She'd feel like she was on vacation."

Sadly for Silje and David, it's never been more apparent to me that they need some more chores around the house.  They've been pretty good about it.  Silje especially rarely complains, which is why this story is so funny.  Silje helped Knut clean out the chicken coop yesterday without a complaint.  It was a dirty, dusty job and she enjoyed every minute.  Well, it involved animals so that makes sense.

On that thought I should add we had a chicken death this week.  We're down to 16 now.  I'll save that story for another post.

War Against Stuff

We are so blessed where we live.  We have space for the kids to run.  Our house has nice closets.  I've lived in places with very few closets, and I think closet space is wonderful.

Being blessed with space and closets, and the kids having their own space to put their toys comes with its own set of problems.  Knut and I talk a lot about living intentionally.  This is not to be confused with living legalistically.  For instance, we watch very, very little t.v.  Knut hasn't played video games in...I don't know...years.

It's not that these pieces of technology are sinful, it's that we found them consuming so much of our time and we were constantly complaining to each other that we never had time to do stuff that we wanted to do.  So we jointly came to the point where we realized we didn't want to spend our lives watching movies and playing games.  We each had goals and interests.  We wanted a life that this stuff was keeping us from.  So we stopped using that stuff.

Did you ever notice that kids normally do better with less toys rather than more?  Our house is like a toy vacuum, and TWICE a year I go through all the toys with the attempt to get rid of half.  Half.  I usually end up keeping the same type of toys (the wooden train set) and getting rid of the same type of stuff (McDonald's Happy Meal toys, etc.). 

This last week I went through the kids' books.  I haven't done that in years, but they haven't all fit on the shelves for at least a year.  It's really tricky to teach them to pick up their books when they don't all fit on the shelves.  So I got rid of all the ones that annoy the grown-ups (pretty much all the Disney/commercial ones.  Again...nothing against Disney or My Little Pony, but when I'm going through books to decide which ones I'm keeping, The Velveteen Rabbit wins over something shallow.)

I also got rid of all the books that were drawn in, torn, or pretty much falling apart.  Our bookshelves now have a bit of space to spare.  Now when Knut eventually gets to building bookshelves in the den for school books, we can actually put next year's school books there.

It doesn't help that the kids are always wanting stuff, and they see their friends having stuff we don't get for them.  For instance, we have an xbox that I'm sure is very outdated from when we were first married and the kids don't play with it.  We don't have a Wii, or PS4 (I have no idea what number they're on even).  This is by choice.

It's not a legalistic issue, it's a intentional issue.  We've decided what kind of childhood we want our kids to have.  We want to hold back on the technological play, and rev up the hands on, imaginative, outside, make believe, forts-out-of-couch-cushions play.  We believe that when our kids are mature and developed enough to handle technology they'll be able to figure it out.  Silje now does some research on the computer on topics that interest her.  She's started reading this blog too.

When they go to friends' houses, we let them play video games.  We sometimes have family movie night and we all watch something together on the couch with popcorn.  Like I said, we don't want our decision to limit technology and toys in our house to be any resemblance of legalism.  I have no intention of teaching that.

I guess what I'm venting here is not my hatred of technology, or any sort of judgment on those who give their kids a cell phone and a DS (whatever that is) at age 6.  What I am venting is how choosing a simple childhood for our kids is such an uphill battle! 

It's really frustrating that even though we homeschool, our kids don't watch much t.v. and they go to the store maybe once a week, but more often every other week...they still are consumed with stuff.

I wish that when they ask for stuff I could say "we don't have room for that" or "that's too expensive."  I have no excuses besides "I don't want you to have that.  I want you to have something better.  There are better ways for us to use our money and our time and more than anything I want you to know that."

Because if we had some excuse, I'd use it.  Telling my kids this is a choice just feels mean.  They know that the only thing between them and junk is our will and determination. 

I don't want my kids to be limited to spending their days mastering a level of video games.  I don't want them to see the world only through the eyes of Hollywood. I want them reading about Michelangelo, and performing a play through the means of a flashlight and shadow puppets.  I want them to read library books about bumble bees, and not learn about the world through Calliou.   The tough part is the kids won't choose it themselves.  If you put vegis and cake in front of them, most kids (though I'm sure not all) will choose the cake. 

