So today I've been chasing my kids around the awesome maze that is the Dizzy Castle. It's a fun indoor play place with slides, ladders, balls, air-powered ball shooting guns, swingy things, crawly things and more all placed strategically around and through a pirate ship, castle, and dragon. I think my kids would live there if I'd let them.
Anyway, so we came home for naptime and I got on facebook and saw this video.
Yes, yes, it's ironic that I saw this video about the evils of "social" media on a social media site, I know, but the message is still important. Our society is rapidly degrading into a selfish, instant-gratification seeking, impatient cesspool of zombies and it's never going to stop unless we stop it.
I remember my childhood so well I can still smell, taste, hear and see it vividly... but that's because it was spent playing outside, creating games that didn't involve technology, witnessing the miracles of Creation every day. This generation - my children's generation - is losing those precious experiences. How many of us let our kids play ipads or iphones or computer games without giving it a second thought? I do. I think, "Oh good, they'll be busy for awhile now and I can get _____ done." But wait a second, wouldn't it be just as easy to tell them to go play in their room? Couldn't I let them watch me cook or bake and allow their curious minds to process how these things work? Couldn't I put on some music for them and have them make up a dance routine? I could. Sometimes I do. But if I'm honest, it's just so convenient to hand them the ipad and wish them luck.
I need to make a change before my kids are in their teens and all they can remember about their childhood is hundreds of hours of movies and games on the ipad. I'm the one who has to lead the charge. I have to show them the way. because me saying it won't matter one wit if I'm ignoring my own admonitions in favor of more screen time. I don't want to be this person dependent on technology to keep me happy. I'd rather reach out and touch the world, to be a part of it, to live in it. I want my kids to love life, to burst forth with creativity and ingenuity. I want them to see the world as God created it, not man.
Just a few thoughts for the void. Be blessed and connect... but to humanity, not a computer.
Rachelle
Friday, October 31, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
You are loved. You have value.
I have been in a valley. It's bone-dry there, no trees, no bushes, just flat, expansive desert land. I have been here for awhile, trudging along, wondering what the point of it all was? Why was I having such a hard time, while others seemed to be on a mountaintop, singing their hearts out with gratitude and power? Why was I alone in this awful place with no comfort?
There is a verse in Proverbs that talks about a merry heart doing good like medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones. It used to be a joke my sister, Andrea, and I shared. We used to tell the other that they were drying our bones and it would be a reminder to buck up. I miss that camaraderie... especially when my spirit is so broken I can not see the light anywhere.
It is a hard thing to grow up, to let go, to say goodbye. I've gotten only a little better than I used to be. I still cry when I leave people I love. I still miss them with every breath in my body. But I have resigned myself to the fact that nothing in life is permanent and there's nothing I can do about it.
Anyway, this lonely, joy-sapping place is where I've been traversing for a few months. It's taken a toll on me, my kids, and my husband. I felt very distant from everyone and everything in my life that should bring me joy and happiness. Lonely, sad, bitter, cut-off... it's a great place to be, I tell ya. Only not really. Please don't find yourself here.
Last week, we had a very dear man come stay with us for a few days. Pastor Daniel. He came to us from a town on the west coast of India, where he runs a mission that helps care for widows and orphans.
I had never met him and had never housed a missionary before, so I went into a fit of cleaning and preparation before he arrived, working myself up into a storm of worry. I worried he would see the messes, see how wild my children can be, see the daily struggles we go through with Skyla's sass and Levi's stubbornness, that he would see me struggling through my valley and rain down the judgement.
Will couldn't understand why I was so worried, he was looking forward to meeting this man he'd been conversing with on facebook for months. I couldn't find a way to explain why I felt this way, so I stopped trying and just threw my anxiety into cleaning.
Pastor Daniel arrived on Monday afternoon and in him I found a surrogate father and fast friend. He was gentle, calm, but carried all of the authority of a prophet of the old testament or one of the apostles. He told us about India, the food and culture, and the people. Will and I sat for hours, listening to him describe the hardships and also the joys. I was enraptured with the stories. He would ask questions about us, how we'd met, how we became Christians/spirit-filled. I was anxious when I related my testimony and stories. I was waiting for God to tell Pastor Daniel that I was not fit for his company, that I was an imposter with little faith who had never been used to perform any miracles, prophecies, or healings for Him. But I found no condemnation, only thoughtful consideration. I think Pastor Daniel sensed that I was already broken and there was no need to take me further into the valley.
Wednesday night, after the kids were put to bed, we were chatting for a few minutes before Pastor Daniel suggested we pray. I was anxious. When Pastor Daniel prays, you can feel a very tangible presence of God on him. He prayed for a long while, sharing words of knowledge, prophecies, encouragement and love. It was through his prayer that my soul experienced healing. I remembered the love I once had, the peace and comfort.
For a long time, I had seen others with such a clear sense of what God wanted from them, what their "gift" was, and I was envious of the certainty it afforded them. I had no sense of any gift, no idea what God wanted from me; in truth, I often joked that I was the appendix in the body of Christ because I had seemingly no use. As Pastor Daniel prayed, he talked about a gift of discernment and how I was usually able to quickly discern whether something or someone was of God or not. This took me by surprise, as I often have a definite feeling about people one way or another, especially those professing to be Godly. I hadn't really considered this to be anything out of the ordinary, just chalked it up to my untrusting nature, but Pastor Daniel acknowledged it as a gift from God. He said I would be like Deborah, a judge for God to help guide and lead. Those words awoke something in me, a sense of worth. I felt valued. I felt loved. I had been given something after all and God did want to use me. Like a balm on a wound, those words soothed my bruised spirit. God had spoken through Pastor Daniel that night and let me know that I was not forgotten. There were many other revelations and encouragements, too, but that was the one that had the biggest impact on my spirit.
I felt a renewed sense of purpose and worth. It is because of this that I want to encourage those of you who may be in a spiritual valley. Keep going. You will not be there forever. I know it is so hard and you want to just stop, but don't. You have a value far beyond anything earthly could compare to. Jesus loves you, He wants you. If He can use me, if He can salvage me and change my heart, mind, and soul, He can do it for you. You are not an appendix with no seeming use.
You have value... and you are loved.
Rachelle
There is a verse in Proverbs that talks about a merry heart doing good like medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones. It used to be a joke my sister, Andrea, and I shared. We used to tell the other that they were drying our bones and it would be a reminder to buck up. I miss that camaraderie... especially when my spirit is so broken I can not see the light anywhere.
It is a hard thing to grow up, to let go, to say goodbye. I've gotten only a little better than I used to be. I still cry when I leave people I love. I still miss them with every breath in my body. But I have resigned myself to the fact that nothing in life is permanent and there's nothing I can do about it.
Anyway, this lonely, joy-sapping place is where I've been traversing for a few months. It's taken a toll on me, my kids, and my husband. I felt very distant from everyone and everything in my life that should bring me joy and happiness. Lonely, sad, bitter, cut-off... it's a great place to be, I tell ya. Only not really. Please don't find yourself here.
Last week, we had a very dear man come stay with us for a few days. Pastor Daniel. He came to us from a town on the west coast of India, where he runs a mission that helps care for widows and orphans.
I had never met him and had never housed a missionary before, so I went into a fit of cleaning and preparation before he arrived, working myself up into a storm of worry. I worried he would see the messes, see how wild my children can be, see the daily struggles we go through with Skyla's sass and Levi's stubbornness, that he would see me struggling through my valley and rain down the judgement.
Will couldn't understand why I was so worried, he was looking forward to meeting this man he'd been conversing with on facebook for months. I couldn't find a way to explain why I felt this way, so I stopped trying and just threw my anxiety into cleaning.
