Running Amuck

There have been so many things happening in our lives lately that I've barely had time to think - much less write about it.  So let me try to catch you up on our happenin's.  

I went on a vacation to the Bahamas.

We did some light reading.

We planted some raised bed gardens.

We planted some fruit trees and bushes.

We graduated one, handsome, young man from 8th grade into high school.

The hubby and I got away for a couple days of R and R.

Oh, and then there's the ever-present antics of these two.

especially this one..

But especially this one

Let it suffice to say that these last few months have been busy ones - good ones, but busy nevertheless.  

Now that the warm weather seems to be here to stay for awhile, we've been enjoying some good times outside.  Levi (4) seems to think that, in order to have a good time anywhere he must be wearing a certain pair of stunning, red, sports shorts.  These little beauties have a set of shiny, white, racing stripes down the sides.  He hasn't said a word, but I suspect that they make him feel a little more like Lightning McQueen.  If they end up in the washing machine (which they mysteriously happen to do during bath time about every other day), he moans and wails and seeks them out until they are dry.  He has a couple pairs of backup shorts that will do in a pinch, but he much prefers his beloved red ones.  These shorts have been the source of quite a bit of woe lately, especially since the days (and especially the evenings) have gotten cooler.  He hasn't been allowed to wear them much.  A few nights ago, he asked Mark if he could wear them to bed.  Mark replied, "You better ask mom.  I don't think she'll want you to wear those to bed tonight."  Levi said, "Wait... are you the boss, or is mom the boss?"  This comes from the boy who is always very miffed if he thinks he's being "bossed" by anyone.  He likes to tell me, "Mom, I just don't like to be bossed, because I like to do what I like to do.  Don't you know that?"  Then I try, to no avail of course, to explain that we tell him what he can and can't do in order to keep him healthy and safe.  There are a variety of opinions of how Mark should have answered that question.  He answered something to the effect of, "I am.  Now put on these sweatpants."  Which, call me old-fashioned, is fine with me.  I am glad I don't have to be "the boss", and I'm glad the buck stops somewhere else.

I am always thankful that the kids are healthy, but sometimes I'm a little vexed that they are so sharp.  Violet likes to pull hair.  Last night in the van, Violet started pulling Claire's hair... HARD.  Claire was screeching, and I was telling Violet from the front seat, "Let go of Claire's hair."  She just laughed and pulled harder.  So I said, "Claire, pull her hair!"  Claire asked, "What?"  "Pull her hair!" I shouted above the din.  (I couldn't stop Violet, and I thought if she knew how it felt she might not keep doing it.)  Claire reluctantly tugged lightly on Violet's hair.  Violet smiled and pulled Claire's with more force.  Sadie said, "Claire, you gotta do it till she screams like you're screamin'... till she screams ouch."  Claire looked skeptical and continued to pull lightly on Violet's hair.  Violet, smiled big and said in an exaggerated tone in her adorable baby talk, "Oh, ouch!  Ooo... it hurts!"  Then she laughed manically.  We all burst out laughing too.  This ended the hair-pulling... at least for that time.

When I was young and I did something wrong I received something awful... it was called "discipline" or a "punishment".  A person rarely hears such barbaric words anymore.  I find that people still dole out the types of things that were considered punishment, but these things are given words like "consequence".  I have children in a wide variety of age ranges.  These children have lied, cheated, hit, screamed, thrown tantrums, disobeyed, disrespected, been unkind, been hateful, and just about any other wrong in a child's grasp.  I don't think they do those bad things because they've seen me do those things.  I think they do them because they are wrong-doers.  In fact, the majority of those things I don't even do anymore... especially the hitting and tantrum throwing.  In those ways, they are worse than I am.  On the bright side, they are often also right-doers.  Which, in many cases, makes them worlds better than I am.  My oldest daughter Sadie (10) likes to "motivate" others.  That's a nice way of saying that she likes to control other people, but she does it in such a way that leaves those around her (especially Levi) thinking, "I just did what she told me to do, and I liked it.  What just happened here?"  In fact, her most recent motivational tool for positive reinforcement is a chart she made on the felt board.  In this chart, everyone in our family was assigned a color.  Each person receives a heart if they do something loving or kind and a star if they do something helpful or otherwise unobjectionable.  I think it's great.  Sadie did reveal her intent to remove these hearts or stars if anyone did something worthy of their removal.  Notice that Levi  (green) got right to work earning his reward points.

