You have to have something for you

In our recent conversation about homeschooling, my mom stated that “you have to have something for you”.

Then she elaborated. “Intercessory prayer was that for me. And when you all were very young, Agape Handmaidens.”

That was about the extent of that bit of advice. But don’t let the brevity distract you from the wisdom.

Mom was telling me not to forget self-care. This is good. This was good for me to hear from my mother. Because self-care is a buzzword in today’s mommy-world and I’m often quick to dismiss it (out of distrust for anything popular in the parenting world).

But Mom’s elaboration also emphasized the difference between the popular conception of self-care and Mom’s conception of it.

Popular self-care involves manicures and pedicures, massages and spa days, hotel stays. Lots of money. Lots of time. Lots more money for babysitters.

Mom’s self-care was intercessory prayer: spending a couple hours a week praying for others with others, while we kids were babysat (when we were very young) or played independently in our pastor’s basement. Agape Handmaidens? One morning a month the ladies of the church got together to work on hand-work while the children were babysat. Mom often brought laundry to fold while she chatted with the other ladies.

That’s it. That was her self-care.

For this time-starved, uber-frugal mama, that’s exactly what I need to hear.

I do need to have something for me. Taking the time to prepare for and go to Tuesday Connection, our ladies’ Bible study at church, is important. Having that conversation with adults? That’s important.

But I don’t need to feel guilty that I’m not spending lots of money and lots of time doing those things that seem to me like pointless indulgences.


More what?

We were having plums for lunch, so it was perfectly reasonable that Tirzah Mae started to chant “More nectarines!”

I gave her a slice of plum. “Here is some plum.”

Then Louis began the chant. “More Macarena!”

I sighed. “Yes, you can have more plums.”

And then Tirzah Mae began again. “More macaroni and cheese.”

I give up. The silliness index is off the charts.


Separating “I wish I could have” from “I wish I had”

When I was in Lincoln last month, I asked my mother about homeschooling. Specifically, I asked her what advice she would have given twenty-seven-year-old her as she embarked on her homeschool journey.

She had a hard time coming up with an answer because, she told me, “There are things I wish I could have done, but they just weren’t possible.”

She wishes she could have taken more field trips with us. But she had seven children in ten years – and taking those field trips just wasn’t possible.

She wishes she could have provided more opportunities for certain of my siblings to follow their interests more. But those things just weren’t possible in the circumstances she and we were in.

So she did what she could.

Even though that statement wasn’t advice, per se, I found in it a useful principle.

It’s valuable to separate the “I wish I could have” from the “I wish I had”.

Maybe I wish I could do x, y, or z but time, money, or energy makes it impossible.

I wish I could have taken my older littles to baby storytime at the library – but they were NICU babies and needed to avoid other kids.

That’s a clear cut one. Others aren’t so obvious, but they’re there anyway.

I wish I could do more outings with the children period – but I’m a homebody and I get really crabby at my children if I’m running all day. In this season of intensive mothering, limiting our time outside the house to two days during the week keeps me sane and enables me to manage myself and treat my children with compassion (most of the time).

Sometimes, I need to let go of the things I wish I could have done. I need to let go of the dreams I had of being this or that sort of mother.

I need to do what I can, not be forever regretting what I can’t (or being a terrible mother in the now because I’m doing something I really shouldn’t).

Side note: Lest you get the wrong impression, 27 is what my mother would have been (give or take) when she was in my situation child-wise. I got started quite a bit later and am definitely *not* in my 20s any more :-)


Miscellaneous Mother-ish Musings

The nice thing about coffee stains is that they smell good, unlike pee stains. The nice thing about pee stains is that they’re colorless, unlike coffee stains.


“You never know, with the way people name their children these days.”

And then I realize the absurdity of that comment from a woman who gave her first child two first names, her second two middle names, and her third a hyphenated first name.

Pot, meet kettle.


For years now, I’ve been faithfully rotating my belongings using the first in, first out (FIFO) rule.

I’ve been putting recently used washcloths, tea towels, bath towels, sheets, underwear all at the bottom of the stack or the back of the row so that everything wears evenly.

I just realized that, at least theoretically, this means that all my linens will wear out at the same time and I’ll have to replace them in one fell swoop instead of bit by bit.

Is this really what I want?

Is it worth the work of rotation?

Hmm…


“Helping” in the “Kitchen”

The children always want to help when I’m in the kitchen – and I love that they do.

But I struggle finding things they can do to help.

More often than not, they want to help when I’m standing over a hot stove, when I’m chopping with my chef’s knife, or when I’m trying to get something clean (I cringe when they stick their grubby little hands in my rinse water!)

It just isn’t very easy to work in the kitchen with three preschoolers crowded around.

But I had some inspiration while I was getting ready for dinner tonight. I was serving mashed potatoes, which meant I needed to scrub and cut and boil and mash potatoes.

The kids "scrubbing" potatoes

And I realized that scrubbing potatoes is the PERFECT activity for my little ones to “help” with. I scrub with my Norwex Veggie and Fruit Scrub cloth – and the kids will barely notice the difference between that and a clean dishcloth.

Off to the lawn with a bag of potatoes, a dishpan of water, a pan, my veggie cloth, and three dishcloths. Oh, and three preschoolers (the baby enjoyed watching from a nearby blanket!)

More "scrubbing" potatoes

The kids “scrubbed” the potatoes and then handed them to me to finish. When all the potatoes were done, I dumped the extra water on the tomato plant and brought the potatoes inside.

