I was 17, and he was probably 15. He was a friend of my younger sister's and a sophomore and I a senior in high school. I was driving us back from a sports game or tournament of some kind. I can't remember which. He looked at me and said, "You drive a stick better than any girl I've ever seen." I smiled. My dad raised three daughters. He's a special kind of man - the kind that worked 25+ years at a white-collar desk job but built houses and fixed cars on the weekends and evenings. I suspect he was a little disappointed that God had not seen fit to give him any sons to whom he could pass on some handy-man skills. Well, honestly, I don't just suspect that he had really wished for a son. He had picked out "Joshua David" for his first son's name before my older sister was born. Suffice it to say that we ended up with an annoying parakeet named "Joshua David"after the birth of my younger sister.
My dad taught us all kinds of things. I can't count the weekends and evenings of my childhood and early adulthood that were spent in a toolbelt or nail apron - hammer in hand - building house frames in a cold garage... or insulating buildings... or wiring outlets or switches... you get the idea. When it came to our cars, things were no different. We drove old, ugly "bumper cars", but we were to maintain them. He taught us to check and maintain auto fluids and change oil and brake pads. He taught us to change a tire, and how to drive a manual transmission vehicle. Many of the cars we owned as I grew up were stick shifts. When I was too young to drive, my dad would let me change the gears from the passenger seat as we drove to a hardware store or lumber yard. It made me feel so grown up. When we grew up, that was a prerequisite of getting our drivers licenses. We had to know how to proficiently drive a stick shift. These memories came flooding back to me when I saw this iPhone cover on zazzle.com last week.
Why did I pin it to pinterest? Well, mostly because it was that kind of week last week. (Warning - hormone talk coming up - boys feel free to stop reading - or keep reading and get some edumacation.) I have generally had a slightly high testosterone level for as long as I can remember. This caused infertility early in my married life and has caused a few other annoying side-effects but not enough to wish it away, because one of the nicer side effects has been a virtual lack of emotional outbursts associated with some more annoying hormones. I am pretty even-keeled. That doesn't mean I don't have personality deficiencies. It just means that those deficiencies aren't exacerbated by hormone-related psychotic episodes. I have even made known to my husband, on occasion, how lucky he is that I am so easy-going. I have friends that turn into completely different people at certain times of the month. Crying, yelling, etc. Whew! I was so glad that wasn't me. Maybe they were exaggerating to justify irrational behavior?
Maybe not. Enter estrogen. Apparently there has been some recent evening out of my own hormones as last Monday my evil twin made an appearance. She has rarely reared her hideous head... only once or twice all through my child-bearing years, and maybe once in a delivery room. We were starting back up with school early, and as I was reading to my older girls, the younger two boy (5) and girl (3) were starting to (as usual) get on one another's last nerve. I had asked them to straighten up their room, and they were fighting over every, little thing. That was getting on my nerves... a little. They interrupted the schooling a minimum of a dozen times with arguments over who was or wasn't pulling his or her own weight in the cleaning department. I had tried positive reinforcement right off the bat. (You know, the ususual "If you guys work together and get a long and do a good job, mom will give you a reward.") It took about 30 seconds for us all to realize that they were not going to be "bought" by cheap child psychology that day. Sometimes they force my hand to go for the negative reinforcement. Fortunately for all of us, that's rare and gets rarer the older we all get.
They managed to get through the room-cleaning for the most part, and I don't want perfection - just presentability... okay, mostly I just want to walk through the room without getting my feet wound in a blanket or stepping on a lego or used overnight diaper. Then I made the mistake of pushing my luck and asking them to clean the basement. The children know that they all share a similar fear - a fear of all children with basements - fear of being left in the basement alone. Like all children with basements, they use this fear against one another for the purpose of emotional manipulation. Violet threatens to leave Levi downstairs alone if he doesn't do her cleaning for her, and you can imagine how well that goes over. He tends to run high emotionally, and usually he and I are good for one another. Monday was an exception to the rule. He was screaming at Violet so much that I couldn't be heard. Against "good twin's" better judgment, evil twin started to scream over his screaming, and once she started she owned me. As you can imagine... whatever I was trying to accomplish didn't get accomplished. By the time he settled down enough to hear me screaming at him not to scream at people, he could only say, "But that's not fair, mom, because you're screaming at me." Granted, I was once told that my version of "screaming" was more along the lines of a muted yell, but I was raising my voice to a decibel level that was the verbal equivalent of overkill. I wish I could say that after that I started being totally rational that day. I also wish I could say that Violet hadn't taken Levi's brand new Toss Across tic-tac-toe beanbag game and taken it upon herself to try to assemble it all herself by removing all of the orange X stickers and sticking them on every triangle block. I wish I could say I hadn't gotten CADD (cleaning attention deficit disorder) and gone downstairs to put some things away and decided that the basement toy boxes needed going through and organized - thereby biting off way more than I wanted to chew that day.
