I'm noticing a shift in a trend. Not an immediate shift, but one that has happened over the past decade or more. I don't know if I'm just more sensitive, and therefore more aware, or if maybe it's always been this way--but Hollywood and the like seem to be shifting from portraying women as bumbling, incompetent fools (thank you, Lucy and Ethel... personally, I never found that show anything other than insulting. Yeah, go ahead, call me a fun killer. I've been called worse.) to portraying all men as such. I don't understand the trend. It's insulting, quite honestly. What's the deal here?
One movie in particular has recently drawn my ire (and sparked this blog post....). While most of the themes were spot on, and it was a good movie, the underlying theme seemed to focus on how incompetent the husbands were. They couldn't figure out what to pack in the diaper bag, or how to use a wipe. Scenes showed three fathers outnumbered by children who ran amok, with the wives envisioning two of them wrapped together with duct tape, while another hid behind a counter with his eyes closed. Seriously? Part of me wanted to yell, "Oh for crying out loud, MAN UP!" I'm not entirely sure if I would've been yelling at the characters, or the writers, directors and producers, though. I realized yelling at the movie probably wasn't a good idea though, as I was at our pastor's house watching it with his wife and other church women who are still getting to know me....
In this day and age, we have dads leading sporting events, coaching teams, leading Scouts and other various groups, attending school events, taking a day off to chaperone field trips or volunteer in their child's classroom. We have single dads with full custody of their children. Annnnddd... get this.... there are even dads who stay at home, or work from home, not because they are simply out of work, or have to, buuutttttt..... because they want to! *Gasp* There is an entirely new generation of hands-on dads who are embracing their role. It's another trend I'm noticing, because honestly, I can't name one husband among my friends who fits the Hollywood stereotype of 'bumbling idiot.' These are the men who notice when something needs be cleaned, when the milk is running low, when a child's fingernails need clipping--and they take care of it themselves, even if their wife is a stay at home. These are the men who don't divvy up "women's work" and "men's work." It's all for one, and one for all. And God bless them!
And please note, I'm not addressing deadbeat divorced husbands and fathers, or even married deadbeats (that's another entire blog I really don't have the Xanax for), I'm talking about the husbands who are truly hands-on. The dads who are in the trenches, right alongside their wives, and yes, in some cases, their ex-wives. These are the good guys.
Maybe I'm spoiled, or perhaps my husband really is part of a minority, but I do not see incompetence when I watch him with our children. He does not shy away from the responsibility of raising our boys, he meets it head on. He picks up where I need to leave off, most of the time without me having to even ask.
Whatever the case is--I'm grateful. I know how lucky and blessed I am to have the husband I have. I know I am spoiled, and I am loved. And because of who Shawn is as a dad, our kids know they are too.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Grace and Forgiveness
Noah and I had a knock-down-drag-out last night. I'm not proud of any of it. I was certainly not the adult in the situation, nor did I behave maternally. I was at my wit's end with some of his recent behaviors, my anxiety and stress levels have been sky high, and I took it out on my child. I said something no mother should ever say to her child, I blamed him for something, and I was just plain wrong. I knew the second the words were out of my mouth, I had gone too far. WAY too far. I saw the look on his face, and my heart fell. I knew I needed to apologize, but at that point in the argument, I was going for shock value. I wanted to get his attention, and I had done just that. I sent him to bed and stomped off.
Once I calmed down, I begged forgiveness from God. I was so far off the maternal train tracks. I went to Noah's room to apologize, but he was (pretending to be) already asleep. I kissed him good night, whispered that I love him, then went to the kitchen table to write out an apology. No excuses, no explanations--just, "I was horribly wrong, and I'm so very sorry." I left the note on the kitchen table for him to find this morning.
In the same way I'm grateful for God's continual grace and forgiveness, I'm incredibly grateful my son forgave me. He came in and gave me a hug, we both apologized for our part in last night's fight, and we hugged. Hard. We agreed today is a new day, and to start over.
