Blackberries

Some things arrive right on time and just when you need it.

This morning I read the first chapter in Seasons of a Mother's Heart by Sally Clarkson.  She's become one of my heroes, mentors, and Titus 2 women this past year.  I read the book she coauthored with Sarah Mae (Desperate) and I began reading her blog, I Take Joy.  She's a mom who laid down her life for her children, and found life in the day-to-day moments of being a living sacrifice for her family.  I so long to be like her.  She and her husband wrote the book Educating the Wholehearted Child which is one of my top two favorite homeschooling books.  Seasons is written specifically for the needs of homeschool moms, but Sally says it's for all moms too.

In the first chapter, she writes about the day of her youngest daughter Joy's fourth birthday party.  It started so lovely, with spring finally arriving and all four children enjoying the outdoors.  But it quickly became stressful and chaotic as the whole family was trying to clean the house and get it ready for the party.  The party itself was a near-disaster, with crying, spills, and tantrums from the young guests. The birthday girl herself  couldn't wait for everyone to leave so she could go back to having a fun time outside. 

It's refreshing to hear that we're not the only family that has these moments and days.  Days of doing too much when the simple things would have satisfied.  Days of everything going wrong, even special days of everything going wrong.  Days of mom barking out orders, trying to gain control of the household.  Days that don't turn out as fun and wonderful as you had hoped and planned.

We've had many days like that around here.

Today, the weather has been absolutely perfect for early August.  Warm sun, but a potent breeze blowing.  The perfect kind of day to be outside. 

But, for the most part, the kids don't want to be outside.  They are inside drawing and playing.  They do come out here and there, one to play baseball, then the girls come out to play on the swingset.  But nobody wanted to come out and help pick blackberries. Petite came for a while, but the grass was wet and a bug was "bugging" her.  She was like Sal, eating the blackberries she picked and trying to steal mine.  It was nice having her out for the fifteen minutes.  Josh and I picked five quarts of berries and then production began.

I made a batch of jam and prepared some berries for homemade ice cream.  I removed the seeds, dirtied every major dish in the kitchen, and processed 4 pints of jam.  I enjoyed it, to a point.  It's fun using the fruit God has provided right outside our door.  It's a blessing to have it and preserve it and eat it.  But when I was all done, I just felt sad.  I exchanged an afternoon with my kids for 4 pints of jam and some homemade ice cream.  And dirty dishes.  And a messy kitchen.  And a tired mind and body.

I know I should get them in the kitchen with me to help.  And I want to.   But they are not interested. They want to play.  They want to draw. They want to be kids on a Saturday and I don't blame them.  As I dipped jam jars into the boiling water, I thought to myself, Someday I'll look back and kick myself for making jam when I should have been enjoying my little ones.

They are barely little anymore.  Petite will be four in two weeks.  My oldest is ten.  My middler is 8.  Oh, they are still young, but not so little.  And I already, already feel that time has just gone way too quickly.  It's a terrible feeling knowing I can't get it back.  It's exciting to think of the years ahead and the maturity they will gain, the adventures we have in store, but every day we are closer to an empty nest.  That's not crazy talk, it's reality.

I'd rather let the berries rot on the branches.  I'd rather buy jelly or  jam, even if it is made with high fructose corn syrup.  I'd rather keep our life simple than fill it up with projects and plans that hold no interest for the kids.  Of course, we must do the things we must do.  Of course, we're trying to train them to work and be good stewards of what God has given us with our land and our home and our time.  But I'd rather not do these things that should be good and worthwhile, but are just not.  Not right now. 

It's time to push Petite on the swing while the breeze blows through our hair.  Mister is putting a roof on his fort.  I want to see it.  Brown-Eyed Girl is bound to want to play the "foot game" as she glides back and forth through the air on her swing.  The jam will set.  The ice cream will be delicious.  But I don't want to miss any more of these blessings today.

Invade

Yesterday, I was getting cranky.

It had been a beautiful, perfect summer day.  Low humidity.  Enough breeze to make the 80 degree sunshine tolerable and even enjoyable.  We went to our local park with some friends for a picnic and bike ride.  (It was the first time we went and weren't utterly alone!).  We came home to enjoy some time with Daddy before he had to go to work for the night. We ate raspberry crisp made from our own hand picked berries.  Mister was given a broken coffee maker to tear apart and explore and was relishing every moment of it. The girls were playing nicely together.

And I was cranky!

I hate when that fleshy side gets the best of me.  I had nothing to be cranky about.  I was just getting a little tired physically.  The noise and commotion, though happy, was irritating me.  The endless stream of words from Mister regarding his inventions and science-y stuff was overwhelming me.  I had dinner to make, a house to clean, and a tired body and mind.