We've tried another type of positive reinforcement in our home.  It had to do with earning points (in the form of marbles) to earn prizes based on their interests.  This worked nicely for awhile until it turned into a thing where everything they did needed to be accompanied by a reward of some type.  From Claire asking for a reward for cleaning up her own messes to Austin asking if he'd get paid to carol to shut-ins at Christmastime, it just wasn't gaining the desired effect.  In fact, it was bringing out something very negative in my children - GREED.  Come to think of it, maybe it's brought about something negative in me - bribery?  (Notice, I capitalize their wrong and not my own.)  This method of positive reinforcement has gone by the wayside for the time being.

There are undoubtedly parents who enjoy correcting their children.  These are the parents (almost always mothers or presumably female caregivers) that I see at Walmart who can't stop - even for two seconds - hollering and/or talking down to the miserable, little "heathen" in, on, and/or around their shopping cart.  They can be heard from aisles around shouting... "Caleb, stop touching those apples!"  "Ashley, put that back!"  "Do you even have any idea how annoying you are?!"  "Joshua, sit down and shut up!"  They say things most kids can't even understand like, "Oh, you need to get over yourself!"  Where do they come up with this hideous jargon, much less assume that the children will respond to it with a, "Yes, mother dearest.  Your wish is my command."  So many times I glimpse this (usually) woman - often by herself or with a mother in tow.  If there happens to be a man at all, he's skulking several feet back hoping no one (especially not "old yeller") notices him, else she turn her miserable wrath on him... bossing him and treating him like an imbecile.  

I, on the other hand, would rather take a beating than correct any of my children.  This often results in me not doing it when it probably should be done.  Thus (if you've read any of my previous blogs), you can see why children are oft times running amuck.  However, they are happy, as far as I can tell, and they aren't making anyone else miserable either (including me), and that's pretty much the best I'm going to be able to do at this stage in my life with the many children I have.  

There are, of course, moments when character issues must be dealt with, of course.  After all, I can't have these people living with me for the rest of their lives because they are too obnoxious for anyone to tolerate, can I?  So we stick with the biggies, for the most part... things we don't want them to do to others:  ie. hitting, lying/cheating, disrespect, etc.   

In the last couple of months, my 15 year old has struggled with anger toward his mother, who, incidentally, I am not... as she likes to remind me.  Inevitably, after a particularly frustrating day with her, he displays anger or mistrust or disrespect (or any combination of these) with me.  If you know Austin, you know that these things are most generally out of character for him.  Austin is usually an optimist - finding the best in every situation.  He has become a little more jaded in the past few years, as adolescents often do.  However, he usually still finds a bright side.  This has historically made him extremely difficult to correct.  I often joke that if I would put him in the cellar, he'd make friends with the rats.  This basically means that if we take away his electronics, he says, "Oh, that's good.  I've had some reading I wanted to catch up on anyway."  He's not just saying it.  He means it.  He has had to live this way - as one tends to learn to do when often faced with disappointment.  

A few weeks ago, and non-coincidentally the day after Mother's Day, he lashed out at me as I was helping him clean his room... claiming that I didn't care about his things.  He then gave me more and more attitude until I just told him my usual, "Stop giving me that attitude," and walked upstairs to get away from the situation.  He had asked me earlier in the day to take him to a soccer game with some friends.  I had told him that we'd, "Wait and see."  As I climbed the stairs, fuming with anger, my flesh was screaming, "What is his problem?  Who does he think he is, and why in the world would he think that I'd take him to soccer now after the way he's being?"  I went into our bedroom to talk to my comatose (works nights) husband who mumbled a few unintelligible words before drifting back to dream land.  I then, as a last resort, asked God what he thought I should do.  As I waited for awhile I felt Him tugging at me to be full of grace and mercy and to seek to understand the root of his anger and mistrust.  "Just let him treat me this way?" my flesh asked sardonically.  That would set a bad precedent.  "No... just understand this isn't who he is.  It's what he's doing, and he probably doesn't even know why."  I sat down in the chair and he came up behind me and said the obligatory, I hope this will get her to take me to soccer, "I'm sorry." Long story short, I told him I loved him and that I cared very much about him and the things that are important to him.  I gave him a cookie and told him to go get into his soccer clothes.  He broke down and asked, "Why are you being so nice to mean when I was such a jerk?"  All I could think was, "I think this is what loving someone looks like."  

I don't claim to be perfect at knowing how to love people - not my husband, not my own children, and certainly not my step-son.  But I know the One who is the Author of Love.  He gives me the love I don't have in my often-depleted supply.  He is giving me supernatural abilities to love.  People like to tell me I'm such a great mom to Austin... that I'm such an amazing person, blah, blah, blah.  It's not true.  It's not me.  I am as human as everyone else.  I say and do things I regret.  But I'm certainly ready to admit those things, and we've become very good at apologies around this house.  It's pretty easy to love a person when they're cute, cuddly, and quiet.  It's much more difficult when they're breathing fire in your face.  It's true love when you're consistent in your behavior either way.