As I sometimes am apt to do, I got into the huge facebook confessional and confessed my sin of being hormonally horrific to my child. I got quite a few "likes" and comments about the "confessional status" that mentioned something about us screaming, and that I was glad Walgreen's doesn't sell at-home ovariectomy kits. I think it was because it was just plain honest - no sugar-coating. One of the comments was from another mom-friend of mine who said she was glad I had confessed my faults that day, because she always sees me as super laid back. I told her I didn't know that I put off the laid back vibe, and another friend commented that I absolutely put off that vibe. I wasn't sure what to think about that. As I thought on it, I started thinking of my alter-ego - "Laid Back Mom". She'd make a great super hero, I think. I can just see her now. A big "LB" emblazoned across her super-hero chest.
I got married and had children quite a bit before any of my peers. I didn't have a single person to watch go through parenting or ask advice from who was going through it at the same time I was. I quit my job at the Illinois State Police to be a mom, and believe you me... I was not Laid Back Mom. I was a wreck. Sadie - my firstborn... she didn't sleep at night. She was tongue-tied and couldn't nurse right (even though I had promised myself and her that she would get breast-milk). I forced myself to pump-and-feed for 5 months before I finally just gave in to what I felt was a total mothering failure. I was up-tight and worried about her health all of the time. She had chronic ear infections, and she started to have epileptic seizures at about 4 months of age. I was also worried about other things - dirty floors, for instance. I swept the kitchen floor at least once a day - usually 2-3 times. I was even one of those mothers who lays down a tarp under the high-chair to keep things clean. (As if the tarp doesn't also need cleaning.) I was on WIC, and got help from the local health department for groceries, and I took classes on baby-care there too, as I was certainly no expert. I was a stickler for growth charts, time-lines, and keeping her "on target" milestone-wise with other babies her age. I read books on every topic in child-rearing. I sought perfection in parenting. I wanted to be Super Mom - able to clean up sippy cup spills with a single paper towel... able to make my own diaper wipes and laundry detergent... able to weed a garden while wearing a baby and teaching baby's older sibling the fine points of composting. I failed... miserably and often.
Three years after Sadie was born I was headed for divorce court. My husband had left me with a three-year-old and 9-month-old to raise, and I was miserable. Our marriage had been a difficult one at times, but I was not prepared for the awfulness of divorce. It is truly inexplicably painful and awful. Super Mom had never been attainable for any length of time, but divorce handicapped me on an emotional level in such a devastating way that I was lucky to even remember - at the end of the day - whether or not I had fed my daughters three meals that day. Not only was I not super. I was barely being a mom. Well, it was during this season that Laid Back Mom became my norm. Laid Back Mom - able to ignore a smudged window with a single glance... able to buy a container of wipes and jug of detergent without guilt... able to let the weeds and carrot plants in my garden battle it out for supremacy and hope for the best... able to listen to two moms converse about their compost piles and not feel pressured to have one myself. How do super heroes become super? Usually through some freak accident that leaves them maimed and genetically mutated to be super-human. I became Laid Back Mom when I was maimed by divorce... finally not only realizing and coping with the fact that I could not ultimately control my circumstances or any one else's actions but embracing that glorious reality. God showed me such grace, and I was able to bask in it. I was not in control. I didn't want to be. I still don't want to be... in my spirit. My flesh (the part of me that reacts - the part that battles my spirit) wants control, but I got much better at stuffing that part away in a corner and letting God do what He wanted to do with my life and circumstances.
I was once in McDonald's where I witnessed a young mother of one child of approximately 16 months of age. She brought the newly toddling child into the Playland area, and started to use copious amounts of anti-bacterial wipes on the high chair, the table, and anything else her baby might touch while sitting at the table. She struggled (as all parents do in the Playland) to get the child to eat a few bites of food, and she was obviously very frustrated by it. She finally let the squealing toddler out of the high chair, and let the child walk around the Playland a bit. She began cleaning up the table, and then she saw them... french fries... strewn about all over the padded Playland floor. I saw the look of panic in her eyes as she dove - almost in slow motion - toward one that her baby was about to pick up off the floor to eat. She stomped on it and just stood there - covering the fry with her foot. Apparently she didn't want to pick them up herself - for fear of germs. SO... baby went for another fry nearby. Mom stood on that one with her other foot. Persistent baby went on to the next and the next. All the while, the mom was playing discarded french fry Twister to keep herself and her baby from the germy fries. I couldn't help but smile and chuckle at how funny she was. She was an obvious "rookie". Had she even one more child she would never have had time to micro-manage the Playland. She would have done what the rest of us do - hope for a few minutes of mom peace-and-quiet... which isn't really peaceful or quiet... just affords fewer interruptions than usual. She would have finished her baby's half-eaten cheeseburger and fries, because she hadn't really wanted the salad she had choked down herself. She would have thought about wanting to smack the kid who knocked her baby down and took away the ball she was playing with. She would have looked around to try to figure out who was that brat's adult supervision anyway. She might have even looked down at her phone and texted a friend she hadn't gotten to talk to in months - and rested - even for just 60 seconds - trusting that her baby would be relatively safe and less than 20 feet away on padded flooring at all times.