I kept telling myself, Go take a break!  I know me and my mind just needed rest.  I can't go full speed ahead all day long without crashing.  After dinner, I finally listened to myself. The kids were all upstairs.  It meant I could slip out onto the deck and enjoy the cool air, alone with a good book.  I grabbed this one off my shelf:

 

Educating the WholeHearted Child by Clay and Sally Clarkson

This is probably my favorite book on home education, aside from  The Successful Homschool Family Handbook by Raymond and Dorothy Moore.  I read the third edition last summer and was so inspired and encouraged.  It is a gigantic resource and gave me such a vision for making our home even more of a learning environment.  And not just that, but more of a place to call home.  One of the things I  really wanted to implement were the Discovery Corners- places for exploring different arts, sciences, and other interests.  My book had been packed up until recently (the new school room is pretty much DONE!) so I took this opportunity to refresh myself on these Discovery Corners.

As I perused the pages, I fell in love with it again.  Maybe it's because they encourage- and give permission!- to buy lots of books!  The Clarksons believe in lots and lots of reading... so they are dear to my heart!  Maybe it's because they are not formulaic or legalistic.  They stress building a relationship with your children and making learning together a lifestyle, not a start-to-finish part of your day.  Maybe it's because so much of what they have to say makes me yearn to be a better mom, an exceptional mom, a mom who lays her life down for the love of her children.

I only took a half hour or so to skim some parts of the book, but I felt God speak to me as I did.  The Clarksons recommend having a Learning Room, which of course they recognize is not possible for all.  Overall, they encourage parents to make the whole house a place of learning, that nearly every room would be a place the kids want to be- and are allowed to be. 

We are blessed with a lot of space in our home.  We don't have a Learning Room, per se. The kitchen seems to be the best place for us to homeschool.  My new school room isn't actually where we'll do school (it's too small) but it's the place where our books and supplies can be organized and easily found and hopefully we'll maximize their use.  But I thought of our living room, the one room that feels mostly "done". Painted, decorated, curtains up at last!  And I thought of the spot at the bottom of the stairs, between the living and dining room.  In my mind, I dream of our home being Better Homes and Gardens worthy.  Looking like our house is staged for a photo shoot.  Why?  Not so anyone will be wowed by it, but because I simply love beauty and order and the lack of STUFF everywhere.  The upstairs can be whatever it is- stained furniture, colored on walls, popcorn on the floor, and STUFF everywhere, but the downstairs is MINE!

Really Steph?  Just look around you. Look at all the spots you have to dedicate to your children and the whole family.  Who's house is this?  Yours?  Or Mine?

This is not the home of your guests.  They are here but rarely.  This is the home of your family.  Make it theirs, not just yours.  In doing that, you are making it Mine.

I felt refreshed.  Yes, I love when God speaks to me, even if it is an admonishment. He is always sweet and gentle with me.

The other day, as I painted shelves for the new schoolroom in the basement, I listened to a CD by one of my favorite artists, Watermark.  This song has always been a prayer of my heart and seems appropriate with what the Lord is teaching me.

Jesus, come and walk the halls of this house
Tread this place and turn it inside out
With Your mercy...
Jesus, teach us the prayers that open these doors
Until Your light floods in and illuminates these floors
And let Your truth be on our steps and in these rooms
Jesus invade...

I'm so thankful for the gift of being able to create a home for my family, not just a house I let them live in with me.  There will be scuff marks on the walls and floors, everlasting crumbs, odd collections of cheap items that I will never cherish... and more than anything, I pray, the presence of Christ.

 

P.S.  That spot at the bottom of the stairs? Already being transformed in a Learning Corner.  Little Tykes table with mismatched (and nail polished!) chairs included!

In Everything Give Thanks

Here I am, in the process of writing two posts on motherhood- one on its joys, one on its desperate state- and I get caught up in it.  It's made real.  One of my progeny falls apart at Vacation Bible School. Twice. Two days in a row.  We're talking toddler-like tantrums, sulking, and throwing things.

I'm embarrassed.  Frustrated.  Sad.  Angry.  Discouraged.

And somewhere at the end of the path of all these emotions, after we've missed the ice cream social, and talked it through, and I wonder if we've even gotten anywhere, I am....

Thankful.

Thankful that I'm his mom.

Thankful that God answers those desperate cries for wisdom when I'm in the thick of it.

Thankful His mercies are new every morning.  For both of us.

Thankful I get to walk with him through this difficult journey of growing up.

Thankful for the promise God has given me for his life:  He who began a good work in him will be faithful to complete it.

Thankful that I don't go long thinking that I am the mom who has it all together.