Finding that balance might be the hardest.  It would be so much easier if we made it legalistic and said "this is bad and we're not going to do it."  It would be easier to make the kids feel superior because they don't lower themselves to watching television.  It would be easier to label technology sinful and wrong.  That would be lying, though.  Technology is neutral.  It's how we use it that is good or bad.  It's how we manage ourselves and our time that is good or bad. 

I believe it will be worth it, though.  The simple life doesn't come easy.  It's hard.  That's another message I want my kids to learn: do hard things. 

I sometimes hear "you can't protect them forever" and "you don't want to shelter them."  I saw a tote bag the other day that said "Why yes, I am sheltering them.  Are you going to accuse me of feeding and clothing them next?"  I don't intend to control their lives forever, but neither am I loony enough to believe that they are mature enough to make some of these choices for themselves.  We will explain the "why" behind our choices.  Probably thousands of times.  We'll let them make some mistakes, because sometimes that's how we learn.

I know that some people roll their eyes at homeschooling, or having few toys, or constantly giving kids healthy snacks and not letting them "experience" junk food as much as their peers.  Hollywood says that parents should edit what their kids watch, not them.  Then when parents do edit, they're controlling, sheltering, oblivious and too idealistic. Our kids play by themselves outside for big lengths of time, and we choose that over gymnastics 3 times a week in a structured class, yet we are the controlling ones.

I hear comments muttered from both media and friends that we are depriving them.  I even heard on the radio the other day that people homeschool so that they can indoctrinate their children in one set religion and the government should put a stop to that.  It's un-American.  (Serves me right for listening to Ed Schultz).  It wasn't enough to say you couldn't talk about God in schools.  There are some out there who say we shouldn't be teaching it at home either.  It should be something that they learn...if they decide.  Religion doesn't bother liberals unless it's practiced.  Sorry...I'll stop that tangent before I get all political again.

If parents don't show kids how to live, I mean really live, and not just go with the flow then who is? 

It's hard, because parenting today is an uphill battle.  Finding that balance, having nothing holding you but but sheer will sometimes when your kids, the media, and the culture and sometimes yourself doubts your sanity.  The simple life is a battle sometimes.  Sometimes it's hard to know which battles need to be fought and which ones left alone.

We'll continue to do hard stuff over here.  I'm not sure right now what will come of it.  We'll wait right along with you for the next 18 years or so to see if what we're doing works or not.

A Potty Story

Don't you just love how as a mother you feel free to talk about poop and pee like men discuss football?  There's such drama in the event.  When passing a major milestone like this, I feel the need to reflect on how it was with each of my kids.  Don't ask me why.  Processing maybe?

With Silje, I was under the impression that kids were supposed to be potty trained at 18 months.  So around 16 months or so I started putting on the pressure.  I spent hours showing working with her and trying to make it a game.  A few times she would go potty on the potty chair, so I switched to "demand mode" and required her to go potty from then on.

She fought me tooth and nail...for 9 months.  She would have accidents multiple times a day.  I would set timers, I would spend countless minutes sitting next to her while she sat on the potty.  We'd read books on the potty, we'd sing songs on the potty.  We lived with that potty chair for 9 long months.

So when it was David's turn, I was very nervous.  David's personality is quite different than Silje's.  If Silje fought me, I don't know what word they would have if I put David in that situation.  I knew that whatever he set his mind to he would do with all his might.  So my plan was to make sure he wanted it.  I knew that if he didn't want to be potty trained, I was wasting my time.  Some of you with very strong willed children know exactly what I'm talking about.

So I waited.  I waited and waited and waited.  We talked about the potty chair, and he knew all about it.  Still I waited.  I waited until he was 3, which at the time was getting embarrassing as my friends had started potty training their kids David's age.  When he turned 3, a light switched and he decided he didn't want to wear diapers anymore.  2 days of occasional accidents, and we were done.  Potty training over.

I liked that method.  It was so much less headache, and I didn't feel like I was tied to staying home and sitting next to a potty chair for months.  We were tied to our house for 2 days.  Done.  So for Elias, waiting was my plan.

Well, he's been 3 for a few months now.  Just before he turned 3, I was able to get him to go potty on the potty chair like clockwork before his bath.  He could go on command.  That was good, but he didn't like to go any other times.  Bribing wasn't working.  I honestly had no time to fight him on this, so we just waited more.