Pastor Daniel arrived on Monday afternoon and in him I found a surrogate father and fast friend. He was gentle, calm, but carried all of the authority of a prophet of the old testament or one of the apostles. He told us about India, the food and culture, and the people. Will and I sat for hours, listening to him describe the hardships and also the joys. I was enraptured with the stories. He would ask questions about us, how we'd met, how we became Christians/spirit-filled. I was anxious when I related my testimony and stories. I was waiting for God to tell Pastor Daniel that I was not fit for his company, that I was an imposter with little faith who had never been used to perform any miracles, prophecies, or healings for Him. But I found no condemnation, only thoughtful consideration. I think Pastor Daniel sensed that I was already broken and there was no need to take me further into the valley.
Wednesday night, after the kids were put to bed, we were chatting for a few minutes before Pastor Daniel suggested we pray. I was anxious. When Pastor Daniel prays, you can feel a very tangible presence of God on him. He prayed for a long while, sharing words of knowledge, prophecies, encouragement and love. It was through his prayer that my soul experienced healing. I remembered the love I once had, the peace and comfort.
For a long time, I had seen others with such a clear sense of what God wanted from them, what their "gift" was, and I was envious of the certainty it afforded them. I had no sense of any gift, no idea what God wanted from me; in truth, I often joked that I was the appendix in the body of Christ because I had seemingly no use. As Pastor Daniel prayed, he talked about a gift of discernment and how I was usually able to quickly discern whether something or someone was of God or not. This took me by surprise, as I often have a definite feeling about people one way or another, especially those professing to be Godly. I hadn't really considered this to be anything out of the ordinary, just chalked it up to my untrusting nature, but Pastor Daniel acknowledged it as a gift from God. He said I would be like Deborah, a judge for God to help guide and lead. Those words awoke something in me, a sense of worth. I felt valued. I felt loved. I had been given something after all and God did want to use me. Like a balm on a wound, those words soothed my bruised spirit. God had spoken through Pastor Daniel that night and let me know that I was not forgotten. There were many other revelations and encouragements, too, but that was the one that had the biggest impact on my spirit.
I felt a renewed sense of purpose and worth. It is because of this that I want to encourage those of you who may be in a spiritual valley. Keep going. You will not be there forever. I know it is so hard and you want to just stop, but don't. You have a value far beyond anything earthly could compare to. Jesus loves you, He wants you. If He can use me, if He can salvage me and change my heart, mind, and soul, He can do it for you. You are not an appendix with no seeming use.
You have value... and you are loved.
Rachelle
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
"I've been turned into a cow, can I go home?"
That was a quote from The Emperors New Groove, in case you were wondering, and it quite adequately describes my current state of mind.
I have been living in a construction zone for 2 months now. At first, it was just little annoyances like the crew taking over two of four parking lots for their building materials, then it started getting more invasive. I put up fall decorations for the first time ever on my porch and literally a day later was told to take them down because people were going to be working on our porch... for the next two weeks. Then they said I have to find another spot to park because they'll be working in my driveway for an undetermined amount of time. Then the big one came two days ago: "You need to clear a four foot space around EVERY window in the apartment because we're replacing them." O_O
I have furniture I had to move in every single room. Will is not here because of work. My mother is here (thank goodness) but she is trying to finish two sewing projects because the woman just doesn't know how to relax. :P My mother is also leaving tomorrow. My coffee maker is now broken and I have no idea why. I broke a bookcase yesterday trying to move it. I cracked my beautiful sleigh bed while trying to move it. I'm homeschooling Skyla and it's tough. My house is a wreck because of Colin's birthday party on Sunday. Colin has diarrhea, probably due to all the sugar he consumed on Sunday.
All of these things formed the basis of a gigantic mushroom cloud of emotion that exploded out of me this morning. I cried. I leaned against the bunk beds now positioned in the center of the room and sobbed for five minutes.
I hate having people I don't know in my house (I should clarify: people I didn't invite.) I feel like I need to explain why there is a pile of jackets on my recipe book baskets, or why every set of blinds is broken, or why my carpet looks like it came from the pound. But what I hate even more is feeling like my living space is not my own. I cannot paint walls, I am paranoid of leaving holes in the walls so I don't hang many decorations, and I can't just replace broken things, I have to alert the media and wait - sometimes weeks - for the management to get around to caring enough to fix them. I hate that they can just invade my house and I have no say.
I know I am being completely toxic right now. I'm sorry. This is just how my life is sometimes; just a downpour of misery all at once. I can also acknowledge that when compared to others, my problems are really not so soul-crushing, but they can still feel like it.
Hopefully, all you other mommies are having a better week than I am, but just in case you're right there with me, I just want to say this: "I'm so sorry you have to go through this right now. I understand completely that your only wish right now is to melt into the earth and be alone and not responsible for anything. I know. Truly. You will make it. You will find a way to keep going until the crapfest is over. Cry if you need to, but don't give up. Nothing lasts forever... not even construction."
Stay strong... and fake it 'til you make it.
Rachelle
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Procrastinations...
So after weeks of not writing a single sentence in my poor, sad little book, I came back to it on Sunday with a burst of inspiration. It began with me wanting a read a book, but coming to the realization that the only book I wanted to read was my own. What a dilemma, as my book has yet to be written.
So I made myself plop my rear end onto the chair at my desk and stared blankly at the computer screen for a few moments. It was then I realized I needed some music! Yes, I need inspiration! So rather than write, I went off on a wild goose chase in search of a perfect motivational score that would have me churning out the pages like magic. Three hours later, I had yet to find anything but a headache.
So I went back to my documents page and continued to stare. Then I realized I had no coffee! One simply cannot write a good story with coffee (or tea) to sustain them! So I made myself coffee and plopped back down into the chair, certain this would get the creative juices flowing.
Flowing... that reminded me that I needed to use the bathroom.
While utilizing my bathroom, I decided I'd better straighten it up a bit, so I gathered the pile of laundry that had accumulated and put it with the bigger pile in the other bathroom, making a mental note that I needed to go to the laundromat in the next day or so.
The thought of going to the laundromat made me cringe and reminded me that I was going to look for a new washer on craigslist. At this point, I recognized full well what I was doing, but I still didn't stop myself. I was hiding from writing. And not well, I might add! I could hear it calling me, disapproval saturating it's tone.
It's not that I don't want to write - I do! It's just. so. slow. I type a sentence, stare at said sentence and then re-write it a dozen times until I'm satisfied and move on... but then, hours later, I return to delete it and start from scratch. -_-
Then there are the times of explosive ideas when I write and write and write and think, "Yes! This is brilliant!" This is usually late at night when my littles are asleep and I can better focus, but it never fails, when I re-read it the next morning, I am completely disappointed. Everything must sound better when you're half asleep, that is the only possible explanation for it. So frustrating! The perfectionist in me is ruining everything.
Anyway, all of this brings me to a quote my little (26 year old) sister says all the time: "Even if it's crap, just get it on the page!" I can hear her voice chanting it in my head. I pretend she's standing behind me with a ruler, ready to smack my hands the second they leave the keyboard. And she probably would, too, if she didn't live hundreds of miles away.
So with that image firmly in my mind, back I will go, chasing that elusive miracle known as the perfect story. Wish me luck.
Rachelle
So I made myself plop my rear end onto the chair at my desk and stared blankly at the computer screen for a few moments. It was then I realized I needed some music! Yes, I need inspiration! So rather than write, I went off on a wild goose chase in search of a perfect motivational score that would have me churning out the pages like magic. Three hours later, I had yet to find anything but a headache.
So I went back to my documents page and continued to stare. Then I realized I had no coffee! One simply cannot write a good story with coffee (or tea) to sustain them! So I made myself coffee and plopped back down into the chair, certain this would get the creative juices flowing.
Flowing... that reminded me that I needed to use the bathroom.
While utilizing my bathroom, I decided I'd better straighten it up a bit, so I gathered the pile of laundry that had accumulated and put it with the bigger pile in the other bathroom, making a mental note that I needed to go to the laundromat in the next day or so.
The thought of going to the laundromat made me cringe and reminded me that I was going to look for a new washer on craigslist. At this point, I recognized full well what I was doing, but I still didn't stop myself. I was hiding from writing. And not well, I might add! I could hear it calling me, disapproval saturating it's tone.
