When You've Got a Foot in Both Worlds

This isn't a homeschooling post.  It isn't a "Yay, my kids are going back to school" post either.

It's both.

Today I spent eighty-bajillion dollars at St@ples for the going-to-school kids, and I most certainly did not exclaim, "Well! THAT was easy!" Because it was painful. Extremely painful. And any mother who has stood in the aisle of a mega-office-supply store, trying to find pocket folders with brads in 8 different colors and single subject notebooks to match... will know exactly what I am talking about.
Pain-FUL.

Next week, while three of my kids are tucked away at school, I will haul the other three to St@ples again and buy all of their school supplies... for homeschooling. Luckily, it won't be as painful, except that the kids will be present, and the lure of snazzy backpacks and lunchboxes (which they won't use... hello! you are HOMEschooled!) will drive them to distraction and I will be forced to buy 8 of them... to match their notebooks, of course.

:P

Clearly, I am coming undone.

Moms who homeschool are saints. We all know this. Moms who send their kids to school and work themselves are also saints.  Moms who send some kids to school and homeschool the others are certifiable.  I am living proof.

Having a foot in each world is confusing, conflicting, and exhausting. It's to take that yearly "re-evaluation" of one's philosophical principles of education to an entire new dizzying level.  Putting each child under a microscope and pondering just how their (seeming) microscopic brains will BEST be formed and nurtured and cultivated... school or home? Given THIS child's propensity for THAT type of behavior.... home, or school?  THIS guy needs a wake-up in the reality dep't.... home or school? What scenario is BEST for THAT child in the BIG picture... home or school? And excuse me, can I have another margarita? 

Last year, with 3 of the kids going to a "brick and mortar" school for the first time, it was definitely a nail-biting time for me. Especially with Little Boo's last-minute entrance. Craziness.

This year, the beginning of the school year won't be quite as dramatic. At least I hope not.  We're maintaining the status quo... the boys and Little Boo will go. Little Dear, Love and Dude will stay home. We're fine with that.  There is a difference though, this year.

This year, I know what I'm getting myself into.

I know that volunteering at their school on any scale will require a herculean effort on my part.  That sometimes life will throw us a huge curveball (case in point, Little Boo's emergency appendectomy the middle-of-the-night before Andrew had to drive the 7th graders to Austin... which he did, on 3 hours of sleep.) and we will have to adapt and adjust because school does not wait, will not alter plans... the "machine" keeps going.  And that is a very good thing, don't get me wrong. It is one of the reasons we put some of the kids in school... so that, no matter what kind of night I have with Little Dude, the kids will still be taught, and will still learn. It matters especially to me that the older kids will still be accountable.... the burden isn't mine alone. :)

I know that sometimes there is a rift, a division in the house. The school kids will feel left out of homeschooler activities.... the home-school kids will feel left out of the fun school-kids' activities.  And sometimes, there is no remedy for that.  Just because the school-kids have class parties does not necessarily mean I have to bring the party to our home, and re-create it here. And when we take a "lake day" for mom's sanity, the school kids will not be staying home that day, to partake in our fun. But sometimes, the at-home schoolers and I can go to the fun "spirit day" at school, and my at-school boys are invited to the homeschool "game nights" in order to re-connect with friends. There is an ebb and flow between the two worlds that works quite nicely, and I am grateful.

I also know that this is where we're meant to be right now. As crazy as it sometimes may get, I am confident that we've looked at each child, evaluated thoroughly, and made the right decision.

Now, please excuse me while I go pour myself another margarita.

:)

Taking Back Our Kids

We're in the midst of Birthday month here.

As the kids get older, the presents get more complex... and much more expensive.

And what is the A #1 request this year?

Electronics.... iPods, mp3 players, cameras, personal video recorders, etc....

Action Man bought himself an iTouch last year. He earned the money and spent it on a brand new 4th generation iTouch.  As soon as he got it, I password-protected the restrictions page and restricted almost everything. He was (and still is) a good sport about those restrictions. Youtube and web-surfing are not allowed. Never have been. He can text and listen to music and play games.

Just recently, we changed the netflix password and refused to allow him access.

He wasn't so thrilled about that.

(It wasn't for the reason you think.)