I've often felt somehow inferior to my children.  Sadie, for instance... she remembers everything.  If we are going on a picnic, she'll remember spoons for the yogurt, straws for the drinks, sippy cups for the baby, and (I kid you not) wet paper towels in a ziploc baggie for cleaning sticky fingers.  She is far superior to me in the area of organizational ability.  She is also better with kids (having none herself) than I am (having 5).  Tonight, for instance, the kids came home from the library (summer reading program) with parrots to color.  Levi (4) wanted to color his right away; so Sadie sat down with him at the small table with some colors to help him.  It was, however, 8:30 and time for bed.  As Mark announced bed time, Levi began to meltdown.  He started to cry, at which point (before Mark or I had to intervene), Sadie said, "Levi, you know I think daddy is right.  Your parrot probably had a long day and needs to have a rest before you color him.  It's going to be an important thing for him.  So he needs a nap first, okay?"  Then she ushered parrot away until the morning.  How could he argue?  Sadie's 10.  She, of course, knows all about what stresses out a parrot.  I think she might make a great hostage negotiator someday.  Somehow I think the phrase, "Now, I think that we're all a little tired and you might just want to put down that gun, and we can go get some ice cream," might be in her future.  Claire is good at everything she touches.  Austin is bold, brave, and (sometimes over) confident.  Who knows how the other two are going to overshadow me.  How great is that?  I might be fading in the mirror, but parts of me are remembering where I'm supposed to be going, convincing toddlers that felt boards are more fun than mud puddles, saying no to second helpings, and standing up (respectfully) to bullies.  All of me is having FUN as it all unfolds.

Last week, our oldest turned 15.  Thus begins a stage of my life for which I am scarcely ready... driver's ed, girls, jobs, independence, girls, buddies coming over to "hang out", and did I mention girls?  Ugh... I have to say it's been a rough couple of adolescent years.  Attitude problems, personal crises, emotional upheaval... and that's just me.  I wouldn't trade any of those problems for the world, for they are the things that test bonds and... more importantly even... create them.  

This evening, my 4 year old decided that, since he had peed in the toilet at the same time with daddy last night that he should try peeing with Claire (7).  As a result, I turned around to her screeching, "Levi!  Don't pee on me!" as he was peeing into the empty space behind where she was sitting.

Confused?  Bewildered?  Yes, these things would describe me.  BUT... I am convinced for myself and my children of Ephesians 2:10 ¹⁰ For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.  I love the wording of the NASB... "so that we would walk in them." Good works aren't just something that we should pull out on Sundays or at Christmastime.  They are a lifestyle for us to "walk in".  It was a lifestyle that was prepared for us to do "in advance".  So, if we don't walk in it, who will?

The Distracted Landscaper (Part One)

This year we decided to try our collective hand at raised bed gardening.  This is a new concept for us, but after fiddling with a ridiculous patch of weeds that was a garden in name only last year, we decided we needed to make a change.  We have heavier clay soil, which our realtor told us was just wonderfully high in nutrient and mineral value and would make our drinking water high in mineral value.  We soon discovered that meant that our water would look like orange juice, taste like blood, and smell like rotten eggs.  Oh, and it would clog every plumbing fixture known to man, dye our laundry orange for free, and leave white, chalky marks on any and all solid surfaces.  Bottom line, we ended up buying a sulfur clear and iron filter which worked beautifully on our water until its two year warranty expired earlier this month.

I digress... Our yard was landscaped nicely when we moved into our house.  Consequently, I cannot take much credit for what you'll see in these photos, but we try to maintain what was here.  However, I find some frustration with the fact that they never put down an ounce of landscaping plastic or weed control.  There was, however, plenty of pretty mulch - which is pretty much gone now.  My neighbor was nice enough to explain to me last year which of my plants was a weed and which was not a weed... that way I stopped pulling up the ground cover and watering the Burdock.  I then complained about the lack of weed stop/landscaping fabric to which she replied, "Oh, I prefer it that way too.  If your mulch washes away it just looks so tacky to have that fabric sticking out."  I wanted to say, "Well, yes, but I have 5 children, 4 pets, 3 vehicles, 2 stories of house, and 1 husband to maintain.  Tacky is what I would call an acceptable risk at the Slagter Park Zoo and Rodeo."  She has a point... but rock is looking like a better option than mulch anyway these days.