Thankful that I can look in his eyes and honestly tell him I love him no matter what.   And so does our God.  And He will help us both.

It is so crazy-hard sometimes to be a mom, but I'm thankful I am one.

When the Day is a Bust

 

 

Today was a bust.  I was honestly being a little spontaneous.  I had thought of taking the kids to the zoo last night.  But this morning I committed to the idea.  I was up at six, read my Bible, and skipped my workout so that we could all get ready and out the door at a decent time.  I packed snacks. I remembered the drinks.  Loaded up the stroller.  Reminded everyone to use the potty.

 

By then I was pretty exhausted.  But we hit the road.

 

Fifteen minutes down the interstate, someone has to go potty.  I didn't figure it was very serious since we had all just gone.  But five minutes later, we stop at a (nice) gas station and I discover she's soaked.  I brought extra clothes, but the car seat is another thing.  I don't even have a towel to cover it up.  So the only thing I can do is turn around and go back home.  Hose off the car seat and try my best not to have a pity party that our plans are broken.

 

The day's going to be long.  My husband is gone on four day hike.  This is Day One.  The sun is gloriously warm, it's a perfect day to be outside, but I just want to crawl back into bed and hide.  Cry a little.  Maybe a lot.

 

Cause it's not just a wet car seat, ya know?

 

And it wasn't just a day at the zoo.

 

It's just constantly trying to figure this thing out, day after day after day. 

 

What are we doing here?

 

Am I totally blowing it as a mom?

 

Why am I so sad?

 

Can I possibly ever do enough?

 

I want to salvage the day.  My son asks me if we can make monster bubbles.  We need a wire hanger and some yarn to make a giant wand and I remember that I bought two one liter bottles of bubbles. Sure, we can make them. 

 

 We all have a lot of fun creating huge bubbles and watching them contort through the air and pop on our head or against one another.  One bubble splits into two or even three.  Sometimes two collide and become one.

 

One guess how many bottles of bubbles didn't get spilled.

 

They look at me, faces stricken.  They expect me to freak. Cause, hey, I do that sometimes, over small things.  Like two bottles of spilled bubbles.

 

But I laugh.  And they ask me why.  I don't really have a good answer for them, except that I just knew.

 

I knew the bubbles would spill.

 

I knew the popsicle would drip on the brand new tee shirt and on my cushion.

 

I knew they'd fight over the wand.

 

I even kinda knew we'd never make it to the zoo today.

 

But I had no idea what else to do.

 

The zoo or bust.

 

I guess it was a bust.

 

Monster bubbles.

 

Playing with the hose.

 

A few books together on the couch.

 

Printing off some coloring pages.

 

Waffles with maple syrup and whipped cream for supper.

 

Popcorn and a movie before bedtime.

 

How many kisses do you want tonight?

 

How bout a million? she says with a mischievous grin.

 

I don't think I can count to a million, I say.

 

A million is much more than ten, she says and sticks her foot in my face so I'll kiss it.

 

And she laughs and laughs.

 

Nobody complained about not going to the zoo.

 

I worry too much.

 

Busted.

Within Bounds

They grow up.  It's a fact. It happens one day at a time, so slowly it's almost imperceptible.  But then things happen to make you notice.

The training wheels come off and she's racing down the road on her own.

Those chubby little fingers are now long and slender, nothing like those first handprints.

"I can do it by myself" are the words that shoo you away when your automatic reaction is to step in and help.

Once favorite books and television shows are now for "babies".

Curves are coming on.

Teeth are at the point of needing braces.

Talking on the phone with the BFF is a daily "need".

I look into the eyes of each of my children and sigh in wonder.  Where has the time gone?  My oldest just turned ten.  Perhaps his time at home with us is half over.  My girls show the makings of beautiful women more and more each time I look.

The boundaries I've set up to keep them safe begin to become too narrow.  They're itching to ride their bikes the full length of our road.  I take them for walks and they race off on their bikes, out of my sight as I move more slowly, pushing the youngest in the stroller.  I know they are okay, but I think of how much more I need to teach them about strangers, about rules of safety.  I think of getting them whistles to wear around their necks.

Their interest in the computer becomes more keen.  For now it's Webkinz and games like Mindcraft, but I dread the day when they want a facebook account. Though I swear now that they will never have one under my roof, I realize these are the words of a mom who's oldest is ten. I know nothing yet of raising teens.  The sad and disconcerting local news of a fifteen year old girl missing... and found dead over a week later... seemingly in relation to a false facebook identity... well, it makes a mom want to hug tighter and cinch the boundaries even closer.  And it ought to.

