Home Sanctuary

A new friend

I'd like to introduce you to a new blog friend, Jessica at ittybittybitsofme. She has stopped by a few times and I've reciprocated by popping over to her place. She has two darling babies and is the most enthusiastic new mom you'll ever meet. Her love of all things Mommy is just so evident in her posts.

Today Jessica posted a picture of her dog that you simply must see! You could never be mad at a face like that, even if he does chew things up a bit. Wow, two cute babies AND a cute dog. I've never seen her husband, but so far she is 3 out of 3.

Blessings,

Rachel Anne

Aww, shucks.

Somebody nominated me for a "Share the Love" blog award and I want to say thank you. My sister Katherine emailed me to let me know she saw Home Sanctuary listed in the Best Writing category....I hadn't known about it until yesterday.

So, to whoever put my name down, that is awfully sweet and I am touched. I love setting my random thoughts into some semblance of order through this blog, and in doing so I am challenged to think about what I believe and what I want to share with others. Even more than that, I am enjoying getting to "know" some of the neatest girls around the blogosphere. Please, if you haven't said hello or left a comment, I would dearly love to connect with you. Come on, be my company girls!

Extreme Multitasking Makeover

The other morning, while driving in heavy traffic on a 5 lane freeway, I glanced over to my right to begin changing lanes. There, in the car next to me, was a man casually READING THE NEWSPAPER, while steering the wheel! He turned the page and perused the headlines as if he were sitting in a diner enjoying morning coffee.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

If I hadn't been 3 feet from the semi in front of me going 65, I would have used my camera phone to snap his picture. My heart raced. My anger boiled. How dare he do something so stupid? Putting peoples' lives at risk so you can know who won the game last night? Idiot.

I fumbled with my phone to call my husband. I had to put down the granola bar and turn down the radio, change lanes and watch for road construction. Now I've seen everything and I have to share my disgust. "Can you believe it?" I say. "Hang on. Pot holes." I maneuver past and keep harping.

I've thought a lot about that man in the past few days. I've had to admit that I'm not always as focused on actual driving per se while operating a motor vehicle. While I would never read a large newpaper draped over the steering wheel, I HAVE turned around a full 180 to swat a misbehaving kid or pass a juice drink back. I've looked up phone numbers in my daytimer and dialed the phone as I've cruised along. I regularly unwrap Whataburger hamburgers and peel open the ketchup to dip my fries. I've been known to dig in my purse for lipstick or gum. I've jotted important websites and information I've heard on the radio.

It's all part of being a multitasker. Moms just have to be able to do several things at once and keep more than one train of thought going.

"Junior, stop picking your nose." I wonder when our tax forms will come in the mail? Keep washing dishes. Do a couple leg lifts while standing at the sink.

But I've found that I'm doing so many things at once that I'm not really paying attention to any ONE of them. I'll turn on the news to find out tomorrow's weather and then not remember what they said because I'm reading the back of the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese box. Boil seven-to-nine minutes. Wait, did they say seventy-nine degrees? Rats.

Or because children chatter endlessly about nonsensical things, I tune out the 5 gazillion words and miss the 25 important ones. I don't turn and look at them and truly listen. Or I become frustrated with their constant neediness for physical help doing things, that I forget to sit down and read that storybook they love, admire their latest lego creation, or simply hold someone who wants some extra love.

Multitasking is a necessary skill. But it has its limits. I've forgotten whole conversations and important decisions, like who's picking up who when, because I'm not paying attention. I've really found that I'm at my best when I can focus on what I'm doing. Blogging certainly challenges my focusing abilities. I can't help with seventh grade math AND write a coherent sentence at the same time. It's one or the other. Hence, the 50 on the homework grade and the misspelled words online.

I wrote about Aspiring at the beginning of the year. I'm adding to my short list of aspirations the following:

FOCUS.

When I'm driving, drive. When I'm eating, eat. When I'm talking with G.T., stop glancing at the computer screen. When I'm making dinner, turn off the T.V. Aspire to listen better. Aspire to juggle less at one time. Concentrate on the task at hand.

But I'll still do leg lifts while washing dishes.

Well, maybe just a few butt-crunches.

"So.....Do you have any children?"

It was a "trying-to-fill-the-awkward-silence-of-a-brief-car-ride" question being asked me by a new business associate. A million thoughts immediately flooded my head.