It's not that I don't want to write - I do! It's just. so. slow. I type a sentence, stare at said sentence and then re-write it a dozen times until I'm satisfied and move on... but then, hours later, I return to delete it and start from scratch. -_-
Then there are the times of explosive ideas when I write and write and write and think, "Yes! This is brilliant!" This is usually late at night when my littles are asleep and I can better focus, but it never fails, when I re-read it the next morning, I am completely disappointed. Everything must sound better when you're half asleep, that is the only possible explanation for it. So frustrating! The perfectionist in me is ruining everything.
Anyway, all of this brings me to a quote my little (26 year old) sister says all the time: "Even if it's crap, just get it on the page!" I can hear her voice chanting it in my head. I pretend she's standing behind me with a ruler, ready to smack my hands the second they leave the keyboard. And she probably would, too, if she didn't live hundreds of miles away.
So with that image firmly in my mind, back I will go, chasing that elusive miracle known as the perfect story. Wish me luck.
Rachelle
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Unplugging...
Ok, so I'm not really unplugging anything. I'm just taking a facebook hiatus. I don't know about you, but the more time I spend of facebook, the sadder I get. Between the starving children, barbaric ISIS beheadings/general terror, fires, droughts, floods, rapes, murders, crooked politicians, evil monsanto, and various other bummerage, my brain just fizzles after a few minutes of scrolling. My heart just withers in my chest and starts crying, "Just stop. Look away, find something else."
Of course, then there's my little herd of stampeding buffalo that always seem to want my attention right when I've settled in for a nice little social media session. Bless their little hearts. There are times when I have heard their little voices trying to reach me through all the crap that's marinating my soul, "Mama, will you play with me?" Sometimes, I brush them off with a, "Not right now." but on the times when I really listen, I get off the computer and go have a tea party or play super heroes.
Sometimes I forget that I have a serious job to do. On days when the hubby is gone for the week and nothing seems to be going right, I just sink into this wormhole of self-preservation and try to forget that I'm a mother. It's a hard job. Much harder than you ever believe it will be before you have any children. People try to warn you, but every single woman is certain that she will be the one superwoman immune to the hardships of motherdom... and every single woman usually has some kind of meltdown that stems from the realization that she didn't have it as figured out as she thought.
My mother told me over and over and over before I was even married that once I had kids, my life would cease to be about me. I would roll my eyes and nod and agree, and I really thought I understood. Sweet, naive Rachelle.
The year I had two babies in diapers was really hard, possibly the hardest of my life to date. One thing that made it worse was logging onto facebook in search of connections, but all I ended up feeling was isolated. I would look at these unbelievably productive mothers (some of which had more kids than I did!) who posted pictures of delicious-looking dinners, gourmet lunches, elaborately themed birthday parties, and flawless bodies that held no trace of stretch marks, extra pounds, or excess skin. They would humble brag about how their one year old was already potty-trained and learning to read and that their three year old was already swimming and painting masterpieces.
All I could think was: "How do they do it?!" I compared myself to these other mothers and found myself to be extremely wanting. Compared to these mystical miracle workers, I was just a fat, sleep-deprived, scatter-brained, unmotivated, and just plain not good enough schlub. I wish I had turned off facebook back then. It would have helped me significantly.
New mothers don't need to feel like they're in a competition with the world, life is hard enough those first few months. They need support. They need someone to talk to them every day, someone who will let them sob about spilling the 2 oz of pumped breast milk they just spent 30 minutes wrenching out of their boobs. They need someone who will not judge them for their decision to make boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner for the third night in a row because they just don't have the mental stamina for anything beyond that. And they really need someone who will smile and tell them they are doing a great job and promise that it won't last forever.
Anyway, my original point was that social media these days contains so much awful information that you never wanted to know. So much crap that you don't need to know. I already know that the world has been slipping into a downward spiral for years. I understand... really! I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't talk about it anymore.
I need to be blissfully ignorant for awhile. I have to raise my kids with care and attention and not have a million things buzzing in the back of my mind all day long... things that are out of my control anyway. It's too easy to forget the importance of the job I'm doing with so much ugliness in the world. It's easy to feel like it won't matter how your kids turn out because we're probably all going to end up blown to bits in a few years anyway. I'm not going to raise my kids in fear of what might happen, though, I'm going to raise them how I feel they should be raised, in spite of the ugliness around them. I'm going to give them what security and happiness I can, while I can, because none of us really know what tomorrow will bring.
And while I'm at it, I'm going to cut myself some slack, too. I am realizing that I don't have to be supermom - at least not all the time - plain ol' "Mama" seems to be just fine with my kids so it's just fine with me, too.
"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." Popeye the Sailor Man
Rachelle
Of course, then there's my little herd of stampeding buffalo that always seem to want my attention right when I've settled in for a nice little social media session. Bless their little hearts. There are times when I have heard their little voices trying to reach me through all the crap that's marinating my soul, "Mama, will you play with me?" Sometimes, I brush them off with a, "Not right now." but on the times when I really listen, I get off the computer and go have a tea party or play super heroes.
Sometimes I forget that I have a serious job to do. On days when the hubby is gone for the week and nothing seems to be going right, I just sink into this wormhole of self-preservation and try to forget that I'm a mother. It's a hard job. Much harder than you ever believe it will be before you have any children. People try to warn you, but every single woman is certain that she will be the one superwoman immune to the hardships of motherdom... and every single woman usually has some kind of meltdown that stems from the realization that she didn't have it as figured out as she thought.
My mother told me over and over and over before I was even married that once I had kids, my life would cease to be about me. I would roll my eyes and nod and agree, and I really thought I understood. Sweet, naive Rachelle.
The year I had two babies in diapers was really hard, possibly the hardest of my life to date. One thing that made it worse was logging onto facebook in search of connections, but all I ended up feeling was isolated. I would look at these unbelievably productive mothers (some of which had more kids than I did!) who posted pictures of delicious-looking dinners, gourmet lunches, elaborately themed birthday parties, and flawless bodies that held no trace of stretch marks, extra pounds, or excess skin. They would humble brag about how their one year old was already potty-trained and learning to read and that their three year old was already swimming and painting masterpieces.
All I could think was: "How do they do it?!" I compared myself to these other mothers and found myself to be extremely wanting. Compared to these mystical miracle workers, I was just a fat, sleep-deprived, scatter-brained, unmotivated, and just plain not good enough schlub. I wish I had turned off facebook back then. It would have helped me significantly.
New mothers don't need to feel like they're in a competition with the world, life is hard enough those first few months. They need support. They need someone to talk to them every day, someone who will let them sob about spilling the 2 oz of pumped breast milk they just spent 30 minutes wrenching out of their boobs. They need someone who will not judge them for their decision to make boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner for the third night in a row because they just don't have the mental stamina for anything beyond that. And they really need someone who will smile and tell them they are doing a great job and promise that it won't last forever.
Anyway, my original point was that social media these days contains so much awful information that you never wanted to know. So much crap that you don't need to know. I already know that the world has been slipping into a downward spiral for years. I understand... really! I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't talk about it anymore.
I need to be blissfully ignorant for awhile. I have to raise my kids with care and attention and not have a million things buzzing in the back of my mind all day long... things that are out of my control anyway. It's too easy to forget the importance of the job I'm doing with so much ugliness in the world. It's easy to feel like it won't matter how your kids turn out because we're probably all going to end up blown to bits in a few years anyway. I'm not going to raise my kids in fear of what might happen, though, I'm going to raise them how I feel they should be raised, in spite of the ugliness around them. I'm going to give them what security and happiness I can, while I can, because none of us really know what tomorrow will bring.
And while I'm at it, I'm going to cut myself some slack, too. I am realizing that I don't have to be supermom - at least not all the time - plain ol' "Mama" seems to be just fine with my kids so it's just fine with me, too.
"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." Popeye the Sailor Man
Rachelle
Looking beyond yourself...
"Your children are certainly well behaved." an older gentleman made that comment to me this morning as I was taking all three kids out to breakfast. I could have kissed him.