It felt like we were going backwards because when we got back from Christmas vacation, he stopped going before baths.  He would sit on the potty chair and say calmly "It's not working.  It's broken."

So I tried to up my game a bit.  David was more than willing to show him how to go potty several times.  The potty chair was brought into the kitchen and I'd have him sit on it where I could talk to him and still do dishes and cook, etc.  He's sit calmly "reading" a book on the potty for 45 minutes with nothing.  I'd put his diaper back on to eat lunch, and he'd go immediately in the diaper.

So I was telling this to my mom, and she said that was similar to how my sister was potty training.  (Hehe, discussing my sister's potty training on my blog...I love it!)  My mom said she just told Heidi that the diapers were broken, and there was only the potty chair left.

Ironically that night, we ran out of diapers.  Since I sell cloth diapers, I should probably explain.  I may have said this before, but I have about 3 cloth diapers that still fit Elias.  I should buy/make him some more, but it has the feeling of putting expensive new tires on a car you're about to sell, you know?  We're supposed to be done with his diapers, I don't want to make new ones!

So I've been using Elias' 3 large diapers to round out Solveig's stash, and have put Elias in sposies for the last little bit.  It has been super annoying because sposies are not easy to 'spose of out here in the country.  Knut and I practically have to draw straws to who gets to pile weeks worth of stinky diapers in the van and drive the long, stinky way to the dump.  You don't want to make the trip unless there's a lot, and when there's a lot it smells so bad the whole way, and it's too cold to have the windows down.  Anyway...

In hindsight, I probably should have just gotten him a few more cloth diapers, but I didn't and this isn't part of the story anyway.

So I ran out of sposies that night, and Knut was going to have the van the next day so I wouldn't be able to run into town to buy some more.  I realized I was out about 10pm and really wasn't in the mood to go then.

So I decided that when Elias woke up the next morning, I would tell him we're all out of diapers.  We had just enough cloth ones for him to wear during naptime and bedtime.  Otherwise, he had to use the potty.

When he woke up, and I took his nighttime diaper off and told him we were all out of diapers.  He laughed and thought I was joking.  I let him run around with his bottom half naked.  He sat on the potty chair but again claimed it was broken.

About 30 minutes later, he had a small accident.  It was obviously he started going, then promptly stopped.  He was stressed out, and wanted it cleaned up.  I cleaned it up, and put him on the potty chair.  Again, he said it was broken.  So I let him continue to play.  About 5 minutes later, he looked at me with panic and said, "Mommy!  I need a diaper!"  I told him I didn't have anymore.  He argued while I put him on the potty chair once again that he didn't need a broken potty, he needed a diaper.  That's when the flood came out he'd been holding in.  A look of relief came over him, as nothing was broken, and there was actually a solution to the no-diaper problem his mommy seemed to have.

Once he went potty, I rewarded him with a pair of Thomas the Train underwear and a brownie.  Our kids rarely wear commercial figures like that, but for potty training, I pull out the cookies, candies, cartoon clothes...whatever it takes.  He got them a little wet once, but not enough to get on the ground.  He ran to the potty chair and that was a success later that morning that required another pair of undies.  And #2 went in the undies.  We'll be working on that for a little while longer, I think.

The rest of the day (besides a diaper for nap) he had no more accidents.  The next day, I didn't even have to remind him to go.  He went there by himself, pulled his undies down by himself, emptied the bowl underneath into the big potty by himself, flushed by himself, (he needs some help getting the bowl back and finishing up potty duties at this point).  Seriously, though.  Not bad for day 2.

I know some people (Knut included) think I'm crazy to let my kids be in diapers for so long.  I'm telling you, though: this is my favorite way to potty train and causes the least amount of interruption to the rhythm of our home.  I'm sure I could have poured more energy into it months ago and saved us hundreds of diapers, but in all reality, I just didn't have the time to devote to it, nor the desire.

I guess my goal in mind was to get him potty trained the easiest possible way, and my goal was not to potty train the earliest possible.  Different moms have different goals, and they all end up potty trained in the end.  Sometimes changing a diaper is just easier.  Sometimes you really need something in your life that is easy.