Apologizing is hard sometimes. Most of us don't like to admit it when we're wrong. Here's what I think though--there's no room for that kind of pride in parenthood. There are times when we are wrong, and we must admit it to our children. Forgiveness can be even more difficult that apologizing. It only hurts us when we don't though. I'm proud of Noah for being able to forgive me, especially when I certainly did not deserve it.
Here's the other thing--words hurt. They sting, and they stick around. Our voices, and our words become the tape our children play in their heads. What I did was horribly wrong. Noah may have forgiven me, but now I worry he's hearing what I said in his head. My intention, my mission, as a mom has always been to only build my children up. Yes, there are times they need to hear something that isn't so good, that isn't so uplifting--but that's not the tape I want playing in their heads. At the end of the day, I am responsible for what I put in their heads, what they hear, and what I help them choose to believe about themselves. Last night, I tore my child down. I may have done permanent damage, and he could end up blaming himself, the way I blamed him.
I can't undo what I said. I can't take it back. I can apologize, he can forgive me, but I cannot erase it from his mind. I know the inside of his brain because it's just like mine, and I know what I said will resonate with him for months, possibly even years, to come.
In the end, Noah may forgive me--but can I forgive myself?
Once I calmed down, I begged forgiveness from God. I was so far off the maternal train tracks. I went to Noah's room to apologize, but he was (pretending to be) already asleep. I kissed him good night, whispered that I love him, then went to the kitchen table to write out an apology. No excuses, no explanations--just, "I was horribly wrong, and I'm so very sorry." I left the note on the kitchen table for him to find this morning.
In the same way I'm grateful for God's continual grace and forgiveness, I'm incredibly grateful my son forgave me. He came in and gave me a hug, we both apologized for our part in last night's fight, and we hugged. Hard. We agreed today is a new day, and to start over.
Apologizing is hard sometimes. Most of us don't like to admit it when we're wrong. Here's what I think though--there's no room for that kind of pride in parenthood. There are times when we are wrong, and we must admit it to our children. Forgiveness can be even more difficult that apologizing. It only hurts us when we don't though. I'm proud of Noah for being able to forgive me, especially when I certainly did not deserve it.
Here's the other thing--words hurt. They sting, and they stick around. Our voices, and our words become the tape our children play in their heads. What I did was horribly wrong. Noah may have forgiven me, but now I worry he's hearing what I said in his head. My intention, my mission, as a mom has always been to only build my children up. Yes, there are times they need to hear something that isn't so good, that isn't so uplifting--but that's not the tape I want playing in their heads. At the end of the day, I am responsible for what I put in their heads, what they hear, and what I help them choose to believe about themselves. Last night, I tore my child down. I may have done permanent damage, and he could end up blaming himself, the way I blamed him.
I can't undo what I said. I can't take it back. I can apologize, he can forgive me, but I cannot erase it from his mind. I know the inside of his brain because it's just like mine, and I know what I said will resonate with him for months, possibly even years, to come.
In the end, Noah may forgive me--but can I forgive myself?
Monday, September 22, 2014
Living Life to the Fullest
My grandmother died this weekend. Part of it still doesn't seem real to me, and there's part of me, the all-to-aware-part, that is in avoidance mode. I am sad, but I am also okay. My grandmother is finally at peace, a peace she has long deserved. I am grateful to be able to rest in knowing she is whole again, in both body, mind and spirit. I serve a God who keeps His promises, so I know she is with Him, and I am grateful for this reassurance I have. We are blessed to serve a God of hope, of miracles, of love. I am relieved and grateful she is no longer suffering. I rejoice for her freedom from this world.
I am grateful she got to meet our boys, and that they have pictures, and memories. I will always be grateful for the time spent with her.
I learned so much from her. I went to church with my parents growing up, but it was Nan who taught me to read the bible. She wasn't a bible-upside-the-head type, she wasn't a lecturer--she led by example. I saw her reading it, and I wanted to know what was in there. Nan was such an amazing influence in my life, and I will always be grateful for how she loved me, even when I didn't deserve it, even when she didn't quite know what to do with me. I learned joy from her, laughter, and how to live life to the fullest, no matter one's age. It wasn't until the past few years she started 'acting' her age. It was difficult to watch her decline, knowing the amazing, vibrant life she led. She was a woman balanced well between tough love and compassion. Nan taught me so many things, just in the way she lived her life. Enjoy the little things, for they are really the big things. Leave the big things to God, and let Him work them out.