Yes! Let me tell you all about them! There is Elle, who loves graphic design, and Em, who has decided to study music this year, and then there is G.T., who loves airplanes and rockets and---

"Yes, I have three kids." Lame.

"Really. (pause) And how old are they?" Not that he sounded interested, but we still had a few blocks to go.

If I tell you, will you add it up in your head and write me off as middle aged?

"Well, our two daughters are in college (one is married), and our son is 13."

"Wow. You don't look old enough to have kids in college."

Oh, I am, mister. But I'm loving the flattery.

"Thank you. They grow up fast." I say.

"In fact, I didn't think you looked old enough to even have any kids!"

OK, now that's an outright lie. But I"ll be sure to thank my hair colorist. Big tip next time.

"Oh, don't be silly." I brush off the compliment like I won't repeat it to myself a dozen times.

I turn the question around. "How about you? Any children?"

"Two daughters, 4 and 6." Small smile.

Four and six. I remember the tea parties, the dress-up clothes, the princess tiaras and the coloring books. Those were the Beauty and the Beast years, The Little Mermaid years. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut into four triangles. I wish I had another 4 and 6 year old. Does the longing show on my face?

"That's a fun age."

"Yeah, my wife has her hands full. She stays home with them."

I was home for 15 years with my children. They were the best years of my life. They were days filled with work and wonder, exhaustion and satisfaction. But if I tell you that will you think less of me as a "business professional?" Quick, think of something to say that sounds supportive!

"That's nice."

Now I sound patronizing! Does he think I'm a career woman who went the day care route and can't understand the agonizing choice to be home? No! That's not how I meant it to sound! I would give my left arm to be a stay-at-home mommy again! Let me just add something to that--"

He pulls into the parking spot. "Well, here we are. Boy, it sure is cold out. This weather is something else."

Wait! I didn't get a chance to tell you about my kids, and how much I love being with them, and how I've poured myself into raising them. I didn't tell you how fast the time went, or how I have no regrets about staying home with them! I didn't tell you to enjoy those little girls, that they are worth the years your wife gives them. I didn't get to tell you---sigh.

"You are right about that. I think it's supposed to rain today."

Matchless Wonders!

I'm talking about socks. Mateless, matchless socks that lurk in every drawer, hamper and laundry basket in my house. Loathe to toss the singles out, I see them lie in limbo, watching and waiting for their long-lost twin to reappear.

Some are pristine in appearance...their mate went missing almost as soon as their tags got torn off, and they have lived in a state of newness despite their actual age. Not having been worn much, they still retain their stretchiness and vivid color. Such a waste! Often, their mate is found galavanting with some other patterned sock, faded and loose with wear. Sadly, the two have grown apart, having lived such separate lives that they can never really reconcile.

Some of the lonely souls have been banished to the Matchless Bin: a basket specifically set aside for singles. There you will find the "Suddenly Singles" meeting up with the "Singles Again" and the "Swinging Singles." The Swinging Singles tend to be athletic socks who like to get around. A sock gets sent to this bin in the hopes of meeting Mr. or Ms. Right over time. I can proudly say that the Matchless Bin has been responsible for many happy pairings! How long they will STAY together is anyone's guess, but uniting two kindred socks is a moment to cherish. How sweet it is!

Fortunately for many of the mateless toe warmers at our house, it seems no one really minds wearing two socks of differing ethnicities. We are a non-discrimminating household, and don't make fashion decisions based on color or age. My children have turned my lack of sock organization into haute couture, proudly displaying pink and purple stripes on one foot, and green frogs on lilypads on the other. A tall sock (usually one of the Swingers) can be folded down to meet the height of an up-stretched footie. A dark blue dress sock can easily be mistaken for black if it is an evening affair, so no problem there. Wearing two different socks simultaneously has been known to increase the likelihood that something will match the rest of the ensemble.

Still, it bothers me that so many pairs have succumbed to splitting up in search of more excitement. Time in the Bin gives them a chance to see the error of their ways, and makes them realize their need for commitment. Staying together over the long haul is so much better than the single life.

The Matchless Wonders of the Bin must live in perpetual preparedness, always ready for the moment I might happen upon their mate as I pull laundry from the dryer. "Hey!" I might say. "You look familiar!" And I will pull out the Bin and paw through its contents like the widow woman looking for her lost coin.

