Greed

I've let you in on my guilty pleasure before... No, not that one. 😉  The one about reading advice columns.

The letters are like little soap operas.  Some of them have me reaching for tissues, offering up sympathy and empathy for the letter writers.  Others have me yelling, "OH FOR PETE'S SAKE!"  Most of the time, I side with the advice the columnist offers.  Sometimes, I'm not sure she's harsh enough, though.  I think most of the letter writers already know the answers to their questions, they just need that extra little push to finish drawing their conclusions.

Still, others appear completely clueless.

One of the things that really draws my ire in these columns are the selfish, self-righteous, entitled greedy letter writers ("Tell us how you really feel, Amy....").  These are the people who want validation to feel slighted for not receiving wedding gifts from guests, for being written out of the family will, or not receiving as much as Family Member A did for graduation.  They want justification for their anger at the friend who didn't attend their child's birthday party, but came over for coffee a few days later, and *gasp*,  showed up without a gift for the child.

The list goes on, and truly, I am just as baffled by their behavior as they seem to be by the ones they write in about.  I do not understand their indignation, and I'm embarrassed, and terribly sad, for them.   I don't know what happens to people in this world to cause them to keep score and count gifts and inheritances and attendances--and to feel so righteous in doing so.  In getting so caught up in these things, they are missing out on the best parts of life! They miss the joy in the wedding or the birthday or milestone.  They also miss out on the point to the life lost, and the purpose to grief.  They will lose friends, and alienate family members, and in the end, live lonely, superficial lives.  They are so busy being angry that their piece of cake is always smaller than everyone else's that they are not capable of happiness.  That is no way to live!  Oh my gosh, cake is cake!  Especially if it's chocolate.

If I were to read one of those letters written by one of my children, I would be embarrassed, angry with myself, and deeply ashamed of my failure as his mom.  Shawn and I are doing our best to raise our children as servants of Christ; we try to do our best to do for others in love, not expecting anything in return.  No one in this world owes us anything, nor are we entitled to anything.  My hope for my children is they will treat others with compassion and empathy, not superficiality and expectation.  I do not want my children to miss out on the best parts of life because they are too busy keeping score, and I want my children to be happy!  To be blunt, we don't want to raise doormats, but we also do not want to raise selfish brats either.  As a reformed selfish brat, I will tell you--I will not raise selfish brats.  There is a healthy balance. We are battling worldly ways, as well as naturally childish ways, so our task is not always an easy one, but it is a worthy one.

The "Difficult" Child

I'm sorry, are those COLLEGE forms
you're filling out?

It was apparent from the start that Noah was going to be our difficult child.  Colic, reflux, nursing issues, he cried constantly, no clue how to newborn--oh yeah, and he had a new mom who didn't know how to mom, either.  Poor kid was just downright doomed from the beginning.  

Over the years, as you know--and I will keep it simple here, as you've been reading my blogs forever and a day, right?--we've, no, HE'S battled autism, ADHD, bullying, OCD, depression, low self esteem, anxiety and a myriad of other things that would fell even the toughest of us in most cases.  Not to mention all those times I thought for sure I've messed him up beyond recovery.

He's come out stronger for it, amazing for it--and, he's become the easy child.  I will deny that statement if ever questioned by my younger two children.  Yep, in his teenage years, Noah has become the easy child.  I get a lot of compliments about him, and honestly, he really does make teenage child rearing look super easy.  I tease him that he can't break my track record; he has 1 1/2 years until he's out of the house (because, as he likes to constantly remind me, he's 16 now), then 4 years of college (or, God help me, basic training, then wherever the military sends us, I mean, him)--keep it together, man, don't ruin this for your mom!  With all the worrying I used to do, all the begging I used to do with God, all the tears shed over this young man child of mine--I really don't have to worry about him.  For the record though, I still do.  Just not as much.  And it's entirely possible I cry more now about him than I did back then.  I mean--he's LEAVING MY NEST.

Last weekend Noah went on a youth retreat with his/our church youth group. The next morning on the way to church, we tried to talk to him about it. Getting details was like pulling teeth.  He finally told us the message was about personal identity, but he didn't feel it really applied to him.  Then our eldest broke the news:  We've done a good job of not just raising him, but of raising him up.

I may have white-knuckled the car door at this point.

"I know who I am, I'm comfortable with who I am.  I'm God's son, I'm your son.  You love me no matter what, just like God does.  I'm good with all of that.  I don't need a big speech about my personal identity because I guess you guys have done a good job with that for me."

Noah elaborated, telling us that not a day goes by I don't tell him and his brothers how grateful I am for them ("Even on the days you yell, Mom."), that he knows how much he means to us, and he knows he can do anything he wants to in life ("Even on the days you guys remind me that I can be lazy.").  He's comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with having Aspergers and know that's part of God's plan for him--because of how we've raised him.

Of course, all of this was said in true Noah fashion, completely nonchalant and "Oh yeah, by the way."

Never have I been so grateful my child couldn't see me!  Sitting up front in the car, I covered my face with one hand, choking back silent sobs, while Shawn grabbed my other hand.  Did we really do it?  Are we okay?  We've done well with this child!  Could it be?  What I've known all along, what I should have had faith enough to move mountains--Noah is going to be okay.  Noah IS okay.  

Furniture Shopping

We kind of loathe furniture shopping.  The result of that is a major lack of furniture in a home we've lived in for almost two years.  So, we've decided it's time to get serious about it; we've dedicated our home to God, and if we're going to use it for His purposes, people are going to need places to sit!

We bought furniture for our family room when we moved in--we were actually sitting on our camp stools and the patio furniture the previous owners left behind.  I wish I was kidding.  We didn't really want to bring any of our old furniture with us--kind of a new beginning, out with the old, in with the new thing.  So, for the first two months here, we put it off, knew we needed to make the trek to the furniture stores, and finally did it.

I want to walk into a store, see the whole room set up and buy it. I will admit to very little imagination and even worse decorating skill, so that's kind of how it has to be (and really, a lack of patience and interest, too...).  I don't want to be followed by a salesperson, I don't want to look at swatches (I actually may have laughed at the one salesman who handed them, and a bottle of water, to me, telling me to get comfortable, take my time and enjoy myself as Shawn tried to desperately corral our three overstimulated and tired children.... Maybe when Shawn and I buy grown up furniture I will...  Nope, probably not then either) and I don't want to listen to jokes or be sold on scams.  I just want to see the furniture, like the furniture and buy the furniture.

We kind of did that with the family room furniture.  Sort of.  At the eighth store of the day.  Yeah.

Now it's time to start on the rest of the rooms.  Sigh.  The first room is the formal dining room.  I've started looking online first this time, hoping to kind of reduce our time in the stores even further.  Problem is, I know what I want, and I'm not likely to find it in a traditional store.  But I started looking anyway.  I found something different, something I kind of really liked and was getting used to the more I looked at other pieces.  It was kind of an antique-ish looking off white wood with fabric chairs, and it would brighten the room right up against our wood floors.  It's totally out of the box for me (Shawn is very sweet--if I like it, he likes it, so I really did need a second opinion!), so I sent the link to my best friend for her opinion, "What do you think?"

She shot me down with three words:  "You have boys."

Ugh.  She's right.  Handprints.  Footprints.  Boy dirt.  Virginia red clay.  Sharpies and crayons.

Maybe I'll have more luck at a scratch and dent sale???