My husband, who is a hopeless "homebody", has had a variety of home bound hobbies since we've been married.  He is an accomplished mechanic, handyman, and knot expert.  Yes, I said, "knot expert".  He can not only tie about any knot on earth (including a hangman's noose - which means he's a handy guy to have around if you're fixin' to have a hangin' party), but he can also tell you the history of each knot and its standard usage.  He has a stack of books on knots.  In fact, he was reading one quite thoroughly when I slipped and fell into the hot tub at our bed and breakfast getaway in Wisconsin a few years ago... nearly killing myself.  He never noticed me writhing and yelping in pain.  I still like to tease him sometimes about how he would have explained that one to the coroner's office.  "You see, I was reading this fascinating book on knots..."  Anyway, he really likes to try to find hobbies that he can enjoy at home, and I absolutely love that about him.  He doesn't try to get away from us.  He enjoys his time with us, and he makes every effort to capitalize on those opportunities.  So this year, under his night stand looks like this:

As you can see, he is going to be an expert on vegetable gardening, composting, and all around "country living".  Isn't he adorable?  Now we do these things that, only years ago, I would found unbelievably square.  For instance, if he and I get a chance to get away on an overnight, we end up going to botanical gardens and arboretums.  We learn about trees and the history of the men who have loved trees... and we like it.

Our front landscaping is full of "ground cover" plants.  These plants are called ground cover, because they are supposedly low-lying plants that provide cover in areas that need it.  Our particular two types of ground cover should more appropriately be called shin cover or even knee cover, because they come up to this absurd height, and look frankly like a bunch of weeds to me.  As you can see, it's to the left of and behind the hostas in the photo below.  It comes halfway up my shepherd's shook.  It is out of control.

One thing I am particularly proud of is the growth of these two, gorgeous hostas.  

Aren't they fantastic?  Not that I have anything to do with how they are growing, and I haven't gotten a clear picture of whether or not I should be proud of them or ashamed of them.  It seems that all the gardening types I know who see them talk about how badly they need "separated".  I'm not sure why.  I think they are finally getting the point where they look like a shrub and not a small patch of weeds.  This pleases me.  So I will not be "separating" them any time soon.  

In between these two hostas I placed this rusty old trough that I found under the eaves and half-buried in the mud.  That was quite a job, let me tell you.  The previous owner had apparently filled this trough with our fantastic heavy clay soil... thus the sinkage... and the weeds took it from there.  There was no way anyone was lifting this monstrosity out of the mud.  I spent about an hour digging the clay soil out of the trough and putting it in our lawn cart and another half hour replacing it with potting mix and new flowers.  This photo was taken right after I found, planted, and painted it.  The hostas had not yet grown to their current size yet when it was taken 2 weeks ago.

You'll notice that around them I also planted some other flowers... they are called peppermint stick zinnias and geraniums - I think.  This note should probably more appropriately be called "The Clueless Gardener".  I'm not even sure what size these flowers are going to get or how well they'll get along with the other flowers I planted in the trough.  Time will tell, I suppose.

My cute husband decided to plant some flowers indoors right after the winter when he decided to become a gardening expert.  They grew up quite nicely inside as he was talking to them daily and making sure they got plenty of Vitamin D.  Incidentally, this caused Claire some concern over Mark's sanity.)  I transplanted these (below) into the flower trough, and they are doing quite nicely.

It never ceases to amaze me how a person can just pull up a plant by the roots, pack some soil around it somewhere else, pour a little water on it, and voila... it starts growing there.  I feel like I should have to do something more... something significant.  Like?  I don't know, do a dance?  Wave a wand?  Sprinkle some kind of fairy dust?  Say some magic words?  Any which way, I suppose that's the way God made plants.  Who am I to argue?

Speaking of which, at the behest of my middle daughter, we planted the first fruit-bearing shrubs and trees in our yard this year.  Claire, who lost her beloved cat in a tragic pool drowning early this Spring asked me at Menard's one day, "Mom, do blueberry bushes live longer than cats?"  I wasn't sure of the answer to that question, but she decided that she'd like to try to have a pet blueberry bush instead of going for more cats.  I was all for that idea.  Less fur and poop, more shade and deliciousness?  Who could resist?  In addition, I found a great deal on my two favorite types of apple trees at the local nursery.  They were selling larger semi-dwarf Jonathan and Honey Crisp apple trees 4 for $100.  So I jumped on that.  It was a little late in the season to be planting apple trees, but I figured that between our magical, nutrient rich soil (which has just got to be good for something, right?) and my brilliant (did I mention handsome) husband, we could have apple trees and blueberry bushes in no time.  Thus began the planting of the Slagter Orchard...