Action Man is enamored with old tv shows. Hogan's Heroes, MacGyver, and Miami Vice have been staples of his.  Just recently he discovered Flashpoint (eh) and Psych.  None of these shows are objectionable. In fact, Psych has been in our instant queue for quite awhile.

The problem was, Action Man was retiring to his room early, and staying up late watching for hours on end.

Then, Sports Fan started doing the same thing... taking our Kindle Fire, plunking in the ear buds and watching similar shows in his bedroom.

We were not comfortable with this arrangement. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it just didn't seem right.

One evening, Andrew had enough. He changed the Netflix password and refused access to the boys.  Oh, the wailing and grinding of teeth!  The pleads to Mom (since when have I become the softie??) and the muttering...

In sifting through the misery, it dawned on me. It's not that our boys are deprived. We have set up our school room as a game room for the summer. An extra tv with the wii and a dvd player is all set for them to play or watch (as earned by reading... btw) with their friends.  The boys can easily go in there, close the door and watch Psych in the evenings. Here's the kicker, though. They won't be isolated. They won't be in total control. They'll have to agree on the episode... they may have to endure Little Dude for a few moments... or (gasp) Mom might relax next to them and watch.

We would never in a million years place a television in the boys' bedroom. But, sneaky technology, it was exactly what was happening when Action Man brought his iTouch to his room and Sports Fan squirreled up there with the Kindle Fire.

The boys, innocently enough, were slowly disappearing from the family. Relationships were being sacrificed to the screen. And Andrew and I were caught unawares.

It weaseled in through the back door, so to speak.

It's only been about 48 hours since we instituted this new rule.  Last night, I spent the evening watching Psych with the boys. It's a quippy, funny show. I can see why they enjoy it. Mild swearing, yes, but nothing they can't handle. It was fun to enjoy it with them, to hear them laugh and just... share a couch for the evening.

And, judging from our conversations this morning... a different tone has taken hold, for sure... I think we got 'em back just in time.

One more month of summer.

I'm looking forward to evenings with my boys again.

:)

Updates!

We're in the dog days of summer.  The air conditioning whirs non-stop and any forays to the outside world is either extremely brief, or involves thousands of gallons of chlorinated water.

Or, we're at a soccer game.
:P

Life in the Nut House has been pretty much status-quo these days.  Not without our usual minutia of struggles, of course, but really, they are minutia when compared to the goings-on of the outside world.

We were firsthand witnesses to this horrific event.  And yes, Lil Sis' wedding went off without a hitch.  Did I ever mention she was getting married on this blog? Good heavens!
Here's an awesome post about her awesome guy.  (notice that most of the pics were taken at the Nut House... she has a long history with this fellow, my new bro-in-law Paul)

And so, we made yet another insane journey north this summer. A quick (albeit evacuated) stop to see my parents in Colorado Springs... then on to Montana for my niece's wedding.  Then back to Colorado for Lil Sis' wedding. It was fantastic to spend so much time with both sides of the family. To rent a HUGE house in Montana with Andrew's brothers and sisters and their families, and then to come to Colorado and see my family and Aunts and Uncles from NY... just fantastic.

And now... for some cute pics.

Cousins.... from the Montana wedding.  :)

My lovely sis with the flower girls and ring bearers. (Little Dude is top right)

The Newlyweds!
{sigh} So. Beautiful.


We are home, now. Our fairytale visits complete. :)

Texas greeted us with oppressive heat and thunderstorms.

Little Boo has already had a soccer tournament. (It was 106. We are nothing if not truly committed... or insane.) 

Little Dear is enjoying her drama practices (They are doing the musical Cinderella in August)

The boys were counselors for a camp they and their buddies host every summer. (Survival Camp... ala Bear Grylls, anyone?)

Little Love's days are punctuated with swimming, playdates, and tons of playtime with Little Boo. (which translates into energetic assertions of will... aHEM.)

Little Dude is a joy. He's grown so much!

~Hope y'all are having a grand summer as well~


:)

We Were Here!

This was taken June 30th at my niece's wedding in Montana.


I'll be back... soon!

 :)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly.....

...Depressing. (A book review)

I got a Kindle for Valentine's day. I so love it. It's an old dinosaur of a Kindle, with push buttons and everything. No touch screen or internet here...exactly what I wanted!