In the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge, they speak of the beauty of a woman. They claim that a woman's truest beauty is in that of being at rest. Women are pictured in some of the world's most beautiful artwork as reclining on a couch. This doesn't hold true for men. We see a man reclining and wonder why he's not out doing something more productive. I don't think laziness is attractive in either sex, but I think that artists are more about capturing the spirit of a person and not just the physical attributes. A woman who's never content and who is alway striving and trying to be something more than what God made her (and thinking you should be too) is essentially unattractive. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world from a physical standpoint, but if she's counting her calories and yours, talking about her deadlines, fussing with her hair and makeup while badmouthing a co-worker, she has lost the beauty of a woman internally at rest. Reclining Woman is restful inside. She is happy with who God made her and happy that He's not done making her yet. She truly enjoys others, and they enjoy her. She has time to talk. More importantly, she has time to listen. She eats a piece of chocolate cake and offers you one too. She sometimes wears a flowing skirt and a pair of dangly earrings, and her hair is often a bit out of place. She is as comfortable in makeup as out of it. She is remarkable. I'm not her, but I'd rather be her than Striving Woman.
Super heroes aren't born. They're made by pain and suffering. They are the result of freakish accidents. They are freaks. By God's grace - giving me a gift called suffering - I became a freak of human nature. I try to maintain it, and maintaining Laid Back Mom is so much more easily maintained than is Super Mom. Laid Back Mom just smiles and remembers that sooner than she wants to admit she'll be Empty Nest Mom.
When I yelled at my children last Monday, I had a choice to make. I could apologize and hope that my children would forgive me my faults, or I could continue on in stubbornness and anger. By God's grace alone I opted for the first, and children are always so forgiving. With a pat on the back and an, "I 'give you, mom. You 'give me too?" from the littlest one, I feel like a million bucks again.
As I sometimes am apt to do, I got into the huge facebook confessional and confessed my sin of being hormonally horrific to my child. I got quite a few "likes" and comments about the "confessional status" that mentioned something about us screaming, and that I was glad Walgreen's doesn't sell at-home ovariectomy kits. I think it was because it was just plain honest - no sugar-coating. One of the comments was from another mom-friend of mine who said she was glad I had confessed my faults that day, because she always sees me as super laid back. I told her I didn't know that I put off the laid back vibe, and another friend commented that I absolutely put off that vibe. I wasn't sure what to think about that. As I thought on it, I started thinking of my alter-ego - "Laid Back Mom". She'd make a great super hero, I think. I can just see her now. A big "LB" emblazoned across her super-hero chest.
I got married and had children quite a bit before any of my peers. I didn't have a single person to watch go through parenting or ask advice from who was going through it at the same time I was. I quit my job at the Illinois State Police to be a mom, and believe you me... I was not Laid Back Mom. I was a wreck. Sadie - my firstborn... she didn't sleep at night. She was tongue-tied and couldn't nurse right (even though I had promised myself and her that she would get breast-milk). I forced myself to pump-and-feed for 5 months before I finally just gave in to what I felt was a total mothering failure. I was up-tight and worried about her health all of the time. She had chronic ear infections, and she started to have epileptic seizures at about 4 months of age. I was also worried about other things - dirty floors, for instance. I swept the kitchen floor at least once a day - usually 2-3 times. I was even one of those mothers who lays down a tarp under the high-chair to keep things clean. (As if the tarp doesn't also need cleaning.) I was on WIC, and got help from the local health department for groceries, and I took classes on baby-care there too, as I was certainly no expert. I was a stickler for growth charts, time-lines, and keeping her "on target" milestone-wise with other babies her age. I read books on every topic in child-rearing. I sought perfection in parenting. I wanted to be Super Mom - able to clean up sippy cup spills with a single paper towel... able to make my own diaper wipes and laundry detergent... able to weed a garden while wearing a baby and teaching baby's older sibling the fine points of composting. I failed... miserably and often.