 Levi stubbed his toe right before this photo, but he wanted me to take it anyway.  He likes to look at it about 5 times a day and laugh at himself and say, "Levi, there's nothing to cry about."  (So, no, I'm not just a mean mom.)

Claire and her "pet" blueberry bushes.

These are closeups of the blueberry bushes... you can see the tiny green berries.  I'm told we'll need to cover them with mesh to keep the birds away from them.  I'm not sure when to start doing that, but I'm sure I'll find out one day when I go out and my berries are all gone.  :)

 Here is the orchard in its current state.

These are some of my irises.  I'm told these are yet another landscaping faux pas, because they also need separating.  This set isn't too bad, but I have these EVERYWHERE.  The other side of the house is completely obscured by them.  So, if you need some irises, you know where to get them.  They are, I must say, gorgeous for about 14 days a year.  

 And here is my most recent sadness... rhubarb.  My mother-in-law planted this rhubarb in what was our "garden" last year.  Now it is even a worse patch of weeds than it was then.  As a result, our dear neighbor who mows our prairie grass for us decided to help out by mowing closer to the house.  If you didn't already guess, he mowed down my rhubarb.  I was about to harvest it a couple days ago.  She who hesitates is without rhubarb, I guess.  It is the green variety, and he probably thought it was burdock... which we also have and looks uncannily similar to rhubarb.  I had also just recently planted the other two new plants I got in this area... which are now nowhere to be found either.  We'll see if they turn up one of these days.

 rhubarb 1

 rhubarb 1

 rhubarb 2

 rhubarb 3

Now, if you'd like to see a set of hostas that could use some "separating", here is exhibit A:

This is under the huge deck (that needs replacing) and next to the patio around the pool.  They are pretty, but they apparently like the shade they get an awful lot.  It's a virtual jungle and perfect for the snakes and frogs who call it "home".  Yes, there is ground under there somewhere.

 This is a hydrangea bush that was here when we bought the house.  It drives me crazy.  It is a pruning headache.  It has beautiful white blooms in the late summer.  I want it to be purple or blue or pink though.  This is how I imagine they should be.  So I am going to try to figure out how to change the soil pH so they will bloom in color.





These are my impatients.  I planted them in with the "snow on the mountains" ground cover.  I tried to weed out most of the ground cover, but I am sure the impatients will take off soon and fill in all the dirt area there.  So I'm going to be liking those as they fill out a little.

This is going to be an asparagus patch in the next year or two... I hope.  I planted 10 plants.  So we'll see what comes of those.

I will blog later about our raised-bed gardening adventures.  This blog is a bit out of the realm of what I usually tell about, but it's our most recent happening, and it is what has kept me from doing much else... blog-wise.  So, if you have some commentary or advice, it'd be much appreciated.  If you're interested in taking some of my extra hostas or irises off my hands, please be my guest.

Goldilocks and the Wee Terrors

Violet was born a bit over two years ago.  I've barely had the chance to sit down since then.  Unless she's sleeping, she is a danger to herself and others.  She looks so benign, doesn't she?  Almost angelic...

My first 2 girls have been (and still are) admittedly easy to raise.  They are basically compliant.  They don't fight or argue.  They don't hit.  Even as toddlers, they didn't scream bloody murder or throw tantrums. What Violet does, on a daily basis, generally equates to what the other two girls have ever done.  She is what my mom would call "turbo naughty".

Once, after her bath, she covered her entire head with Vaseline, resulting in a 2 week quest for the shampoo that would de-grease her head.  We finally just had to use Dawn dish liquid.  Finally, after two shampoos with Dawn and a followup with Johnson's baby soap, her hair was clean again.

Just today, for example, she has been up to these types of mischief:

1)  She took a DVD into the bathroom and had coated it entirely with hand soap before I found them both.

2)  I threw away a two week old piece of Austin's graduation cake this morning.  While I disposed of it, I explained to both the younger kids that it was "yucky" now and that they were not to touch the cake.  They both agreed.  About an hour later, she wandered into the bedroom where I was cleaning, and her hands and face were covered in blue frosting.  I took her into the kitchen where I found that she had scouted out a discarded plastic fork from the night before (also in the trash), and that she had used it to eat nearly the entire piece of old cake.  Now, when she sits down to eat at the dinner table, we have to continually remind her to use her fork.  I submit to you that she worked to find a fork in the trash with which she could eat other trash.  At least she is unlikely to ever go hungry, as long as there is a garbage can to be found.

