I have figured out the secret to my success as a domestic engineer/family manager/mom and wife. Admittedly, some people will question whether I'm being successful (and I'm often one of those people) but I had an epiphany that just had to be shared. This may not make sense at first, but hang in there with me because (I hope) it will.
We've all heard that failure is the key to success. Successful people fail, sometimes many times and miserably. But, what makes them successful is that they don't give up. Successful people don't discount themselves as failures because they make a mistake. They simply try again. The old adage, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" seems to characterize most successful people. Thomas Edison, not to belabor the point too much, is reported to have said (in response to how he felt about failing so many times before fining something that worked for the light bulb), "I didn't fail, I simply discovered (however many different ways) that didn't work." You might say, as I have before, that it is a matter of perspective.
Well, tonight, as I was getting ready to tumble into bed, I noticed clothes on my clothes line. Since it was after dark and I was already in pajamas, I decided it was too late to worry about it and we'd take care of it in the morning. Then I started thinking of all the ways I fail as a mom. I could list them for you, but it would get boring quickly. Anyway, I realized that the reason I keep trying at this task set before me is that I recognize that I'm a failure, in MANY ways. Again, I could list them, but you would probably be thinking of your own list anyway. If you want to get right down to it, all of us fail; the Bible says so and I don't anyone really disagrees.
Isn't great that entrance into Heaven is not dependent on our perfection? I'm especially grateful, since I'm so VERY far from being perfect! Psalm 103:8, one of my favorite verses, says "The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." His patience, graciousness and compassion make it possible for me to keep failing without giving up. Later in the same Psalm it says that God knows how weak we are (He should since He created us). He has made provision for our weakness through His Son, Jesus Christ. That is the reason that I can be "successful," at least as far as not giving up on being a mom. My precious Savior, Jesus, loves me in spite of my failings (of which there are MANY), He accepts me and gives me what it takes to put one foot after the other, even on days when my laundry still hangs on the line as I get into bed.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
After baby bodies
As the mother of six children, I know a little about how babies change bodies. Parts of me will never be the same again! So, it was not with a little interest that I noticed a story on mothers having plastic surgery to regain their pre-baby bodies. Part of me was curious; just what could be done? Part of me, though, was sad, and a little frustrated with plastic surgeons.
The part of me that was curious got pretty obvious answers pretty quickly; surgeons can augment things that have shrunk and shrink things that have gotten bigger, suck out fat from places no self-respecting woman wants fat and put it back where any self-respecting woman knows it goes.
I didn't get any hints as to a dollar amount such surgery must translate into, but you know it has to be expensive and I'm pretty sure insurance won't pay for it. The dollar amount is also the reason I'm a little frustrated with plastic surgeons. We already have enough problems with airbrushed supermodels setting an impossible standard; we don't need rich surgeons getting richer from our artifically induced insecurities!
The part of me that was sad, though, was sad because of what this new trend says about our culture and how much (or little) we truly value moms. I've had six children, and like I said, parts of me will never be the same. My 5' almost 11" frame won't see the inside of my size 10 wedding dress ever again. I probably won't see the inside of a size 10 period. My hips and my feet both are much wider than they used to be, and no plastic surgeon is going to be able to help that.
Parts of me are much smaller than before I had children. Other parts have folds that haven't gone away in spite of regular daily sit ups. Yet, my husband tells me how beautiful he thinks I am and how much he enjoys the parts that are smaller and the parts that aren't. I've never felt insecure or ugly because of what happened to my body as a result of becoming a mom. Indeed, I consider it a tremendous privilege and know many women who would give almost anything to see what their post-baby body would look like because they can't have children.
Perhaps we need a gentle reminder that life brings change. For any of us who live into old age, gravity will not be thwarted; we will have parts that sag and bag, with or without plastic surgery. We can do some things to help, to be sure, but nothing can stop the march of time. And perhaps such a goal is misdirected. The hand who rocks the cradle, it is said, is the hand who rules the world. Mothers of all sizes rock cradles holding future presidents, priests and kings. Women who mother children are beautiful, not because of what size they wear or how quickly they fit back into their pre-pregnancy clothes, but because of WHO they are and WHAT they are doing!! Perhaps the best thing we can do for post-baby body blues is not to turn to plastic surgeons, but to re-evaluate what we see as beautiful and to remember what a gift being a mother really is.
The part of me that was curious got pretty obvious answers pretty quickly; surgeons can augment things that have shrunk and shrink things that have gotten bigger, suck out fat from places no self-respecting woman wants fat and put it back where any self-respecting woman knows it goes.
I didn't get any hints as to a dollar amount such surgery must translate into, but you know it has to be expensive and I'm pretty sure insurance won't pay for it. The dollar amount is also the reason I'm a little frustrated with plastic surgeons. We already have enough problems with airbrushed supermodels setting an impossible standard; we don't need rich surgeons getting richer from our artifically induced insecurities!
The part of me that was sad, though, was sad because of what this new trend says about our culture and how much (or little) we truly value moms. I've had six children, and like I said, parts of me will never be the same. My 5' almost 11" frame won't see the inside of my size 10 wedding dress ever again. I probably won't see the inside of a size 10 period. My hips and my feet both are much wider than they used to be, and no plastic surgeon is going to be able to help that.