Then the kids (two relatively dry, one sopping wet) headed to the front porch with papa to hammer nails while I gave the potatoes a quick rinse and got them ready for the stove.

Parenting win!


This is normal

Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Wondering what on earth I’ve gotten myself into.

These are the feelings that have been my regular companions over the past week.

In my lowest times, I’m wishing I could just be done. I want to dissolve onto the floor in tears. I want to shut the door and just be alone.

This wasn’t supposed to be this hard this soon, I think.

And then I remember.

I remember postpartum life, adjusting to a new member of the household.

The tears, the exhaustion, the overwhelmingness of it all. The “what have I done?” The “can’t I just quit?”

It has taken me months to settle in to new routines each time I’ve welcomed another baby into the family.

Why should this be any different?

Yes, I’m not dealing with postpartum hormones (although, seriously folks, breastfeeding can mean some weird and whacked hormones too!) Yes, I’m not dealing with recovering incisions or tears. But I am adjusting to a new child’s routines. A new child’s cries. I’m adjusting my “old” children to the new child. Adjusting the new child to the “old” ones.

And unlike my postpartum experiences, this time I’m doing it without outside help. This time, I’m putting the meals on the table three or four times a day. I’m running to this appointment or that every day of the week. And all that with my husband’s car in the shop.

Calm down, I tell myself. This is normal. Don’t catastrophize. You will settle in. It just takes time.

And meanwhile, when the house is messy and my hair doesn’t get brushed and I’m throwing yet another round of sandwiches on the table, I can remind myself that God’s grace is sufficient for this season.

His power is made perfect in weakness.

When I dissolve on the floor in tears, he lifts my head and gives strength to go on.

And one day, four children will be easier and there will be a new challenge to remind me to lean on his grace.

For now, though, this is normal and this is right.

Desperately dependent on him.


Learning to say “Please”

Tirzah Mae and I just happen to be learning the same lesson these days. Now that she is three, and now that I have three children, we’re learning to say “please”.

Tirzah Mae is learning to say “please” as an alternative to making demands. I’m learning to say “please” as an alternative to “No, I’ve got this.”

For Tirzah Mae, learning to say please is about reorienting her natural ego-centrism that thinks the world should jump at her beck and call. Instead of “give me some water”, she’s learning to say “May I have some water, please?”

For me, learning to say please is about reorienting my natural pride that thinks I should be able to be self-sufficient. Instead of, “No, thanks, I can handle everything myself”, I’m learning to say, “Yes, please, I can’t do it on my own.”

So, when the nurse offers to push the stroller when I’m rounding up the children for our doctor’s appointment?

Yes, please.

When the library assistant offers to continue checking out my books while I take a newly potty-trained little one to the bathroom?

Yes, please.

When a fellow library patron offers to put my books in the bag so I can soothe the baby that’s beginning to fuss in her sling?

Yes, please.

When the lady at the grocery store offers a hand when I’m juggling kids and groceries and a phone call?

Yes, please.

It’s a lesson I think I’m learning just in time – because three is becoming four. We’ll soon have a little guy joining our family, for as long as he needs us.

Which means I need to step up my “please” game and ask for help instead of just accepting it.

Please pray for us as we open our home and our hearts to this precious little one. Please pray that the gospel would grow deep in our hearts and in his as we seek to practically minister the gospel to him.


Hammers and mallets and impact drivers…

I’ve been waiting for pretty much forever to get a good video of Louis in action. He has the uncanny habit of noticing whenever I start videoing and immediately stopping whatever he had been doing.

This time, though, I caught him.

Captured doing what he likes best – playing with hammers and mallets and impact drivers.


Sorting by…what exactly?

An unknowing observer might take a look at these two piles of magnetic letters on our living room floor and assume that the contents of each are random.

How are these magnets special?

The pile of Louis's rejects

That unknowing observer would be absolutely wrong.

Louis carefully selected the letters “I” and “T” and the numerals “1” and “7” from the bucket of magnets.

Can anyone guess why?
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All of the selected magnets have a long vertical piece with at least one horizontal projection on one end.

Guessed it yet?
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Check out the background behind the selected pieces. Any closer to a guess?
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How about if I told you he says “boom-boom” when he’s using said magnets?

Surely you can see the link now.


Eating crow PBDP

Peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches.

My husband claims they’re delicious. He eats them because his mother eats them. She eats them (if I remember the story correctly) because her father ate them. [Correction: My mother-in-law, a faithful reader, commented on Facebook to tell me she learned the “recipe” from her sister!]

Daniel, perhaps naturally, wants to pass along this strange eating habit to his children.

His wife grimaces every time he mentions it – but assures him that one of these days she’ll make peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches for the children (we do not, as a rule, eat sandwiches for whole-family meals at home.)

Today, the time was right. We ate most of our leftovers yesterday evening, we had plenty of homemade bread that wasn’t allocated for something else, and I wanted to let the kids help WITHOUT making a horrible sticky mess. PBJ was out, PBDP was in.

Making Peanut Butter and Dill Pickle Sandwiches

I sliced and toasted the bread. I spread peanut butter on the bread. And I dished dill pickle slices onto the little ones’ plates so they could put them on their own sandwiches.

They, and I, ate peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches for lunch.

And you know what?

They were delicious.

Do you have any unusual food traditions in your family?