3)  She went out to the garage with the other kids.  A few minutes later, Austin came in to tell me that she was sitting on the garage steps eating an ice cream cone and that she had the whole box on the stairs with her and that she had left the outside freezer door standing open (for how long, we don't know).

4)  As I was making the salad for supper, she took the onion I was using, separated all the rings, and put some on each person's plate... then put the rest of it in the trash.

5)  After her bath, she went outside in the garage again.  Mark went outside to find her, and he couldn't.  He called for her and started walking down our very long driveway only to find her halfway down the long drive, walking away from the house, in her PJ's and her big sister's crocs.  

6)  When she came back inside she decided she wanted a drink and another piece of garlic bread from supper.  She brought the bag of bread over to me, and I told her we were done eating for the night.  A minute later, I turned around to find her standing on the bag of garlic bread.  So I guess her motto is, "If you can't eat it, stand on it."

7)  Somehow, in the midst of my vacuuming our bedroom floor, she found her way to the outside sill of the door that leads from the bedroom to the deck.  She scooped out handfuls of dead box elder bugs from the sill and into our bedroom floor - sprinkling them far and wide.  I'm not sure when it happened or how I didn't notice till I went into the bedroom later this evening.

These, mind you, are the things from this day that I actually remember or discover.  It's these types of things that remind me when I used to hear mothers say, "It's when they're being quiet that you know they're up to something."  Ugh... I used to not understand - in the practical sense - what that meant.  I miss those days.  Now, I not only understand it, it comprises my entire life.  In fact, I know that if I'm choosing to enjoy 5 minutes of peace and quiet in the kitchen or bathroom or weeding the garden or somewhere without her present, that she is most definitely doing something that is going to drive me crazy when I discover it.  However, it's not just when she's quiet that she's finding mischief.

These things don't even touch the dozens of times each day I am called by the other kids because she's hitting or jumping on or off furniture or filling her cup from a pitcher on the counter (or rather dumping it on the floor).  What about when she's licking the windows or taking food without asking or feeding her food to the dogs or pulling drawers completely out of the refrigerator or torturing pets or coloring in (or tearing pages out of) reading books.  (She is also my first book-defacer).

Tonight at supper one of the kids commented that Violet looks like "Goldilocks".  Another one of them said, "Yeah, but she doesn't act like her."  There was silence at the table.  Then, one of them said, "But Goldilocks did go into a house without asking."  And another one piped up, "And then she ate someone else's food...And then she broke their chair."  Then another one said, "And then she messed up their made beds and took a nap till she got caught."  More silence followed... then a giggle and another giggle... before we knew it, the whole table of us were laughing (including "Goldilocks").  Levi said, "She is like Goldilocks!"

Now I'm off to vacuum up some bugs before bed.  Tomorrow comes too early.

Empath to Compassion

My husband's work hours so far for most of this year (72 hours/week) have inconveniently fallen over Valentine's Day, my birthday, our wedding anniversary, and now two of our children's birthdays.  He has one shift a week off work, and this week he spent the afternoon taking me to lunch and to a plant nursery for the afternoon.  As we were walking through the nursery, the lady at the counter, who was trying to be friendly said to us, "Oh, so you said that you guys have been to Galena today?"  We both looked at her for a second, and my husband said, "Um... no."  It appeared she had mistaken us for a couple she had talked to earlier.  It didn't help that the "Galena couple" was standing over across the room and had also heard her make the mistake too.  As she looked at us both, mouth agape, I jumped to her aid with a, "I wish we had been in Galena today."  I wanted to try to make her feel less awkward somehow.  I tend to over-empathize with people.  It's not even something I consciously do.  It just happens inside of me.  I can't be near sick people without feeling sick myself, and I can't talk to someone with an accent without developing one too.


A few weeks ago, as my husband was getting ready for work, one of our older children hit her head on the corner of the couch.  She started to bleed quite a lot, and she showed me her hands were bloody from touching her head. As I saw the blood and tried to look for its source, I started to feel woozy myself.  I walked her into the bathroom where my husband was getting ready for work.  I told him, "You have to find the source of all this blood so I know if I need to take her to the emergency room."  As he began to look through her thick, blood-soaked hair, I got a washcloth to clean off her scalp a little bit.  As I started to clean it off, I looked down at my daughter.  She saw the bloody washcloth and started to wobble.  I asked her if she was okay as I put my hand on her noticeably clammy face.  She replied with a weak, "Yes," as I said to my husband, "She's going down."  Just as I said it, the full weight of her body (her now 5 foot tall, 100 pound frame), dropped fully into my arms.  He grabbed her and supported her weight as I started to wobble.  When I couldn't feel my lips, I knew I was empathizing with my daughter.  Between both of our dislikes for blood and the fact that she succumbed to it, I doubted I'd be up for long.  I managed to take some deep breaths, sit down and gather myself before I lost consciousness too.  