When they're ready, it's a snap.  When they're not, I'm just making it worse.  At least, that's my experience.  Like all things, I'm sure Solveig will have her own way as well.

A Good Wife Knows Her Place

When I was a freshman in high school, my English teacher made us memorize the prologue to the Canterbury Tales in the original language:

"Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote."

(That's only the first 2 lines...it's much longer!)


The original language is English, but an English of Medieval times.  When I got to college, I took a whole class on the Canterbury Tales (something I likely wouldn't have taken had it not been required) and my professor, who did her doctoral thesis on this very work, insisted that we read it directly from the middle English, and not a modernized version.  I couldn't make heads or tales of it in certain parts, so I had to read both versions: the middle English and the translation.

I hope Dr. Harris isn't reading this because I'm not sure I remember much of the Canterbury Tales.  That's besides the point, though.

I've seen this list before several times, as it really gets passed around.  It's from a magazine article from 1955 that outlines how to be a good wife.  I know 1955 isn't quite middle English, but I still think we have a hard time making heads or tales from it:

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.
• During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
• Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
• Be happy to see him.
• Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
• Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
• Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
• Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
• Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
• A good wife always knows her place. 

Wow.  I know, right?  As a woman it's easy to want to rip apart this list piece by piece.
However...
I'm beginning to see the traces of wisdom in here.  Stay with me.  It's Valentine's Day, after all.

First off, this does not include the man's list.  There was not an article published in a magazine for men on how to be a good husband.  It's one side of the relationship portrayed.  I don't think that for a second God designed woman to serve man.  I think he designed us to serve each other.

So a good wife would know her place...just like a good husband does.  She should look for ways to sacrifice to make her husband's life easier, and he should do the same.

What I'm trying to say is that I think that the wording is outdated, but perhaps the intent isn't that awful.  Here's my own modern version for us stay-at-home moms:
 - Try to have supper ready.  Make his favorites.  Surprise him with dessert.  Plan ahead and get the kids involved in "spoiling Daddy."

-If you have more than 3 bodily fluids smeered across your clothes, do a quick change before he comes home.  If anything, put a big smile on your face when he walks in the door, no matter how exhausted you are.  It's not because you're pretending, it's because you are genuinely happy to see him.  Don't act like he abandoned you by going to work.

-Don't unload your issues from the day he steps in the door.  You have no idea what kind of day he's had either.  He's not your trash can.  The evening can be so much more peaceful if one of the parents is determined to keep the joy, and don't wait to see if he's going to do it.

-Ask him how his day is before you tell him about yours.  He's your best friend.  Be his.

-Is there one thing in your house that if it's wrong you can't concentrate?  Is it water on the floor that distracts you?  Is it dishes, laundry or or toys in the entryway?  I know for my husband, I could have been washing drying, folding, putting away clothes and cleaned out 4 closets, and he doesn't notice unless I tell him.  Really, when he walks in the door and sees dirty dishes he has trouble relaxing.  I need to realize that if I can just get the dishes down, his whole night is better.  He's my best friend.  If my mind is on him, I'll make a priority of his needs.

-Be happy to see him.  (I don't think there's anything old fashioned about that.)

-Ask yourself: do I want him to dread coming home, or look forward to coming home?

-Don't think that just because you're home all day, that the whole evening shift is his.  He's had a day shift too.

-Build him up.  Unless your husband is a CEO, he's probably not given much importance.  Maybe his boss puts him down, maybe no one notices how hard he works, maybe his boss hates every idea he ever presents, maybe he's dealt with people all day long who don't care at all about him.  Maybe a customer chewed him out for something that wasn't his fault.  Maybe he dealt with a student or employee who disrespected his authority.  Don't let his home be one of those places.  Let it be the one place where his ideas are heard, and he knows he can come to you and just be himself.  Let him know how highly you think of him.

-Don't let home be a prison either.  Both of you need a break.  His workday is not his "break".  Take turns making sure you each get a chance to do something fun.  Don't keep score.

-Give him a chance to unwind before jumping into home duties.  Yes, he may need to watch the little ones for a minute so you can finish up supper (or start!).  Maybe he needs to give you a rest from dealing with one of the children being ornery and deal with the child for awhile.  Give him a moment to switch gears, though.  Don't throw him to the wolves.  If you don't know how he relaxes best, ask him. 
 