In triumph, I will lift the Prodigal in one hand and the Deserted One in the other. A single ray of light will shine down as I join the two together with a roll of the toes and a fold of a cuff. I think I hear angel choirs.

Yes. YES! YES!!

Another happy couple, reunited. I'll sleep GOOD tonight.

Home Sanctuary's New Look...almost

My patience with Photoshop and Typepad has worn thin. Without waiting for "perfection," I am just going to go ahead and hit "Publish." I fell in love with this photo and thought I might be able to do something with it. The look isn't quite where I want it to be, but it is better than the non-descript colors of the previous template.

Ah, well. It is a work in progress. I guess I'll just share the process with ya'll instead of making a grand entrance with a finished work of art!

Perhaps this week I will have time to tweak it?

More Slogans...Just for fun!

Thanks for the good laughs over your own parenting slogans! How about these?

"Don't make me come over there!"

"Apologize to your sister (brother)"

"I'm counting to three. One.....two....twoandahalf....."

And this one, which I've borrowed from a company, but which fits parenting perfectly:

Parenting: "The hardest fun you'll ever have!"

Fearless Parenting

"Oh, sure, you enjoy your baby now, but just wait until the terrible twos!"

"The preschool years are fun, but just wait until they start school!  Then you'll be in for it."

"Adolescents are so difficult.  You will want to lock them in their rooms until they are adults."

"Hope you like your kids when they are little, because the high school years are a nightmare."

From the moment I saw those pink lines in the home pregnancy test, people started giving me all kinds of words of wisdom.  It seemed like no matter what stage of parenting I was at, there was always someone telling me how difficult the next stage would be.  It was like a chorus of voices saying: "Those children you are so lovingly nurturing will one day turn on you and become monsters.  It is inevitable, so enjoy what little time you have left."

Thanks for the encouragement.  You made me feel real confident.

It is hard to parent from a position of fear.  Fear made me try to control every situation my children might encounter.  Fear made me take my eyes off of an omnipotent God, and turned me into the only orchestrator in my kids' lives.  Elaborate and often burdensome scenarios had be carefully planned to keep my children on the straight and narrow. 

Fear of rebellion made me turn every conflict into a "come to Jesus" moment.  Unnecessarily.

Fear of losing them to a secular world kept me from helping them to engage it from a Christian viewpoint. 

What I learned the hard way is that fear robs me of some of the best joys, and the best struggles, of raising these children.

Some of the well-meaning advice is true.  There have been times, many of them, that made me want to turn in my resignation.

But choosing to parent without fear of the "what if's" has given our family the opportunity to thrive in spite of the doom-sayers. 

We've made our way through public schools, and heathen neighbors, and secular culture.  We've cried through boyfriends, argued over modesty, negotiated movies and TV shows.  We've debated evolution, existentialism and religious freedom.  We've faced unkind sibling behavior, unfair teachers, chores, and school dances.  Much of it hasn't been pretty, some of it has been disappointing, but all of it has been part of what has made our family strong. 

I wish more people had told me that I didn't have to be afraid of parenting "the next stage."  That my kids would turn out just fine, even if they wanted more holes in their ears.   That short shirts and low rider pants would soon not be issues, and my girls would become even more modest than me.  That being exposed to evolution in school would make them scoff at such intellectual dishonesty.  That going to a school dance wouldn't make them promiscuous.  That having a case-by-case curfew wouldn't make them want to party.  That letting them make many of their own decisions (even bad ones) would help them make right choices later.  That going to school with non-Christians wouldn't make them leave the faith we'd taught them.  That God would be faithful to our family.

I wish more people had told me how much I would enjoy each stage of parenting, especially the middle and teen years.  The last several years with our children have been beautiful in both the joys and the struggles.  The struggles have been real, and painful at times, but ultimately producing incredible young adults who love Jesus.  Can any parent ask for more? 

Prov. 31:25 She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs with no fear of the future.

What's your slogan?

We were all up way too late and getting silly. One of the kids suggested we try and figure out each others slogans. You know, the catch-phrase that seems to pop out of our mouths most often. The words we are known for. Our mottos.

The kids could figure my slogans out easily. But they were torn, there were so many they could use.

"Life's not fair. Get used to it!"

"Now was that a nice thing to do?"

"Stop your whining."

"Don't tell Mommy 'no.'"

"I just need to rest my eyes for a few minutes." (Code for I NEED A NAP.)