I used to think a lifetime is too long. I did not want to live to a ripe old age. Thinking about it the other night, Shawn and I realized that if we are blessed enough to live as long as Nan did, we have 54 years left here. ONLY 54 years left. Only 54 years with each other, our friends, our children, our grandchildren--and if we are blessed as Nan was, our great-grandchildren.
A lifetime is no longer long enough. A lifetime is too short. Pack in as much love, as much joy, as much LIFE, as you can.
I don't normally like to mix my faith with other religions, but I found this quote, and it does pertain to this post, so here goes: "Life is a song--sing it. Life is a game--play it. Life is a challenge--meet it. Life is a rearm--realize it. Life is a sacrifice--offer it. Life is love--ENJOY it." --Sai Baba
I love you Nan, I miss you. Thank you for an amazing life with you.
I am grateful she got to meet our boys, and that they have pictures, and memories. I will always be grateful for the time spent with her.
I learned so much from her. I went to church with my parents growing up, but it was Nan who taught me to read the bible. She wasn't a bible-upside-the-head type, she wasn't a lecturer--she led by example. I saw her reading it, and I wanted to know what was in there. Nan was such an amazing influence in my life, and I will always be grateful for how she loved me, even when I didn't deserve it, even when she didn't quite know what to do with me. I learned joy from her, laughter, and how to live life to the fullest, no matter one's age. It wasn't until the past few years she started 'acting' her age. It was difficult to watch her decline, knowing the amazing, vibrant life she led. She was a woman balanced well between tough love and compassion. Nan taught me so many things, just in the way she lived her life. Enjoy the little things, for they are really the big things. Leave the big things to God, and let Him work them out.
I used to think a lifetime is too long. I did not want to live to a ripe old age. Thinking about it the other night, Shawn and I realized that if we are blessed enough to live as long as Nan did, we have 54 years left here. ONLY 54 years left. Only 54 years with each other, our friends, our children, our grandchildren--and if we are blessed as Nan was, our great-grandchildren.
A lifetime is no longer long enough. A lifetime is too short. Pack in as much love, as much joy, as much LIFE, as you can.
I don't normally like to mix my faith with other religions, but I found this quote, and it does pertain to this post, so here goes: "Life is a song--sing it. Life is a game--play it. Life is a challenge--meet it. Life is a rearm--realize it. Life is a sacrifice--offer it. Life is love--ENJOY it." --Sai Baba
I love you Nan, I miss you. Thank you for an amazing life with you.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Community and Motherhood
Due to an overwhelming variety of factors, I isolated myself as a new mother. It felt as though all Noah did was cry, and I did not know where to take him, how to launch myself into a community, or how to turn my constantly red-faced, screaming infant over to a sitter. My main sources of interaction were my mother, Shawn, and my friend at the time--she herself a newly single mother with a newborn and two older children, and her own overwhelming set of issues. Healthy, right? I did not have a community.
Depression was a pit, and I had dragged my infant into it with me. It mired me, and consequently, it mired Noah. Looking back, I have to wonder how much of his crying was due to being stuck at home with Mommy, 24/7! I did eventually try a few moms groups and a few other things. They weren't for me though, and really only served in making me feel (in me making myself feel) even more inadequate and incapable as a mother. I know that, as a result, Noah became isolated and socially challenged, leading to many chicken-or-the-egg questions in the back of my mind about his Asperger's. And there continued the cycle of feelings of inadequacy and incapability. Still no community.
Anyway.
Fast Forward.
With Avery, I was in a much better place emotionally, spiritually and physically. I had built up a better friend 'bank' and had plenty of support, but not really any close friends with infants or toddlers. I knew I needed to be involved with moms experiencing life the way I was, and I learned that there is NOTHING wrong with turning a red-faced, screaming infant over to a sitter! I knew that for both of us, for our mental and physical health, we needed community. This time around, I was going to get it right!