We do not often get such comments. (usually it's the opposite.) No one has ever come right out and said, "Holy cow, lady, why don't you call super nanny or something?!" but I definitely see the looks we get sometimes. Those looks that let you know someone thinks you're failing at life.
I hate those looks.
I probably used to give those looks before I had any children... (a million years ago, when I was much skinnier and a lot more naive.) Back then, I used to hate the sound of children crying. It straight up annoyed me. I remember one time, my friend, Wendy, and I were talking at work (back when I had a job that didn't involve discussing what color shoes Barbie should wear today or how Buzz Lightyear's laser works) and we heard a baby crying in the store. Wendy made a comment that she always gets sad whenever she hears kids cry and I said something along the lines of, "I think it's annoying." Wendy was a mother and I was not.
Now that I am a mother myself, I get it. Although I tend to feel more for the mother (or father) than the screaming child. I know they're most likely trying hard to get a few things done and their kids are just not feeling it, but they have no choice but to soldier on. These days when I hear a kid crying/screaming, my normal impulse seems to be to rush over and give the mother a hug and tell her that everything will be ok. Maybe it's what I'd like to hear when my kids are having a bad day. Maybe it's just because I want them to know that I don't consider them a failure. Or perhaps I just want to acknowledge their struggle so they don't feel isolated and alone... because I've been there. I've had some pretty tough days when I really just want to run away to my own mother and forget the whole thing - I can't - but boy do I want to sometimes.
Which brings me to my main thought today, that compassion seems to get buried a lot these days. People are so consumed with themselves that they forget they aren't the only humans around. They see other people as obstacles in their way... mere inconveniences along their solitary path of selfishness. It's too bad. I can remember a time when people used to talk with one another. They used to share things face-to-face. They used to laugh and have moments together, moments that speed up and slow down time all at once. They used to relate to one another, instead of competing. People just aren't much like that anymore. Instead of going out of their way to encourage or help, they go out of their way to avoid and ignore... and it's hurting us in ways we probably can't even fathom.
I want to encourage all two of my readers to make a connection with someone. Reach out to a stranger or an old friend you haven't talked to in a while. Instead of just grabbing your grocery bags and rushing out to your car, gab a little with your cashier or the person behind you. Ask someone's opinion about a product. Make a comment. Offer encouragement. Offer love. I love being able to stay connected to people on social media as much as the next person, but it's just not enough! I want to hear your voice. I want to touch you! I want to hear your laugh, to see your tears, to FEEL how you're feeling. I want to connect with you...
Tell a mother in a restaurant that her kids are well behaved... it might be the only positive words she's heard in a long time, and it might come at a time when she is desperate for any kind of sign she's doing anything right.
You never know who you will touch and how big of an impact you will make when you put down your phones and just look at the world.
Acknowledge a life outside of your own. Make a connection.
Rachelle
We do not often get such comments. (usually it's the opposite.) No one has ever come right out and said, "Holy cow, lady, why don't you call super nanny or something?!" but I definitely see the looks we get sometimes. Those looks that let you know someone thinks you're failing at life.
I hate those looks.
I probably used to give those looks before I had any children... (a million years ago, when I was much skinnier and a lot more naive.) Back then, I used to hate the sound of children crying. It straight up annoyed me. I remember one time, my friend, Wendy, and I were talking at work (back when I had a job that didn't involve discussing what color shoes Barbie should wear today or how Buzz Lightyear's laser works) and we heard a baby crying in the store. Wendy made a comment that she always gets sad whenever she hears kids cry and I said something along the lines of, "I think it's annoying." Wendy was a mother and I was not.
Now that I am a mother myself, I get it. Although I tend to feel more for the mother (or father) than the screaming child. I know they're most likely trying hard to get a few things done and their kids are just not feeling it, but they have no choice but to soldier on. These days when I hear a kid crying/screaming, my normal impulse seems to be to rush over and give the mother a hug and tell her that everything will be ok. Maybe it's what I'd like to hear when my kids are having a bad day. Maybe it's just because I want them to know that I don't consider them a failure. Or perhaps I just want to acknowledge their struggle so they don't feel isolated and alone... because I've been there. I've had some pretty tough days when I really just want to run away to my own mother and forget the whole thing - I can't - but boy do I want to sometimes.
Which brings me to my main thought today, that compassion seems to get buried a lot these days. People are so consumed with themselves that they forget they aren't the only humans around. They see other people as obstacles in their way... mere inconveniences along their solitary path of selfishness. It's too bad. I can remember a time when people used to talk with one another. They used to share things face-to-face. They used to laugh and have moments together, moments that speed up and slow down time all at once. They used to relate to one another, instead of competing. People just aren't much like that anymore. Instead of going out of their way to encourage or help, they go out of their way to avoid and ignore... and it's hurting us in ways we probably can't even fathom.
I want to encourage all two of my readers to make a connection with someone. Reach out to a stranger or an old friend you haven't talked to in a while. Instead of just grabbing your grocery bags and rushing out to your car, gab a little with your cashier or the person behind you. Ask someone's opinion about a product. Make a comment. Offer encouragement. Offer love. I love being able to stay connected to people on social media as much as the next person, but it's just not enough! I want to hear your voice. I want to touch you! I want to hear your laugh, to see your tears, to FEEL how you're feeling. I want to connect with you...
Tell a mother in a restaurant that her kids are well behaved... it might be the only positive words she's heard in a long time, and it might come at a time when she is desperate for any kind of sign she's doing anything right.
You never know who you will touch and how big of an impact you will make when you put down your phones and just look at the world.
Acknowledge a life outside of your own. Make a connection.
Rachelle
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Messes of mass destruction...
At this point, I'm almost a little impressed at Colin's ability to sniff out messes of mass destruction. He has a serious gift for it.
A couple nights ago he found my toothpaste while I was making dinner and he smeared it all over my newly washed bedding. (Refer to a week of messes for that story.)
Yesterday morning he found the costco-sized jar of coconut oil in the pantry and dumped the whole thing out on the floor... Are you kidding me, kid?! I just... I can't... daflkjhadsfhwqepoiuhrdkjf! That one nearly destroyed me. I don't cuss, but if I did, the profanities would have been flying that morning.
Other honorable mentions in the mess department include:
Pooping on the floor... (face/palm)
Dumping a whole bag of cocoa puffs onto my bed and crushing them into powder (I was doing dishes for that one)
Empying various water cups out onto the floor in order to splash in them
Dumping a full bowl of rice out onto the table and then flinging the mess in all directions
Ripping off his diaper and peeing on the floor at least four times
Dumping out a whole jar of vitamin c capsules
Emptying a whole shelf of books that I had just organized
Emptying the shoe cubby we had just organized.
I'm pooped. The fact that the hubby is gone for most of the week is just compounding the stress and fatigue I'm feeling. My hair is having a mass exodus from my scalp right now, too, so that's fun.
There is only one bright side of Will working so hard and that is being able to pay all of our bills on time and having some left over to take care of the extras we've been holding off on (oil change, fixing a cracked ipad screen, new pants for Will since his are all worn out, etc.) The extra money is nice... but no amount of money can replace my hubby's presence in our family. We all miss him. Skyla cried herself to sleep the other night because, "I just miss Daddy so much!" It about broke my heart.
I will continue to soldier on, however reluctantly.
Until next time,
Rachelle
A couple nights ago he found my toothpaste while I was making dinner and he smeared it all over my newly washed bedding. (Refer to a week of messes for that story.)
Yesterday morning he found the costco-sized jar of coconut oil in the pantry and dumped the whole thing out on the floor... Are you kidding me, kid?! I just... I can't... daflkjhadsfhwqepoiuhrdkjf! That one nearly destroyed me. I don't cuss, but if I did, the profanities would have been flying that morning.
Other honorable mentions in the mess department include:
Pooping on the floor... (face/palm)
Dumping a whole bag of cocoa puffs onto my bed and crushing them into powder (I was doing dishes for that one)
Empying various water cups out onto the floor in order to splash in them
Dumping a full bowl of rice out onto the table and then flinging the mess in all directions
Ripping off his diaper and peeing on the floor at least four times
Dumping out a whole jar of vitamin c capsules
Emptying a whole shelf of books that I had just organized
Emptying the shoe cubby we had just organized.