Parts of me are much smaller than before I had children. Other parts have folds that haven't gone away in spite of regular daily sit ups. Yet, my husband tells me how beautiful he thinks I am and how much he enjoys the parts that are smaller and the parts that aren't. I've never felt insecure or ugly because of what happened to my body as a result of becoming a mom. Indeed, I consider it a tremendous privilege and know many women who would give almost anything to see what their post-baby body would look like because they can't have children.
Perhaps we need a gentle reminder that life brings change. For any of us who live into old age, gravity will not be thwarted; we will have parts that sag and bag, with or without plastic surgery. We can do some things to help, to be sure, but nothing can stop the march of time. And perhaps such a goal is misdirected. The hand who rocks the cradle, it is said, is the hand who rules the world. Mothers of all sizes rock cradles holding future presidents, priests and kings. Women who mother children are beautiful, not because of what size they wear or how quickly they fit back into their pre-pregnancy clothes, but because of WHO they are and WHAT they are doing!! Perhaps the best thing we can do for post-baby body blues is not to turn to plastic surgeons, but to re-evaluate what we see as beautiful and to remember what a gift being a mother really is.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
The Adventure Continues (or, Parenting is Never Dull)
The children and I were at a restaurant recently, for lunch; without my husband. Now, if you have children, you know why parents don't take children out to eat very often (especially at "real" restaurants, as opposed to McDonald's or Wendy's) and you can imagine the scene that played out before me. But, it was a special occasion and I was not going to be deterred from my appointed task
After we'd ordered, I herded everyone to a table. Of course, children had to wrestle over who would sit where and someone was unhappy, though not too loudly. My son fell off the bench he was sitting on, but wasn't injured seriously enough to keep him from climbing back into his seat for food. Then, a glass of water (only filled half way) was spilled. By now the other patrons in the restaurant are looking at me with raised eyebrows, undoubtedly wondering what psychotic maniac actually takes seven children 12 and under (we were borrowing one for the day) to a restaurant, alone. When the food was delivered, it took several minutes to dish out to everyone what they needed, only to hear "I don't like that," or "I wanted the other one." In the midst of dealing with dishing out food and filling cups and getting replacement silverware for kids who dropped theirs, life got really interesting. My son threw up.
I can only imagine that he ate something that didn't quite agree with his taste buds, who engaged in an all-out assault and refused to allow the offending food to proceed further. What the problem was, I have no idea. All I know is that one minute he was eating and the next he was puking on the table.
Having grabbed a small mountain of napkins, I quickly cleaned up the rejected food and disposed of it before anyone else noticed. Caleb, having dealt with the problem, proceeded to eat the rest of what was on his tray, with hardly a moment's hesitation. Whatever the problem was, it didn't affect his appetite in any noticeable way. And, none of the girls noticed anything, for which I can only be humbly thankful! The meal was finished without further incident. In all, it was a definite success, even if we might not be welcome back to that restaurant. We don't go out to eat often, it will be ok.
After we'd ordered, I herded everyone to a table. Of course, children had to wrestle over who would sit where and someone was unhappy, though not too loudly. My son fell off the bench he was sitting on, but wasn't injured seriously enough to keep him from climbing back into his seat for food. Then, a glass of water (only filled half way) was spilled. By now the other patrons in the restaurant are looking at me with raised eyebrows, undoubtedly wondering what psychotic maniac actually takes seven children 12 and under (we were borrowing one for the day) to a restaurant, alone. When the food was delivered, it took several minutes to dish out to everyone what they needed, only to hear "I don't like that," or "I wanted the other one." In the midst of dealing with dishing out food and filling cups and getting replacement silverware for kids who dropped theirs, life got really interesting. My son threw up.
I can only imagine that he ate something that didn't quite agree with his taste buds, who engaged in an all-out assault and refused to allow the offending food to proceed further. What the problem was, I have no idea. All I know is that one minute he was eating and the next he was puking on the table.
Having grabbed a small mountain of napkins, I quickly cleaned up the rejected food and disposed of it before anyone else noticed. Caleb, having dealt with the problem, proceeded to eat the rest of what was on his tray, with hardly a moment's hesitation. Whatever the problem was, it didn't affect his appetite in any noticeable way. And, none of the girls noticed anything, for which I can only be humbly thankful! The meal was finished without further incident. In all, it was a definite success, even if we might not be welcome back to that restaurant. We don't go out to eat often, it will be ok.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Real Estate Gauntlet
Our house is for sale. Unfortunately for us, it isn't a great time to sell a house. Even so, our house is "on the market." If you've ever sold a house, you know the drill; the house has to be magazine photo shoot perfect all the time. Do you know how impossible that is with six children?
Because not many people are buying homes right now, we haven't had too many people looking. On average, about once a week a realtor calls about bringing someone through. Well, that leaves at least six days where people AREN'T walking through. That means that we have at least six days of being lax about cleaning the house and a few hours of mad, frantic cleaning to get it ready to be looked at. It also means everytime the phone rings, I hold my breath until the voice on the other line says something besides, "Hello, my name is Lilly with Big House Realty Co. I have a client that wants to look at your house."