Tom has a lot of slogans, some of which are Minnesotan:

"I don't mean to shoot your wheels off, but..."

"It could be worse."

"That's not a jungle gym" (Code for stop jumping on the couch, destroying property, etc.)

"WHO KEEPS CALLING??" (phone aversion)

"Get your elbows off the table."

G.T.'s could easily be "I hate homework!" or "Do I have to go to bed?"

Elle's was "I don't feel good."

Em had the classic "No one ever told me!"

It got me to thinking about slogans. I wish mine was as perfect as Nike's "Just Do it."

Or the Dirt Devil's "Life is messy. Clean it up."

Or Martha Stewart's "It's a good thing."

Or the BEST ONE OF ALL TIME, our septic service provider's "We're Number One in the Number Two Business!"

I'm pretty sure the kids settled on "I need to rest my eyes" as my classic slogan and that's just sad. I hate to think that I'll be remembered for needing to escape behind closed eyelids, even if it was just for a "few minutes" at a time. (Ha. Try 30)

I was kind of wishing for something more proactive and cool. And then I realized that I am neither proactive OR cool, so maybe they are right. Naps have been an important part of my life and I make no apologies. I just like to refer to them as "eye-resting," because that's what my Dad calls them and they seem slightly less desperate with that moniker.

Meanwhile, I am mulling over a NEW slogan. Something catchy and clever that can dethrone the eye-resting and impress my kids. Something really memorable and smart that they will tell their own kids about. Something that truly expresses the essence of ME. Something. Something.

Yawn. I think I'll just lay down and think about that for a few minutes.

Running with Horses

We turned into our dirt driveway late one night, exhausted from a painting project that took much longer than it should have. There, in the headlights was a mangey, scarred and bloodied donkey, feasting on the spring grass beside the road. Afraid that he would get hit by a car, we spent the next three hours trying to coax him into our pasture "just for the night." Six months later, Flash, as he is now dubbed, is a permanent fixure at our little sanctuary in the country.

We consider him yard art. He really serves no purpose, other than to be the subject of laughter at his silly big head and oversized ears, or mocking his impossibly loud braying. Flash's redeeming quality is his affectionate nature, much like that of a large dog. He will follow us anywhere, and loves to be petted and groomed. He is a great conversation piece.

Not long after Flash established permanent residence here, we came home again to find three beautiful young horses, who had escaped from our neighbor's pasture, peacfully munching away in our front yard. It's like a circus around here. Tom rounded them up and put them inside our fence, called their owners, and we waited for them to be taken home.

Meanwhile, Flash could not believe his luck! Equine friends! Suddenly the fat old cows across the fence held no more fascination for him. He was entranced, starry-eyed, worshipful and full of self-delusion. His huge head came up, he squared his bony shoulders and joined the group of newcomers with a confidence that surprised us.

It was obvious that Flash thought HE was a young stallion, just like the graceful and powerful creatures in his company! The three horses, with their manes and tails flying like shining banners, ran and bucked and played in the sunshine, oblivious of the little donkey who trotted after them. They ran circles around him while he tried to keep up. The horses were a picture of perfection, followed by a picture of pure hilarity.

Poor Flash. With his short little legs and his disproportionately large head, his broom-like mane and floppy ears, he looked hopelessly laughable in the presence of such equine greatness. His funny, choppy trot could not begin to compare to the beautiful galloping movements of the visitors. But he didn't care.

For one shining moment, our shabby stray burro was a thoroughbred, and who could rob him of such joy? He was running with horses.

The neighbor's horses spent but a few brief hours in our pasture. But those life-changing moments opened Flash's eyes to another world. A world beyond the bored cows living in mediocrity over the fence. I think he realized that there is more to life than chewing cud. There is running, and bucking, and rearing up and living life for all its worth. It's looking for chances to feel your oats and maybe even making a grand escape. It's seizing the moment and feeling the sun, the earth and the wind all at once as you leap and prance with all you've got.

There's something different in those soft, brown eyes. He carries his head a little higher and picks up those goofy hooves a little faster. His encounter with the three visitors gave him a chance to soar beyond his mundane life into a world of greatness. When I see him now, I see the thoroughbred inside him. Flash isn't just your ordinary Eeyore. Housed within that clumsy frame is a heart that knows its destiny.

He was born to run with horses.

Rachel Anne