My husband's work hours have caused me to feel sorry for myself quite a bit lately.  After all, it's been awhile since I've been a full-time, single parent.  Aside from that, I only had 2 kids the first time I did it, and I wasn't so great at it then.  This whole 5-kid scenario is a tad different.  I had volunteered to help with our church's community outreach egg hunt last Saturday, and we were supposed to leave our kids behind during the setup the Friday night before the hunt.  A large part of our family's past 4 months or so has been dominated by various illnesses - most of them borne by the children.  They have suffered from virtually every type of germ our great cold season has to offer.  We have missed a lot of things due to these illnesses.  Violet happened to get sick last Monday, and, although I thought she'd be better by Friday's setup, she wasn't.  I couldn't find anyone to watch her.  So I had to take all the kids with me to the setup.  The setup is equipped with bounce house, candy-filled eggs, and about a dozen games with all kinds of treats and goodies - none of which they are supposed to touch.  So, the night was interesting to say the least.  I finally managed a few minutes to get away, as someone asked me to run to Walmart to buy a few last minute items for the hunt.  Violet tagged along.  As we strolled down an aisle, I saw a man with a mop and bucket.  I looked down at my feet to see him mopping what appeared to be vomit from the floor.  As we exchanged glances and I passed by, I said quietly to myself, "Well, it looks like at least TWO people are having a worse day than I am."  


Today I had to take the 3 youngest kids with me to Kohl's to look for luggage for an upcoming (much needed) vacation.  For the most part, I try desperately to avoid taking the children with me to "civilized" stores in daylight hours.  I don't get much accomplished and mostly end up wanting to bury myself in a clothes wrack until the men in white come take me away.  This time, I had no choice.  I had planned a morning filled with seemingly simple errands... a trip to the DMV, post office, pharmacy, a couple stores, and then home.  Believe you me, it only sounds simple.  We started off at Kohl's, where Levi, who had apparently never seen a dummy with no head (not to mention dressed in lacy panties and a bra), began to shout, "She doesn't have a head!  MOM!  Increbibble... She's got no head!"  As he chuckled to himself how funny it was, I commented something like, "Yeah, honey... increbibble," and I turned away to look at something else (ie. easily distracted by shiny objects).  As Claire tugged my arm, I turned around to see him thoroughly examining the anatomy of the dummy under her scant clothing, exclaiming, "This is great!"  Well, as I dragged him away from his new "friend", toward the luggage section, he ascertained that the toy section was a mere hop, skip, and jump from the luggage... what luck!  So he wandered toward that area half a dozen times as I coaxed, cajoled, or redneck hollered him back to my side.  Finally, luggage finally selected by an already exhausted and abundantly distracted mother, I followed him to the toys to appease his curiosity.  I looked at a few Melissa and Doug toys, and turned to Levi as he showed me a Batman toy he liked.  He said, "I think we'll just get it.  He threw it in the cart.  As I reached in to grab it out and put it back, I found that the whole bottom of the cart was filled with toys.  He and Violet (who was strapped in the front of the cart) had, it seems, grabbed and stuffed toys, $1000 shopping-spree style, into our little cart.  


I found a shirt and a dress to try on, and our caravan headed toward the dressing rooms.  Now, Violet wanted out of her cart/prison, and Claire let her out to "switch places" with her.  This went fine, and all was well until Levi started hollering, "Mom!  You're naked!  You're NAKED!!!"  I WAS NOT naked, by the way.  I was wearing nearly all of my clothes.  However, I couldn't help but want to explain myself to a dressing-area full of women I didn't even know and whose feet were the only part of them I would probably ever see.  After checking out at the front of the store, I realized that I didn't have my keys.  For that matter, I didn't have my coat.  Levi was testing out the automatic doors, and I had to run back to the changing room to see if I left my coat there.  I did, of course, and I found my keys.  We made it back out to the car in one piece, but then I realized that I had a pair of Levi's birthday shoes I needed to exchange.  So we went back in and started the adventure, round two.  