I'm pooped. The fact that the hubby is gone for most of the week is just compounding the stress and fatigue I'm feeling. My hair is having a mass exodus from my scalp right now, too, so that's fun.
There is only one bright side of Will working so hard and that is being able to pay all of our bills on time and having some left over to take care of the extras we've been holding off on (oil change, fixing a cracked ipad screen, new pants for Will since his are all worn out, etc.) The extra money is nice... but no amount of money can replace my hubby's presence in our family. We all miss him. Skyla cried herself to sleep the other night because, "I just miss Daddy so much!" It about broke my heart.
I will continue to soldier on, however reluctantly.
Until next time,
Rachelle
Saturday, August 9, 2014
A week of messes...
I don't know how "normal" almost 2 year olds are supposed to act, but mine is outrageously mischievous! The kid literally cannot sit still for longer than 10 seconds! I couldn't possibly name all of the messes Colin has made this week, (not to mention the things he's broken or gotten into) but here are some of the top ones (that I recall, anyway):
He bathed himself in Nutella... literally. Covered from head to toe with liberal blobs on the floor thrown in for good measure.
He bathed himself in iced tea.
He dumped out a full spice jar of ground ginger on my couch and floor.
He took his full bowl of organic cocoa puffs and started throwing them like confetti around the living room/kitchen/dining area.
He dumped a full costco bag of tortilla chips out onto the table.
He emptied all of the soap out of my dish scrubber and onto the floor at least four times.
He emptied the soap container from the bathroom out all over the bathroom floor/wall in the hallway at least three times.
He dumped the old coffee grounds out onto the counter and started eating them.
He rips off his diapers within a minute of me putting them on him, unless I use duct tape!
He dumped cereal on the scanner part of the copier and slammed the top down to crush them into powder.
He emptied an almost full bottle of vinegar cleaner by spraying it all over kingdom come.
He dumped out 2 cups of baking soda on the carpet.
He ruined my computer keyboard.
He broke the wires on the blu ray player cord so it only places if you get it pressed in just so.
He got a dvd stuck in the blu ray player so Daddy had to take the whole thing apart to get it out (this was after I tried unsuccessfully for an hour to get it out with tweezers and a spatula... which only resulted in a broken dvd)
And the pièce de résistance: He got a jar of black bean sauce out of the fridge and dumped the whole thing out on the kitchen floor. I was relieved it had been limited to one area so I quickly cleaned it up and went about trying to get my washer to work. About 15 minutes later, I walked into my bedroom to retrieve a diaper and discovered that the black bean sauce was on my walls, my floor, and my bedding.
All of that was just a week's worth of the havoc this child has wreaked.
Lord, how long is this stage of bustling destruction going to last?! I am only 30, but I already feel like I'm too old for this. The absolute cherry on top though is that since Will is working out of town, 100% of the messes are all mine to clean up; no breaks, no time off for good behavior... It's all me, all day. I don't know how the military spouses and single parents do it! It's just awful.
Sorry for the grumpy subject matter, I hope to have more positive feelings and thoughts to share with you later. But until then, good luck to me and anyone in my position!
Rachelle
He bathed himself in Nutella... literally. Covered from head to toe with liberal blobs on the floor thrown in for good measure.
He bathed himself in iced tea.
He dumped out a full spice jar of ground ginger on my couch and floor.
He took his full bowl of organic cocoa puffs and started throwing them like confetti around the living room/kitchen/dining area.
He dumped a full costco bag of tortilla chips out onto the table.
He emptied all of the soap out of my dish scrubber and onto the floor at least four times.
He emptied the soap container from the bathroom out all over the bathroom floor/wall in the hallway at least three times.
He dumped the old coffee grounds out onto the counter and started eating them.
He rips off his diapers within a minute of me putting them on him, unless I use duct tape!
He dumped cereal on the scanner part of the copier and slammed the top down to crush them into powder.
He emptied an almost full bottle of vinegar cleaner by spraying it all over kingdom come.
He dumped out 2 cups of baking soda on the carpet.
He ruined my computer keyboard.
He broke the wires on the blu ray player cord so it only places if you get it pressed in just so.
He got a dvd stuck in the blu ray player so Daddy had to take the whole thing apart to get it out (this was after I tried unsuccessfully for an hour to get it out with tweezers and a spatula... which only resulted in a broken dvd)
And the pièce de résistance: He got a jar of black bean sauce out of the fridge and dumped the whole thing out on the kitchen floor. I was relieved it had been limited to one area so I quickly cleaned it up and went about trying to get my washer to work. About 15 minutes later, I walked into my bedroom to retrieve a diaper and discovered that the black bean sauce was on my walls, my floor, and my bedding.
All of that was just a week's worth of the havoc this child has wreaked.
Lord, how long is this stage of bustling destruction going to last?! I am only 30, but I already feel like I'm too old for this. The absolute cherry on top though is that since Will is working out of town, 100% of the messes are all mine to clean up; no breaks, no time off for good behavior... It's all me, all day. I don't know how the military spouses and single parents do it! It's just awful.
Sorry for the grumpy subject matter, I hope to have more positive feelings and thoughts to share with you later. But until then, good luck to me and anyone in my position!
Rachelle
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Kidisms...
Kids truly do say the darndest things. I'm going to share with you my favorite pronunciations, hilarious comments, and precious observations from those sweet children of mine, because I can, and because a lot of these are just pure comedic gold. If you're ever in a foul mood, mosy on over here and read a couple of these kidisms and I bet you'll be giggling in no time.
General hilarity:
Skyla to Uncle Jeff: "I'm the majesty!" (She said this while turning her nose up at him and walking away. She was 3. I'm in trouble.)
Levi to me: "I have poop in my butt!" (I appreciate your honesty, son.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy! You scared me right out of the tar!" (She meant to say you scared the tar out of me, but we like her version better. We all still say it to this day.)
My dad was teasing Skyla with something and Skyla - trying very hard to be polite - put her little hand on his knee and looked into his eyes and said very seriously, "Grandpa, will you please stop being a boof?" (We all died laughing)
Skyla to Grandma: "Grandma, I feel so dramatic!"
Levi randomly throughout the year: "Ok, this is getting adicalous!" (Oh my heart!)
Skyla to me: "Mommy! Daddy won't let us enjoy Christmas!" (Will was getting the Christmas ornaments organized so we could decorate the tree and the kids were having a hard time being patient.)
Skyla to Grandpa (and anyone else who would listen): And me, and Daddy, and Levi, and Mommy are going back to Washington, but Grandpa will stay here with his grumpis wife." (I guess Mom and Dad were bickering about something beforehand and Skyla sympathized with Dad, lol.)
Levi to everyone, all the time: "No! I don't wanna do it anymore!" (This is a famous one in my family, my siblings quote it all the time whenever they're having a bad day.)
Skyla, playing with her new kitchen set from Grandpa Tim and Grandma Diane: "And for dinner, I will have fresh chicken... and a nice flag." (I guess she hadn't gone grocery shopping yet ;) She's the greatest.)
Skyla, randomly one day: "I'm gonna call Levi "Chuck" now." (Ok...)
Levi to Daddy while pointing to his rear: "Daddy, my butt lives here!" (Yes, my children sometimes say "butt" to my parent's horror.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy, you are the most beautiful mommy a mommy could ever have." (I think she meant a girl could have, but it warmed my heart nonetheless)
Whenever I corrected Levi's grammar or pronunciation he would say: "Oh, sorry about that." (He was only about 3 or so, it was precious)
I was lying on the floor and flipping the kids over with my legs and I stopped, saying that I was all out of juice (energy) so Skyla ran to the kitchen, got her juice cup off the counter and brought it to me, saying: "Here Mama, I found some juice for you!"