I really didn't know where to start though. I was kind of lost with it. We had just begun attending a new church, and I'm really not much of a joiner, so I looked at the lists of studies offered and thought, "I should be attending one of these.." It's something I have to force, and I'm really more comfortable hugging the wall than I am socializing (until I get to know you, and I'm comfortable with you--then, trust me, you'll wish you had duct tape and a straight jacket for me and a glass of wine for yourself). God bless her, the women's ministry leader worked with Shawn, trying to pull me out of my shell. Have I mentioned how resistant I am to socializing???? She had her work cut out for her.
I tried a few bible studies in the new church, some playgroups, but nothing really clicked. Avery and I went to toddler gym where we met with the same group of moms each week, but it wasn't really community. A friend then approached me about joining MOPs, where she was president. What??? Was she kidding? There will be PEOPLE there! Was she CRAZY???? I did end up going, and I will always be glad I did. I will admit that, in the beginning, I went to support her in her role, and because she had invited me. Then I discovered... I was enjoying myself! *Gasp* We had.... COMMUNITY.
Avery aged out of MOPs and I stopped going. We moved to another church last fall, and, even though it's taken me almost a year, I did finally start attending bible studies. One in particular, in the home of another mom, has been a saving grace. COMMUNITY. There's that word again. I can't tell you how necessary it's become for me. There aren't many of us, just a few of us with small children, and we support each other. I've even become comfortable enough that they've begun searching for my straight jacket and their glass of wine. We talk about our kids, the trials of motherhood, the ministry that is motherhood. We do have a book so we can have guided discussions, but well, you know how that goes. And you know what? We don't sit around complaining about our children, it's nothing like that! And I love that about our group! Even in the trials, there is only lifting up, laughter, and prayer. I leave each week with a smile, set straight(er) on my path, reminded that I am not the only who experiences motherhood the way I do, that so much of what I experience is normal.
If you are a new mom, or even if motherhood is old hat to you--I would encourage you to find a community. Please don't isolate yourself, and your child. Trust me, believe me, I know how painful stepping out into the world can be, how scary it is! You, and your child, will thank yourself for doing so though, I promise you. Even if it's just for coffee once a week, it's an important venture to make. Think of it as an investment in your health, and your child's well being.
Oh gosh! I almost forgot the most important part! Find a community with a built in sitter! That's the key! :)
Depression was a pit, and I had dragged my infant into it with me. It mired me, and consequently, it mired Noah. Looking back, I have to wonder how much of his crying was due to being stuck at home with Mommy, 24/7! I did eventually try a few moms groups and a few other things. They weren't for me though, and really only served in making me feel (in me making myself feel) even more inadequate and incapable as a mother. I know that, as a result, Noah became isolated and socially challenged, leading to many chicken-or-the-egg questions in the back of my mind about his Asperger's. And there continued the cycle of feelings of inadequacy and incapability. Still no community.
Anyway.
Fast Forward.
With Avery, I was in a much better place emotionally, spiritually and physically. I had built up a better friend 'bank' and had plenty of support, but not really any close friends with infants or toddlers. I knew I needed to be involved with moms experiencing life the way I was, and I learned that there is NOTHING wrong with turning a red-faced, screaming infant over to a sitter! I knew that for both of us, for our mental and physical health, we needed community. This time around, I was going to get it right!
I really didn't know where to start though. I was kind of lost with it. We had just begun attending a new church, and I'm really not much of a joiner, so I looked at the lists of studies offered and thought, "I should be attending one of these.." It's something I have to force, and I'm really more comfortable hugging the wall than I am socializing (until I get to know you, and I'm comfortable with you--then, trust me, you'll wish you had duct tape and a straight jacket for me and a glass of wine for yourself). God bless her, the women's ministry leader worked with Shawn, trying to pull me out of my shell. Have I mentioned how resistant I am to socializing???? She had her work cut out for her.