The rest of our day was much the same... bottles of shampoo ending up in the cart without my notice.  Levi spending 1/2 hour in the bathroom at ShopKo after having locked me out of the stall for his "privacy".  It's too bad really, because I was looking forward to broadcasting, "Levi, you're NAKED!" throughout the ShopKo bathroom.  Violet was bored in the bathroom, and it became strenuous to the extreme trying to keep her out of the toilets, off the floors, and away from the feminine products disposal cans.  I took her and her older sister just outside the bathroom door to get drinks and play away from toilet germs.  Levi kept half shouting/half grunting from the bathroom stall, "Mom!  Are you still in here?"  To which I would poke my head in and say, "Kind of..."  He is a fastidious hand-washer, and after his "morning constitutions", we were able to finish that portion of the nightmare errand morning.  I won't bore you with the rest, but suffice it to say that it ended in a humiliating episode in a crowded parking lot with a car alarm I am unfamiliar with how to disengage.  The only thing that could have made the day better is if I had tried to take our show to Hallmark.  There are very few childhood curiosities that can't be cultivated in an environment entirely dominated by racks upon racks of colorful cards with matching envelopes, delicate breakables, and delectable candies.  It's a virtual trifecta of parental misery.  Are you empathizing with me yet?


I have found it nearly impossible to find compassion about my husband's work hours.  He has a job, after all, and a good one at that.  It's more than many have in this economy.  It's very true, and I am very grateful for it.  However, it doesn't help with the daily reality of his absence or the fact that his job often rules our home life.  I think I was born with a sympathetic design.  My mom used to say that she could see the pained look on my face at the suffering of other people or animals.  I have been trying to nurture the ability to feel sympathy and/or empathy toward other people in my children... and not just to feel it but to act upon it in a healing, helpful way.  Monday, my 7 year old daughter decided to wake up bright and early to color a set of cards for me to take to my hospice patients.  I marveled at her caring heart when her older sister spoke up and said, "She's just trying to earn marbles to fill her jar so she can get that $10 for a new Webkinz."  I was initially offended on Claire's behalf for Sadie's crass assumption, but then it all came back to me - the jar on the counter, the comment I had made the night before about the fact that she would need to earn her own money for something that she wanted.  Claire responded, "It's not ONLY that, but which character trait is it that I'm showing?  And how many marbles is that?"  It brought to mind an incident a few years back when our oldest son was accompanying us on a caroling trip with my husband's family to the nursing home on Christmas day.  As we arrived at the home he said, "How much are we getting paid for this?"  


In our, "Look out for number one" world, it seems impossible to foster in others a genuine and pure desire to love and serve those around them.  My devotions last night brought to my attention some great promise verses about our compassion and with regard to generosity.  2 Corinthians 9:6-8 says, "⁶Now this I say, he who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.
 ⁷Each one must do just as he has purposed in his heart, not grudgingly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. ⁸And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that always having all sufficiency in everything, you may have an abundance for every good deed;"  In God's economy, the more we give - whether it be money, time, compassion, a listening ear, or a helpful hand - the more we receive to replenish our supply.  Vss. 10-11 say, "¹⁰Now He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness; ¹¹you will be enriched in everything for all liberality, which through us is producing thanksgiving to God."  The likely result of our graciousness to others is that the receivers of that grace take notice of the God in whose name the gift is given, and they give thanks to Him.  So it's a win-win situation for God.  He gives to us so we can give to others so they take notice of and thank Him too. 


Vss. 13-15 are even more increbibble (if you will), "¹³Because of the proof given by this ministry, they will glorify God for your obedience to your confession of the gospel of Christ and for the liberality of your contribution to them and to all, ¹⁴while they also, by prayer on your behalf, yearn for you because of the surpassing grace of God in you.¹⁵Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"  Turns out, it's probably a win-win for us too when we give to others out of what God's given to us.  In this particular situation, Paul says that the outcome is that the receivers of our gracious gifts end up offering prayers on our behalf and even "yearn for" us because of the light of God's grace within us.  My challenge is that sometimes it is more difficult to give someone a compassionate ear than it is to give them a meal or some money.  It's more time-consuming, and it requires the ability and willingness to engage another human in his or her difficulty or suffering.  It's more costly to care than many of us are willing to bear.  It's far easier to offer trite advice or even to shame another person for feeling bad in the first place than it is to go through their problem with them to the other side.  I'm finding that where there is the most suffering, there is the greatest opportunity for grace and healing to reign.  So if someone shares a problem with you this week, try not to think of your own troubles, but rather enter into theirs.  It might make yours seem a little farther removed.  Don't say "at least you have your health" or "at least you have a job".  The bright side isn't easy to see when you're in the dark.  It's far preferable to know someone with a Light is by your side.  Empathy might be your path to a life filled with greater compassion.