We were at the zoo, outside a goat pen in the petting zoo and Levi was reading his zoo map when a goat approached him and took a bite out of the map. Levi's face was devastated! He could not believe what had just happened! He looked up at me, confused and irate and said, "Mommy! That naughty goat ate my map!" (I couldn't help laughing at the poor little guy, he was just incensed at the nerve of that "naughty" goat. I hope I never forget that.)
Skyla, talking about some chocolate confection I made: "Mama, I really want to try one of those chocolate things because they're like music running through your lips when you taste them." (She was 5. I take no credit for her colorful descriptions.)
Levi had been wearing one of Skyla's bright pink purses around all day and was taking it with him for naptime, I asked him, "Why are you wearing Skyla's purse to bed, buddy?" and he replied, very seriously, "This is a hunting purse. I need it to hunt pumas." (I'm not sure why my kids refer to Mountain Lions as pumas, but I find it hilarious... almost as hilarious as a 4 year old with a bright pink hunting purse.)
Skyla, randomly one day: "I call my uncles "Unclestiltskin" and "Uncle Peanut"." (You do?)
Skyla was having a hard time being patient one day, waiting for lunch and she'd asked me about 30 times if we were making rice (and waving the box in my face) and finally, in exasperation I said if she asked for rice again she would have to go to her room. She was quiet for a minute and then came up to me and said, "Ok, after I eat my apple are you going to make me that thing I got out of the pantry?" (Very creative, Skyla.)
Skyla after getting herself a glass of water and taking a big sip: "This water is tasty! Water is better than koolaid." (I'm not gonna lie, I was a proud mommy)
We were planning a visit to Idaho and I was explaining to the kids that they needed to have an adult with them whenever they played outside because there was a mountain lion in the area and it would think they were a tasty snack. Levi put his hand on his hip and said, "I will shoot the mountain lions with my little gun." (He was referring to his little pop gun. I told him that I appreciated his bravery, but he still had to have an adult with him when he went outside, lol.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy, when we visit heaven, will God play fun games with us?" (I don't know, baby girl, I guess we'll find out.)
Levi to me, very enthusiastically: "The flower boofted with green leaves!" (I'm still not sure what he was talking about, but I find his description hilarious!)
Skyla was helping Aunt Poppy wash her car and got very soapy: "I'm so soapy I look like a car!" then she giggled and said, "Vroom, vroom!"
Me, trying to get Levi dressed and being met with much resistance: "What, you just want to be naked like a savage?" I asked, and he looked confused and insulted and said, "No, I don't want to be a naked cabbage." (Guffaw!)
Skyla, while watching Ice Age: Continental Drift: "Hey, look! She made a stink rainbow!" (It was during the part where the grandma sloth falls into the ocean and pollutes the water with her dirty fur)
Levi, randomly: "Ohhh! Dubbadear!" (He was quoting Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.)
Skyla, praying: "...And Jesus, please hide your word in our hearts and don't let Satan find it and take it out of our hearts..." (I don't think I've ever heard a 5 year old sound so wise.)
Creative pronunciations:
Moke (Milk)
Sai-you (I'm sorry)
Jagwater (Jaguar)
Grola bars (Granola bars)
Oafameal (oatmeal)
Wilburt (Charlotte's Web)
Dickey Mouse (Mickey Mouse)
Ladies and Junglemen! (Gentlemen)
Thank you really much. (very much)
Homework shoes. (slippers... Skyla calls them that because I wear them while I'm doing chores.)
Tinker bells (Jingle bells)
I try to write them down as they say them, but there have been a few that slipped away. I hope you all will document your own kidisms, too, they will love reading them years from now and you will enjoy continuous laughter from the memories. Childhood is so fleeting, we have to grab what we can before it's gone.
Rachelle
General hilarity:
Skyla to Uncle Jeff: "I'm the majesty!" (She said this while turning her nose up at him and walking away. She was 3. I'm in trouble.)
Levi to me: "I have poop in my butt!" (I appreciate your honesty, son.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy! You scared me right out of the tar!" (She meant to say you scared the tar out of me, but we like her version better. We all still say it to this day.)
My dad was teasing Skyla with something and Skyla - trying very hard to be polite - put her little hand on his knee and looked into his eyes and said very seriously, "Grandpa, will you please stop being a boof?" (We all died laughing)
Skyla to Grandma: "Grandma, I feel so dramatic!"
Levi randomly throughout the year: "Ok, this is getting adicalous!" (Oh my heart!)
Skyla to me: "Mommy! Daddy won't let us enjoy Christmas!" (Will was getting the Christmas ornaments organized so we could decorate the tree and the kids were having a hard time being patient.)
Skyla to Grandpa (and anyone else who would listen): And me, and Daddy, and Levi, and Mommy are going back to Washington, but Grandpa will stay here with his grumpis wife." (I guess Mom and Dad were bickering about something beforehand and Skyla sympathized with Dad, lol.)
Levi to everyone, all the time: "No! I don't wanna do it anymore!" (This is a famous one in my family, my siblings quote it all the time whenever they're having a bad day.)
Skyla, playing with her new kitchen set from Grandpa Tim and Grandma Diane: "And for dinner, I will have fresh chicken... and a nice flag." (I guess she hadn't gone grocery shopping yet ;) She's the greatest.)
Skyla, randomly one day: "I'm gonna call Levi "Chuck" now." (Ok...)
Levi to Daddy while pointing to his rear: "Daddy, my butt lives here!" (Yes, my children sometimes say "butt" to my parent's horror.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy, you are the most beautiful mommy a mommy could ever have." (I think she meant a girl could have, but it warmed my heart nonetheless)
Whenever I corrected Levi's grammar or pronunciation he would say: "Oh, sorry about that." (He was only about 3 or so, it was precious)
I was lying on the floor and flipping the kids over with my legs and I stopped, saying that I was all out of juice (energy) so Skyla ran to the kitchen, got her juice cup off the counter and brought it to me, saying: "Here Mama, I found some juice for you!"
We were at the zoo, outside a goat pen in the petting zoo and Levi was reading his zoo map when a goat approached him and took a bite out of the map. Levi's face was devastated! He could not believe what had just happened! He looked up at me, confused and irate and said, "Mommy! That naughty goat ate my map!" (I couldn't help laughing at the poor little guy, he was just incensed at the nerve of that "naughty" goat. I hope I never forget that.)
Skyla, talking about some chocolate confection I made: "Mama, I really want to try one of those chocolate things because they're like music running through your lips when you taste them." (She was 5. I take no credit for her colorful descriptions.)
Levi had been wearing one of Skyla's bright pink purses around all day and was taking it with him for naptime, I asked him, "Why are you wearing Skyla's purse to bed, buddy?" and he replied, very seriously, "This is a hunting purse. I need it to hunt pumas." (I'm not sure why my kids refer to Mountain Lions as pumas, but I find it hilarious... almost as hilarious as a 4 year old with a bright pink hunting purse.)
Skyla, randomly one day: "I call my uncles "Unclestiltskin" and "Uncle Peanut"." (You do?)
Skyla was having a hard time being patient one day, waiting for lunch and she'd asked me about 30 times if we were making rice (and waving the box in my face) and finally, in exasperation I said if she asked for rice again she would have to go to her room. She was quiet for a minute and then came up to me and said, "Ok, after I eat my apple are you going to make me that thing I got out of the pantry?" (Very creative, Skyla.)
Skyla after getting herself a glass of water and taking a big sip: "This water is tasty! Water is better than koolaid." (I'm not gonna lie, I was a proud mommy)
We were planning a visit to Idaho and I was explaining to the kids that they needed to have an adult with them whenever they played outside because there was a mountain lion in the area and it would think they were a tasty snack. Levi put his hand on his hip and said, "I will shoot the mountain lions with my little gun." (He was referring to his little pop gun. I told him that I appreciated his bravery, but he still had to have an adult with him when he went outside, lol.)
Skyla to me: "Mommy, when we visit heaven, will God play fun games with us?" (I don't know, baby girl, I guess we'll find out.)
Levi to me, very enthusiastically: "The flower boofted with green leaves!" (I'm still not sure what he was talking about, but I find his description hilarious!)