I tried a few bible studies in the new church, some playgroups, but nothing really clicked. Avery and I went to toddler gym where we met with the same group of moms each week, but it wasn't really community. A friend then approached me about joining MOPs, where she was president. What??? Was she kidding? There will be PEOPLE there! Was she CRAZY???? I did end up going, and I will always be glad I did. I will admit that, in the beginning, I went to support her in her role, and because she had invited me. Then I discovered... I was enjoying myself! *Gasp* We had.... COMMUNITY.
Avery aged out of MOPs and I stopped going. We moved to another church last fall, and, even though it's taken me almost a year, I did finally start attending bible studies. One in particular, in the home of another mom, has been a saving grace. COMMUNITY. There's that word again. I can't tell you how necessary it's become for me. There aren't many of us, just a few of us with small children, and we support each other. I've even become comfortable enough that they've begun searching for my straight jacket and their glass of wine. We talk about our kids, the trials of motherhood, the ministry that is motherhood. We do have a book so we can have guided discussions, but well, you know how that goes. And you know what? We don't sit around complaining about our children, it's nothing like that! And I love that about our group! Even in the trials, there is only lifting up, laughter, and prayer. I leave each week with a smile, set straight(er) on my path, reminded that I am not the only who experiences motherhood the way I do, that so much of what I experience is normal.
If you are a new mom, or even if motherhood is old hat to you--I would encourage you to find a community. Please don't isolate yourself, and your child. Trust me, believe me, I know how painful stepping out into the world can be, how scary it is! You, and your child, will thank yourself for doing so though, I promise you. Even if it's just for coffee once a week, it's an important venture to make. Think of it as an investment in your health, and your child's well being.
Oh gosh! I almost forgot the most important part! Find a community with a built in sitter! That's the key! :)
Monday, September 15, 2014
Living Without Fear
In one way or another, I've always been a fearful person. There are times it leads me to feel that I am betraying my God, betraying my faith. Ironically, it causes more fear that I am letting my Father down, that I am telling Him that His promises are not enough for me.
I wish I had the answer to that one, I do. All I know is that there are times when fervent prayer is called for more than other times. This is one of those times.
The enemy of my soul has been coming like a thief in the night, trying to steal my joy. He has been whispering nonsense and lies in my ear, and visiting in my dreams. I have truly felt under attack. He knows, and he takes advantage, turning my brain into his playground. He has been dancing with my fears, feeding the fire they are built on. It has been so bad that I am waking up in the night, and saying out loud, "I rebuke you! Get out! I will not give you this power! You cannot have this!" This certainly makes for some interesting looks from Lilly and Shawn at 3 am...
But really--NO. I will NOT give the enemy this power over my joy. He canNOT have this. This joy is God given, it is a gift, it is a blessing. God speaks the truth here, and ONLY God. I will not live in fear, and I will not allow my joy to be stolen from me. My Father has declared this joy His, and that is all I need to know. That is good enough for me.
We have a good life, an excellent life. Our home and our family are full of blessings. This is God's home, not the enemy's playground.
"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
I wish I had the answer to that one, I do. All I know is that there are times when fervent prayer is called for more than other times. This is one of those times.
The enemy of my soul has been coming like a thief in the night, trying to steal my joy. He has been whispering nonsense and lies in my ear, and visiting in my dreams. I have truly felt under attack. He knows, and he takes advantage, turning my brain into his playground. He has been dancing with my fears, feeding the fire they are built on. It has been so bad that I am waking up in the night, and saying out loud, "I rebuke you! Get out! I will not give you this power! You cannot have this!" This certainly makes for some interesting looks from Lilly and Shawn at 3 am...
But really--NO. I will NOT give the enemy this power over my joy. He canNOT have this. This joy is God given, it is a gift, it is a blessing. God speaks the truth here, and ONLY God. I will not live in fear, and I will not allow my joy to be stolen from me. My Father has declared this joy His, and that is all I need to know. That is good enough for me.
We have a good life, an excellent life. Our home and our family are full of blessings. This is God's home, not the enemy's playground.
"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
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