When the voice on the other line says anything about realty companies or house showings, we go into alert. As soon as I find out the deadline, we start the drill. Initially, we're intent but not hurried. As time goes by, though, we get more and more frantic until at last, with only minutes to spare, I'm barking out orders:
"Put all that stuff in that laundry basket!
"Wait, where is the basket? OH NO! It's full? Well, get another basket.
"Take that stuff to the car. No, the other car. It won't fit in that car. Take it to the other car.
"No, you can't hide anything in the shower, they can see the shower. No, don't put it in the oven, either. Someone will look in the oven. Yes, you can hide those piles in the dryer; we're not selling the dryer!
Don't forget to light the candle. And the other candle. Did anyone shut the upstairs window?"
Then, we run to the car and drive away, sometimes with laundry baskets in hand and sometimes with bags because we've run out of baskets. The realtor and client(s) walk through the house and leave. We've spent hours getting ready so they can look at our house for a few minutes. Then, we have to undo all the "cleaning" we've just done and put everything away. Of course, not everything gets put away. Then someone is saying, "Mom, do you know where my maggot collection is?" My reply, "Of course, dear. Check the back of the car. Oh no. Not that car. The other car. It should be in the third basket on the left, under the power bill and the letter from the attorney about Aunt Mable's will."
Because not many people are buying homes right now, we haven't had too many people looking. On average, about once a week a realtor calls about bringing someone through. Well, that leaves at least six days where people AREN'T walking through. That means that we have at least six days of being lax about cleaning the house and a few hours of mad, frantic cleaning to get it ready to be looked at. It also means everytime the phone rings, I hold my breath until the voice on the other line says something besides, "Hello, my name is Lilly with Big House Realty Co. I have a client that wants to look at your house."
When the voice on the other line says anything about realty companies or house showings, we go into alert. As soon as I find out the deadline, we start the drill. Initially, we're intent but not hurried. As time goes by, though, we get more and more frantic until at last, with only minutes to spare, I'm barking out orders:
"Put all that stuff in that laundry basket!
"Wait, where is the basket? OH NO! It's full? Well, get another basket.
"Take that stuff to the car. No, the other car. It won't fit in that car. Take it to the other car.
"No, you can't hide anything in the shower, they can see the shower. No, don't put it in the oven, either. Someone will look in the oven. Yes, you can hide those piles in the dryer; we're not selling the dryer!
Don't forget to light the candle. And the other candle. Did anyone shut the upstairs window?"
Then, we run to the car and drive away, sometimes with laundry baskets in hand and sometimes with bags because we've run out of baskets. The realtor and client(s) walk through the house and leave. We've spent hours getting ready so they can look at our house for a few minutes. Then, we have to undo all the "cleaning" we've just done and put everything away. Of course, not everything gets put away. Then someone is saying, "Mom, do you know where my maggot collection is?" My reply, "Of course, dear. Check the back of the car. Oh no. Not that car. The other car. It should be in the third basket on the left, under the power bill and the letter from the attorney about Aunt Mable's will."
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Perspective is Everything, part III
Food is expensive right now. Yesterday I paid almost $3 a pound for "cheap" hamburger! Rice is rationed at Wal-Mart and Costco. The grain I buy is getting more expensive almost daily. Now, we don't have much money by American standards. Our children don't go to ballet, play soccer or take piano lessons. I feed my family of eight on about $100 a week. Though we live pretty comfortably, I'm feeling the pinch of increased prices. I thought I had something to complain about. Reading an article in World Magazine (www.worldmag.com) gave me some much needed perspective.
We can grouse about paying through the nose for gas and the high cost of food. But, we can complain. That is a gift. It may hurt to fill the gas tank and maybe you are thinking about not driving as much; we're not driving as much. Still, most of us can buy gas and food; we just can't buy as much. For people in many other parts of the world, though, there are no cars to buy gas for and buying food isn't an option right now; there is no food to buy.
We are complaining about the price of food and the insanity that seems to rule the gas tank, whining about what we have to pay to fill our stomachs or our cars. Maybe some of us have to choose between filling one or the other. But, aren't you glad you have the choice?!
Though we are definitely feeling the pinch of rising prices, my children have enough to eat. I don't have to listen to their cries, see their bloated bellies or put them to bed hungry. Really, what more can a mother ask for?
We can grouse about paying through the nose for gas and the high cost of food. But, we can complain. That is a gift. It may hurt to fill the gas tank and maybe you are thinking about not driving as much; we're not driving as much. Still, most of us can buy gas and food; we just can't buy as much. For people in many other parts of the world, though, there are no cars to buy gas for and buying food isn't an option right now; there is no food to buy.
We are complaining about the price of food and the insanity that seems to rule the gas tank, whining about what we have to pay to fill our stomachs or our cars. Maybe some of us have to choose between filling one or the other. But, aren't you glad you have the choice?!
Though we are definitely feeling the pinch of rising prices, my children have enough to eat. I don't have to listen to their cries, see their bloated bellies or put them to bed hungry. Really, what more can a mother ask for?
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