Skyla was helping Aunt Poppy wash her car and got very soapy: "I'm so soapy I look like a car!" then she giggled and said, "Vroom, vroom!"
Me, trying to get Levi dressed and being met with much resistance: "What, you just want to be naked like a savage?" I asked, and he looked confused and insulted and said, "No, I don't want to be a naked cabbage." (Guffaw!)
Skyla, while watching Ice Age: Continental Drift: "Hey, look! She made a stink rainbow!" (It was during the part where the grandma sloth falls into the ocean and pollutes the water with her dirty fur)
Levi, randomly: "Ohhh! Dubbadear!" (He was quoting Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.)
Skyla, praying: "...And Jesus, please hide your word in our hearts and don't let Satan find it and take it out of our hearts..." (I don't think I've ever heard a 5 year old sound so wise.)
Creative pronunciations:
Moke (Milk)
Sai-you (I'm sorry)
Jagwater (Jaguar)
Grola bars (Granola bars)
Oafameal (oatmeal)
Wilburt (Charlotte's Web)
Dickey Mouse (Mickey Mouse)
Ladies and Junglemen! (Gentlemen)
Thank you really much. (very much)
Homework shoes. (slippers... Skyla calls them that because I wear them while I'm doing chores.)
Tinker bells (Jingle bells)
I try to write them down as they say them, but there have been a few that slipped away. I hope you all will document your own kidisms, too, they will love reading them years from now and you will enjoy continuous laughter from the memories. Childhood is so fleeting, we have to grab what we can before it's gone.
Rachelle
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
A simple compliment...
Alright. So my hubby is an iron-worker. Yup, he's the guy who puts in all the rebar bones of the buildings you work in, the bridges you drive across, the water tanks that store your water (unless you're blessed with a well - totes jelly if that's the case) and various other structures I can't think of right now. In all my life, I have never met a man who works harder than my husband. And that's not a biased opinion, by the way - everyone who knows him would say the same thing. He's had Foremen fight over him numerous times because they all knew he would do the job right the first time and in record time. It is one of his best qualities and something I greatly respect in him.
Sorry, I had to gush a little. :)
Anyway, because ironworking can be unpredictable, there are certain stretches of time where the only work available is hours and hours away. We're heading into one of those long, lonely stretches right now and I've gone into survival mode.
(To all you single/military parents out there: How do you do it?! Y'all deserve a medal, in my opinion, 'cause taking care of three little ones by yourself is no joke.)
It's like when you're wounded and your body channels all your blood to your vital organs and you lose feeling in your outer extremities. Ok, that's a little dramatic, but that's how I feel when Will is working out of town, like I'm just holding my breath until Sunday. I had to facetime with my mother last night just to be able to see another adult. You can only talk about Disney movies, snake stories, one's opinion on ballerinas, and favorite bedtime stories for so long before it starts to wear on you. It's times like these that I am so grateful that I have a husband. And that he's a good one, too! Not a selfish deadbeat who doesn't care about me or our kids.
When he said goodnight to me Sunday before he left, he hugged and kissed me and said, "I love you. You have been such a good friend to me." Of course, I joked that I rather thought we were more than that at this point, but the compliment really touched me. Anyone who knows us will attest to the fact that our marriage/relationship has been one heck of ride (most of those people probably didn't think we'd make it this far, either.) I can't say that I blame them, it took a lot of pain to come to this current state of love and friendship. But it means the world to me that somehow, even after all of the negatives, Will considers me his friend. I know, I know, usually being "friend-zoned" is a very bad thing in a relationship, but in my circumstances it's beautiful. It took a lot more work to be friends in this marriage than lovers, that's for sure. To be a good friend to Will, you have to be reliable, honest, flexible and trustworthy, so really, he paid me several compliments in one. Double prizes!
My thoughts are all over the place (big surprise) but I think all I'm trying to say is that I am one lucky lady and that little comment has been tucked away, ready to keep me going when the days are long and hard to take. I hope you all will be able to find a friend in your spouse, too.
Until next time,
Rachelle
Sorry, I had to gush a little. :)
Anyway, because ironworking can be unpredictable, there are certain stretches of time where the only work available is hours and hours away. We're heading into one of those long, lonely stretches right now and I've gone into survival mode.
(To all you single/military parents out there: How do you do it?! Y'all deserve a medal, in my opinion, 'cause taking care of three little ones by yourself is no joke.)
It's like when you're wounded and your body channels all your blood to your vital organs and you lose feeling in your outer extremities. Ok, that's a little dramatic, but that's how I feel when Will is working out of town, like I'm just holding my breath until Sunday. I had to facetime with my mother last night just to be able to see another adult. You can only talk about Disney movies, snake stories, one's opinion on ballerinas, and favorite bedtime stories for so long before it starts to wear on you. It's times like these that I am so grateful that I have a husband. And that he's a good one, too! Not a selfish deadbeat who doesn't care about me or our kids.
When he said goodnight to me Sunday before he left, he hugged and kissed me and said, "I love you. You have been such a good friend to me." Of course, I joked that I rather thought we were more than that at this point, but the compliment really touched me. Anyone who knows us will attest to the fact that our marriage/relationship has been one heck of ride (most of those people probably didn't think we'd make it this far, either.) I can't say that I blame them, it took a lot of pain to come to this current state of love and friendship. But it means the world to me that somehow, even after all of the negatives, Will considers me his friend. I know, I know, usually being "friend-zoned" is a very bad thing in a relationship, but in my circumstances it's beautiful. It took a lot more work to be friends in this marriage than lovers, that's for sure. To be a good friend to Will, you have to be reliable, honest, flexible and trustworthy, so really, he paid me several compliments in one. Double prizes!
My thoughts are all over the place (big surprise) but I think all I'm trying to say is that I am one lucky lady and that little comment has been tucked away, ready to keep me going when the days are long and hard to take. I hope you all will be able to find a friend in your spouse, too.
Until next time,
Rachelle
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Dear downstairs neighbors...
I want to start this letter off by saying I am sorry. I am sorry that my three rambunctious children feel the need to leap off of furniture at 7am when you are trying to sleep. I am sorry that they sound like a herd of buffalo migrating through the Grand Tetons. I am sorry that no matter how many times my husband and I say the words, "Don't jump off the couch!" Or "Stop thumping!" my kids forget them within five minutes. We explain to each one of them on a daily basis that it is important to be courteous and mindful of you, but it is hard for them to remember such things when there are rivers of lava to be crossed, giant precipices to be leapt over, and fierce beasts to slay. I am sorry that you have the misfortune of living downstairs. I have been the downstairs neighbor myself many years ago and I remember the frustrations that came with it. You have born it well for almost two years.
I do not know how much longer either of us will live here, but I hope it's not terribly long. I hope you will be able to find a nice place somewhere without crazy children ruining your beauty sleep and I hope I can find a home with a backyard where I can send my kids to burn off energy safely and without disturbing anyone. Being kids in an apartment is hard, they want to run and jump and be wild. I take them to the park, to the zoo, to the mall, on bike rides and with me shopping, but we can only be gone for so long. I try to tire them out while we're away so it will be easier for you, but these tiny humans' super human energy never seems to to diminish! I'm at my wits' end.
I know there are many letters out there addressed to people like me, people who are viewed as public enemy number one. People who I feel are sometimes misunderstood. I know many people think I should be able to control my children... and all I can say to that is if you have any brilliant suggestions beyond the daily lectures and punishments we already administer, then be my guest. Contrary to popular belief, I do not enjoy it when my kids act out or practically cave your ceiling in from their constant rough housing. I am embarrassed. I panic when I think that all it will take is you complaining to the manager a few times before we get a little notice suggesting it's time to move on... and at this point, that would mean being homeless, as we currently don't have the funds necessary to buy or rent another house.
So dear neighbor, I beg of you, please continue to be patient. Please try to see it from my side and don't think for one moment that I'm not worried about you every single day. I promise you that I am doing my best.
Sincerely,
Rachelle
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Bless this mess?