One of my first purchases was the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.   I had seen the movie trailers in December and was excited to learn it was based on a book.

I prefer reading to watching. I'm really nerdy that way. (Except the LOTR series... amazing stuff there.)

Anyway. My expectations were that it was a "feel good" book. That this poor boy had lost his dad in the 9/11 terrorist attacks, had found a key left to him by his dad... and the book would detail his search for the lock and in the meantime draw him closer to his dad and mankind in general.  That somehow this search would help to heal this young man, and show him how connected he is to these people in NYC. 

I couldn't have been more wrong.

*****SPOILER ALERT*****

I'm truly sorry, but in order to prove my point, I have to give away quite a bit. Since I have not seen the movie, I have no idea if I'm spoiling anything there. So, read on with caution!

There are quite a few unknowns at the start of this book. And that makes for good, healthy suspense. You read because you want to find out the answers.

Let me outline a few.

~At the beginning of the book ,we meet Oskar (the 12 year old protagonist) on Sept 11th. He is home early from school, alone in his apartment in NYC. He sees that there are messages on the home answering machine. And then the phone rings... it's his Dad.(chapter ends)

~Later on, we start to read letters. Letters to Oskar... and "Letters to my Unborn Son"...

~Oskar finds a key in an envelope at the bottom of a blue vase. He believes it is important to his Dad somehow, and he is determined to find out what it opens. There is a name on the envelope... Black. He decides to ask everyone in the city whose last name is Black if they know anything about the key or his Dad.

~Oskar is a self-proclaimed atheist. He and his dad even joke about his "belief" (or lack thereof)....

We need answers, right?  So I keep reading.

The problem is that the answers are so very depressing.

The atheist answer? Well, at the end of the story Oskar says he's an atheist BUT!... it's "complicated." Ugh.

The letters. Well, his grandfather left his grandmother before Oskar's Dad was born. So, the "Letters to my Unborn Son" are from him.  Through him we find out that the grandmother is mostly blind. The grandfather had her type out letters (her story) and then he realizes that he had forgotten to put the typewriter ribbon in! Volumes of blank pages outline her life. He pretends to read them, just to make her feel better.

The grandmother writes letters to Oskar. She adores him. Through these letters, we find out how unbearable her relationship with her ex-husband had been. He was in love with her sister who had died. They divided their home into "something" places (places they could acknowledge each other) and "nothing" places (places they could be invisible to each other) and everything was either a something or a nothing. Of course, the bedroom was a nothing.... 
We also find out that the grandmother was actually NOT blind. And she knew about the typewriter ribbon. She kept typing anyway. Pages and pages of her story... of nothing.

Keep in mind this NOTHING theme. It gets worse.

The key. Oh, THE KEY!! (imagine me grabbing my head and busting it through a wall)  Oskar embarks on his journey, meeting all of these interesting people.... for months he does this, every Saturday, working his way down the list of people with the last name of Black. The eccentric old man who lives above them (whose last name is Black) accompanies him for part of it. It all seems so promising!  But then. Then he realizes there is a message on the answering machine from months before. It's from one of the first people he meets. She says she does know something about the key... her ex-husband... (click) it ends. He rushes out to visit her. It turns out that her ex-husband has been looking for this very key. She didn't want to say anything because she was mad at him. Oskar then asks why the message got cut off... did his mom pick up? Turns out, yes, she had, and this woman had explained everything to her. So, whenever Oskar had met anyone, his mom had already called ahead to pave the way for him. Even the company of the old man was rearranged. And that friendship they had? Poof. Gone. The old man moved away with no explanations or good-byes to Oskar.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE KEY? What does it open??? It opens a safety deposit box that belonged to the father of the ex-husband. Oskar's dad had bought a blue vase at an estate sale and never noticed the envelope at the bottom of it. Period, the end. The key had nothing to do with Oskar or his Dad.

And the real kicker. We meet Oskar the morning of September 11th remember? And the telephone is ringing. He sees it is his Dad. It is 10:22am. The answering machine picks up. His dad says, "Are you there?" And then he repeats it, over and over and over. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?" He says that for almost 2 whole minutes.  It cuts off. It is 10:24am. The North Tower collapses.

So, his Dad dies asking for his son. And his son stands there, staring at the answering machine.... NOTHING.