Three years after Sadie was born I was headed for divorce court. My husband had left me with a three-year-old and 9-month-old to raise, and I was miserable. Our marriage had been a difficult one at times, but I was not prepared for the awfulness of divorce. It is truly inexplicably painful and awful. Super Mom had never been attainable for any length of time, but divorce handicapped me on an emotional level in such a devastating way that I was lucky to even remember - at the end of the day - whether or not I had fed my daughters three meals that day. Not only was I not super. I was barely being a mom. Well, it was during this season that Laid Back Mom became my norm. Laid Back Mom - able to ignore a smudged window with a single glance... able to buy a container of wipes and jug of detergent without guilt... able to let the weeds and carrot plants in my garden battle it out for supremacy and hope for the best... able to listen to two moms converse about their compost piles and not feel pressured to have one myself. How do super heroes become super? Usually through some freak accident that leaves them maimed and genetically mutated to be super-human. I became Laid Back Mom when I was maimed by divorce... finally not only realizing and coping with the fact that I could not ultimately control my circumstances or any one else's actions but embracing that glorious reality. God showed me such grace, and I was able to bask in it. I was not in control. I didn't want to be. I still don't want to be... in my spirit. My flesh (the part of me that reacts - the part that battles my spirit) wants control, but I got much better at stuffing that part away in a corner and letting God do what He wanted to do with my life and circumstances.
I was once in McDonald's where I witnessed a young mother of one child of approximately 16 months of age. She brought the newly toddling child into the Playland area, and started to use copious amounts of anti-bacterial wipes on the high chair, the table, and anything else her baby might touch while sitting at the table. She struggled (as all parents do in the Playland) to get the child to eat a few bites of food, and she was obviously very frustrated by it. She finally let the squealing toddler out of the high chair, and let the child walk around the Playland a bit. She began cleaning up the table, and then she saw them... french fries... strewn about all over the padded Playland floor. I saw the look of panic in her eyes as she dove - almost in slow motion - toward one that her baby was about to pick up off the floor to eat. She stomped on it and just stood there - covering the fry with her foot. Apparently she didn't want to pick them up herself - for fear of germs. SO... baby went for another fry nearby. Mom stood on that one with her other foot. Persistent baby went on to the next and the next. All the while, the mom was playing discarded french fry Twister to keep herself and her baby from the germy fries. I couldn't help but smile and chuckle at how funny she was. She was an obvious "rookie". Had she even one more child she would never have had time to micro-manage the Playland. She would have done what the rest of us do - hope for a few minutes of mom peace-and-quiet... which isn't really peaceful or quiet... just affords fewer interruptions than usual. She would have finished her baby's half-eaten cheeseburger and fries, because she hadn't really wanted the salad she had choked down herself. She would have thought about wanting to smack the kid who knocked her baby down and took away the ball she was playing with. She would have looked around to try to figure out who was that brat's adult supervision anyway. She might have even looked down at her phone and texted a friend she hadn't gotten to talk to in months - and rested - even for just 60 seconds - trusting that her baby would be relatively safe and less than 20 feet away on padded flooring at all times.
In the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge, they speak of the beauty of a woman. They claim that a woman's truest beauty is in that of being at rest. Women are pictured in some of the world's most beautiful artwork as reclining on a couch. This doesn't hold true for men. We see a man reclining and wonder why he's not out doing something more productive. I don't think laziness is attractive in either sex, but I think that artists are more about capturing the spirit of a person and not just the physical attributes. A woman who's never content and who is alway striving and trying to be something more than what God made her (and thinking you should be too) is essentially unattractive. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world from a physical standpoint, but if she's counting her calories and yours, talking about her deadlines, fussing with her hair and makeup while badmouthing a co-worker, she has lost the beauty of a woman internally at rest. Reclining Woman is restful inside. She is happy with who God made her and happy that He's not done making her yet. She truly enjoys others, and they enjoy her. She has time to talk. More importantly, she has time to listen. She eats a piece of chocolate cake and offers you one too. She sometimes wears a flowing skirt and a pair of dangly earrings, and her hair is often a bit out of place. She is as comfortable in makeup as out of it. She is remarkable. I'm not her, but I'd rather be her than Striving Woman.
Super heroes aren't born. They're made by pain and suffering. They are the result of freakish accidents. They are freaks. By God's grace - giving me a gift called suffering - I became a freak of human nature. I try to maintain it, and maintaining Laid Back Mom is so much more easily maintained than is Super Mom. Laid Back Mom just smiles and remembers that sooner than she wants to admit she'll be Empty Nest Mom.
When I yelled at my children last Monday, I had a choice to make. I could apologize and hope that my children would forgive me my faults, or I could continue on in stubbornness and anger. By God's grace alone I opted for the first, and children are always so forgiving. With a pat on the back and an, "I 'give you, mom. You 'give me too?" from the littlest one, I feel like a million bucks again.