There are a lot of really amazing women out there. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those beautiful creatures who are able to run a household with the efficiency of a honey bee and the precision of a brain surgeon. The mothers who have well mannered, perfectly dressed children who always clean up after themselves, the moms who cook beautiful meals every single day and who's floors are spotless. These women are amazing.
You know who else is amazing? My mother. She spent ages of my youth trying to prepare me for the rigors of stay-at-home-motherdom and how I wish I would have appreciated it more at the time. She taught me how to clean, how to bake and cook, how to keep children alive in spite of their daily dedication to killing themselves... all of this while giving birth to and homeschooling eight children. Yes, eight. My mother was perpetually exhausted for most of my childhood. I remember her teaching me how to read and just nodding off. (I couldn't blame her, most of those lessons could put anyone to sleep.)
Sadly, my mother was often ridiculed and teased by friends and even family for doing unconventional things like having more than three kids and homeschooling them all. She and my dad were Christians, but church was never something any of us were forced to attend. She let my dad make a racetrack throughout their 1/3 acre so we (and all the neighborhood kids) could ride around it on our bikes, quads or motorcycles. She was always trying new things, whether it was giving us colloidal silver to drink, trying out ear candling, or experimenting with once a month cooking (which is a huge feat with 10 people to feed!) When she was in her 30's, she and my dad learned how to fly from my grandpa and then she flew her three sisters from El Cajon, California to Tucsan, Arizona for their annual cousin's week. She was a marvel with a sewing machine and I still have some of the clothes she made me as a kid. She definitely set the bar very high, and yet, for all of her shining qualities, many people never gave my mother the props she was due. I think a lot of them just couldn't see past the mess our house was usually in. And you want to know the worst part of it? That beautiful woman I admire so much began to measure her self-worth by her ability to keep a clean house... and consequently, she convinced herself she was a failure. :'(
Now before you fly off the handle on me, understand that I like a clean house as well as the next person. I don't condemn any of you miraculous women who have floors and bathrooms so clean you could eat off of them. I actually admire your ninja mom abilities quite a bit. But I also don't condemn the mother of five who's house always seems to be in a constant flux of chaos or who's children frequently behave like... well, children. To me, you each have beautiful qualities.
The simple truth is that - for me - a clean house is a bonus, not a necessity. I used to pretty much obsess over it, killing myself every day trying to battle the endless toys, clothes, and dishes that seemed to materialize in mere seconds. On days when there were messes, I would be depressed, anxious, and downright angry. I would get mad at my little loves for having the audacity to mess up my just-cleaned-that-morning house, and sometimes, I would even yell at them out of frustration. It took awhile for me to realize the problem wasn't them, it was me. I was so stressed out about how other people might view me if they saw my house in disarray that my happiness became dependent on having a clean house. Like my mother, I had begun to tie my self-worth up into how clean my house was. I was a slave to my house; never wanting to do anything if something needed cleaning. I couldn't give myself permission to have fun, workout, play, write or do anything if my house was messy. What a miserable state. It took a long time for me to realize that a clean house should not be more important to me than anything else.
Right now, there are dishes in my sink, laundry waiting to be processed, floors that need to be vacuumed, and toys everywhere. I will get to them all eventually, but the important thing is that I refuse to be defined by the mess. If your opinion of me as a human being is swayed by a few crumbs under my table or pots on my stove, then I'm sorry. I'm not sorry for the mess, but I am sorry that of all my qualities, the only one that matters is my ability to scrub and sweep. I promise you there's a lot more to me than that.
I love the story of Mary and Martha in the Bible. Martha was very efficient and orderly, wanting everything to go smoothly during Jesus' visit. Mary was more concerned with actually spending time with Jesus, knowing that she wouldn't always have the ability to be with Him. Martha got angry with Mary for not helping get things done, but Jesus gently reprimanded her, saying that Mary had chosen the best thing. Some things can wait and some things can't, but it's up to you to decide what those things are. I hope you will be kind to yourself and not miss out on happy memories because you're too busy maintaining a perfect house. (And if you're one of those epic mothers who somehow manage to do it all, my hat is off to you! You go girl!)
As for me, well, all I can really say is God bless this mess and the people who made it. :)
Rachelle
You know who else is amazing? My mother. She spent ages of my youth trying to prepare me for the rigors of stay-at-home-motherdom and how I wish I would have appreciated it more at the time. She taught me how to clean, how to bake and cook, how to keep children alive in spite of their daily dedication to killing themselves... all of this while giving birth to and homeschooling eight children. Yes, eight. My mother was perpetually exhausted for most of my childhood. I remember her teaching me how to read and just nodding off. (I couldn't blame her, most of those lessons could put anyone to sleep.)
Sadly, my mother was often ridiculed and teased by friends and even family for doing unconventional things like having more than three kids and homeschooling them all. She and my dad were Christians, but church was never something any of us were forced to attend. She let my dad make a racetrack throughout their 1/3 acre so we (and all the neighborhood kids) could ride around it on our bikes, quads or motorcycles. She was always trying new things, whether it was giving us colloidal silver to drink, trying out ear candling, or experimenting with once a month cooking (which is a huge feat with 10 people to feed!) When she was in her 30's, she and my dad learned how to fly from my grandpa and then she flew her three sisters from El Cajon, California to Tucsan, Arizona for their annual cousin's week. She was a marvel with a sewing machine and I still have some of the clothes she made me as a kid. She definitely set the bar very high, and yet, for all of her shining qualities, many people never gave my mother the props she was due. I think a lot of them just couldn't see past the mess our house was usually in. And you want to know the worst part of it? That beautiful woman I admire so much began to measure her self-worth by her ability to keep a clean house... and consequently, she convinced herself she was a failure. :'(
Now before you fly off the handle on me, understand that I like a clean house as well as the next person. I don't condemn any of you miraculous women who have floors and bathrooms so clean you could eat off of them. I actually admire your ninja mom abilities quite a bit. But I also don't condemn the mother of five who's house always seems to be in a constant flux of chaos or who's children frequently behave like... well, children. To me, you each have beautiful qualities.
The simple truth is that - for me - a clean house is a bonus, not a necessity. I used to pretty much obsess over it, killing myself every day trying to battle the endless toys, clothes, and dishes that seemed to materialize in mere seconds. On days when there were messes, I would be depressed, anxious, and downright angry. I would get mad at my little loves for having the audacity to mess up my just-cleaned-that-morning house, and sometimes, I would even yell at them out of frustration. It took awhile for me to realize the problem wasn't them, it was me. I was so stressed out about how other people might view me if they saw my house in disarray that my happiness became dependent on having a clean house. Like my mother, I had begun to tie my self-worth up into how clean my house was. I was a slave to my house; never wanting to do anything if something needed cleaning. I couldn't give myself permission to have fun, workout, play, write or do anything if my house was messy. What a miserable state. It took a long time for me to realize that a clean house should not be more important to me than anything else.
Right now, there are dishes in my sink, laundry waiting to be processed, floors that need to be vacuumed, and toys everywhere. I will get to them all eventually, but the important thing is that I refuse to be defined by the mess. If your opinion of me as a human being is swayed by a few crumbs under my table or pots on my stove, then I'm sorry. I'm not sorry for the mess, but I am sorry that of all my qualities, the only one that matters is my ability to scrub and sweep. I promise you there's a lot more to me than that.
I love the story of Mary and Martha in the Bible. Martha was very efficient and orderly, wanting everything to go smoothly during Jesus' visit. Mary was more concerned with actually spending time with Jesus, knowing that she wouldn't always have the ability to be with Him. Martha got angry with Mary for not helping get things done, but Jesus gently reprimanded her, saying that Mary had chosen the best thing. Some things can wait and some things can't, but it's up to you to decide what those things are. I hope you will be kind to yourself and not miss out on happy memories because you're too busy maintaining a perfect house. (And if you're one of those epic mothers who somehow manage to do it all, my hat is off to you! You go girl!)
As for me, well, all I can really say is God bless this mess and the people who made it. :)
Rachelle
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