-Don't treat him like one of your kids.  Just because you're the boss when he's at work doesn't mean you can boss him around when he gets home.  Let your home be his safe haven from people picking him apart. 

-Keep your goal in mind: uplifting your spouse, being an encouragement to him, and a source of freedom and love in his life.  Your goal is to show Christ to him from the moment he walks in the door.

Now, like the magazine article from 1955, my audience is primarily women.  If I wrote to men primarily, I'd have a whole separate post for them.  I understand many families don't run like mine.  In most families, both parents work, or work separate shifts, and sometimes the dad stays at home.  Shouldn't the sentiment be the same: serve one another?  Put the other person's need above your own?

I think that in America, we're in the mode to fight for our rights lest we lose them.  There is a time and place for that.  Our homes, and our marriages aren't the place.  Our marriages are supposed to mirror our relationship with Christ.  With that image in mind, I think: "While we were still sinners...Christ died for us."  I think the ideal marriage is the cycle where spouses try to out give to the other.  Too often, though, neither one wants to start that giving snowball affect, and wants to guard their rights and make certain above all else that they never become a doormat.

I'm no genius.  I've been married 9 1/2 years.  Most of that time we've been happy, but we've had our dark times too.  I don't claim to know each situation, or be a couples counselor.  I'm just saying that the message found in this "good wife" article may not be all that bad: serve.

Here's why I don't think it's that bad: because Christ serves us.

Now, I don't get this whole list done, and I'd like to shake the hands of the woman in 1955 who accomplished that list, (along with that Proverbs 31 woman) because I don't think she had children who were anything like mine.  It's just not my reality. 

But I think the message stays the same, and I personally think it's more of an idea list on how to love your spouse.  I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway.

Happy Valentine's Day!

It Can Only Mean One Thing

My house has been pretty clean.  I know, it's weird.  I've been working really hard at getting the kids to do their chores, as I've started to let them slide.  It's amazing how clean it's been.  Now when I clean, I'm not picking up their stuff.  I'm vacuuming, or cooking, or doing stuff I never get to do.  I completely reorganized my kitchen cupboards and threw out old "non-perishables" that were very expired.  I'm sure that open box of potato flakes that expired 5 years ago really won't ever get used.

Part of it is that I've been doing more after the kids go to bed.  Normally I really try not to do chores after they go to bed because I really need some down time.  That's when I either hang out with Knut, do "me" stuff, or on rare occasions, see friends.  Lately, though, I've been sweeping kitchens, doing dishes, meal planning, and even doing some lesson planning when the house is quiet at night.

It can only mean one thing...I'm procrastinating.  There's a job I have to do, and I haven't done it.

There are 2 knitting patterns that are ready to release either for sale or for testers (one of each). I just need to edit them.  That's all.  The samples are made, the instructions are written up, the calculations are all there.  It's always the last edit that terrifies me. 

If anyone ever wants to get into writing, technical writing is the way to go.  They make so much money...because no one wants to do it.  They're like rich plummers of the English vocational world.  Editing things like manuals, instructions, handbooks is really boring.  It's boring, but it must be perfect or be certain you'll hear about it.  So you must concentrate very carefully on really boring stuff.  I studied a sliver of it in college but preferred the more creative writing classes like poetry.  You know, the really fun stuff that makes no money.

However, after graduation, when I wanted to make it as a freelance writer, I took a job writing sentences for a jr. high grammar workbook.  I wrote 800 sentences to their grammatical specifications.  I've never come closer to dying in my whole life.

So I procrastinate.  I normally clean when I procrastinate.  Knut's loving it.  That's really not helping.

It's one of those things where I really, really don't want to, but I really, really want it done and I am really, really the only person who can do it.

I need to clear the way (and brain space) for new pattern writing that is ready to happen.  There are 2 patterns in the "fun phase" of knitting and note taking and within a month or so, they'll be ready for their final tweaking and editing.

I cannot have 4 patterns to edit backed up.  I just can't.  I'll give up knitting pattern writing right then and there and I really like doing it.  Well, I like 90% of it.  It's that last 10% that is killing me.

I always thought procrastinating was something I was going to grow out of.  I must have never gotten around to that...

What do you do when you procrastinate?