But with the realization that these little ones are growing up.  They will always need me, but they will not always need these boundaries.  The lines we don't allow them to cross- like using potty language and staying in our line of vision- will disappear and new lines will be drawn.  Over and over again until hopefully, prayerfully, they've gained the wisdom they need to create their own personal boundaries of safety and righteousness.

Until then, this mama bear seeks to protect and prepare them for the world that lies around the corner.  For now, that corner is on our little road in the country.  Someday, they'll turn the corner into the wide, wide world.

 Lord, be with us at every turn.

Frailty, Thy Name is Mommy

Perhaps there is no better word associated with motherhood than "guilt".  Any mom who hasn't felt guilt must be so steeped in selfishness that she'll never find her way out.  But I suspect those moms are rare.  For most of us, it is a way of life.  It is unfortunate but it is true.  The days when I feel like a rockin' mom are few and far between.

There is just always something to worry about. I worry about my children eating healthy food.  I worry about  taking good care of their teeth.  I worry about if I'm giving them a good education here at home. I worry that they don't get out enough or have enough friends.  I worry that they don't do enough chores. That they aren't content with what they have.  That their clothes don't always match. That I can't braid my girls' hair.  That I don't read them all the right books.  That they hate me.  That they won't go to college.  That  kids will be cruel to them. That adults will be cruel to them.

But mostly, I worry that I will destroy them.  And that is the root of the guilt.  The cavities- my fault.  The math struggles- my fault.  The strong will- my fault.  The bad attitude- my fault.

My daily helping of guilt and worry is enough to feed the whole neighborhood.  There are some nights I sink into bed and can think of nothing good to say about the day.  Tomorrow looks bleak and full of more of the same messing up on my part.

Thankfully, I know the truth. God handpicked me to be the mother of my children. I've got a  Father in heaven and an encouraging husband to help remind me of that.  And my children are extremely forgiving.  When the day seems like a failure, it really isn't.  The next morning, mercies are new.

The guilt I feel definitely doesn't come down from heaven.  It's my own insecurities, and an icky sense of pride that thinks I should strive for being the perfect mom, something I could never even possibly come close to no matter what.  Especially compared to all the other moms.

Yes, a lot of the guilt I feel gets heaped on me by other  moms.  It is usually not on purpose.  Sometimes it's just the difference between an extroverted, social, soccer mom and... me, the introverted homebody.  I see the mom who does so much so well and feel bad that taking my children to the library for an hour exhausts me.  Sometimes the guilt comes from thoughtlessness, however.  Maybe a not very nice look at me and my child who is struggling to calm down.  Maybe a comment about homeschoolers.  Maybe it's something said about how good moms don't.... (fill in the blank).


As frail as we all are as moms, we still seem to have very strong opinions about how children should be raised.  I think it is good to be convinced in our own minds about how we want our children raised and to have a mission for our family.  But why does that make it so much easier to convince ourselves that everyone should do the same things we do and make the same choices we make?  When we are sure of ourselves, we tend to be sure others need to follow our example.  From the way we feed our children to how we treat them medically to how we educate them to how we discipline them.  Why do we feel the need to get everyone to do what we do?

Sometimes we are simply passionate.  We've read the facts, the research, the book.  Sometimes we've had great success with the diet, the discipline, the treatment.  Our intention is not to belittle, but to help.  But there can be a point when we step over the line of love.  We are being  influenced more by judgement and condemnation towards others than we are by being helpful and loving.  I deeply appreciate advice that is coming from a mom who has a heart full of love and compassion for other moms.  Who gets that I am weak and frail and that I genuinely want to do what is best for my children, but sometimes I just don't know the way.  But they also trust that I will seek God and HIS way for raising the ones that have been entrusted to me.

As moms, we question ourselves all the time.  Is my child this way because of that glass of wine I drank?  Because I let them get that shot? Because I didn't let them sleep in our bed? Because I stopped nursing at five months?  Because I sent them to public school?  Because of me?

I have found that the Lord is so much bigger than my "mistakes".  He has stood in the way of me and the dangers of far greater things than popping an ibuprofen when I was pregnant. Thankfully he does the same for my children.  He is powerful enough to stand between them and the dangers of all the things I worry about as a mom.  Even the things that came to them by me.  My decisions are not sovereign, HE IS.

It's time to rest in the Lord.  It's time to stop beating ourselves up and also to stop beating other moms up.  I often recall a favorite line from the book Crazy Love by Francis Chan.  "God is a creator, not a duplicator."  He did not intend for every family to look the same.  There is no detailed formula for being the best mom.  Only this: love, sacrifice, pray, trust, rest.  If we exhort and encourage other moms to do just these things, we will not be in error.