*****************************************************

To be completely fair... there are a few gems here.  Oskar is an extremely likable kid. He is clever, not book-smart, but has a vivid imagination and a unique outlook on life, given his age. He likes to "invent" things during the long, sleepless nights. Many of his quirky sayings keep coming to mind... how his "boots are heavy" when he is sad... how he wishes everyone could "see" how you were feeling, like a color on your face... maybe people would be kinder?  And things along those lines. It is endearing.

But what he has lost, and the sense of hopelessness that surrounds him, is unbearable. And the lack of redemption for anyone here, overwhelming.

Some may argue that Oskar has begun to find healing. Knowing that the key has not brought him closer to his Dad, he will find other ways to mend. But I'm not convinced. The only thing I walk away with, is that it all means NOTHING.

This is not the story we want to read when it comes to 9/11. We want to read a different story. We NEED to read a different story. We need a story that shows us the beauty of mankind, if only to help balance the horror of that day. That day showed us how evil man can be.... we need to know irrefutably how precious  and how meaningful each life was that we lost that day. And we need to hear that those of us who remain can find hope and healing amongst the rubble.

The Mediocre Mama

That's me. 

The one who is not an expert at ANYTHING.

Oh sure, I can cook, bake, and clean. I make sure the red shirts stay out of the white sock loads... 
I usually remember to pick my kids up on time, am generally not too late arriving at functions.

Stuck backpack zippers? Stubborn shoelace knots? Untucked bedsheets? My forte, apparently.

This lack of specialization can bring a woman down. What can I do well? Maybe even, dare I say it, especially well?

We all have our gifts, that I know.  And I can give you a laundry list of exactly what my gifts are NOT.
Crafting (in any sense of the word) comes to mind as #1 on that list. Being organized is a close second.

I pondered this question as I stood outside the other day, minding Little Dude while shooting hoops with Action Man.

I thought of it again as I haphazardly stitched together an errant seam in one of Little Dear's skirts.

I was reminded of it while kicking the soccer ball around with Sports Fan at one of Little Boo's games.

And I realized... I have just enough.  Just enough skill and know-how to be the mom to these kids.  These specific children placed in my care...

I may not be able to beat my 14 year old at a game of H-O-R-S-E, but I can make a good showing of it.

I can stop my 12 year old from deking around me with a soccer ball, at least 80% of the time. And probably deke him out just as often, still. (well, at least for now... expecting to see that number dwindle rapidly)

I can stitch a (somewhat) straight line... and years ago actually used a sewing machine to make jedi robes for the boys. (swoon!)

Little Dear defers to me during her baking adventures.

Sports Fan listens to my soccer advice during his games.

Action Man comes to me for Latin difficulties.

Little Boo lets me help her with Math. (That's about it, but I'll take it. :P)

And I'm still pretty much the center of Little Love's universe. (Can you say "baby-girl"?)

As a mom-of-many, I have a lot of hats to don. The personalities and preferences of my children dictate which hats are the most important ones. And while I'll never be that perfect, put-together, uber-organized paragon of expertise...

I'll be me. That mediocre Mama who has just enough wisdom, grace, and soccer-skills to get the job done.
:P

The Hardest Days...

... are not when my calendar is full to the bursting.

When my car is overflowing with water bottles and soccer balls and after-game snacks.
When my gas tank is perpetually emptying and my knuckles are sore from gripping the steering wheel nervously... navigating to far distant fields.
When the littlest nods his head sleepily, yet another nap taken "on the go."
When my house reflects the chaos of 15-minute meals
When we trade school bags for soccer bags, heading out into the muggy Texas twilight...

No, those are not the hardest days.

The hardest days are those I spend at home, catching up and trying to make sense of the rhythm and rhyme of having half of my children in school, and half at home.
Laundry, cleaning, baking... all happen in one fell swoop.
And it's overwhelming.

Especially when I go to make buns for dinner and find that our flour has been seriously depleted due to the over-zealous zuccini-bread-baking of Little Dear.
Or when I realize that showering takes precedence to a quick run-for-flour to the grocery store. (y'all know how *that* goes, right?)
Or the week-long feverish Little Dude... a time where I must sit and rock and sit and rock, while chaos reigns.
When Little Love's  fragile heart has been wounded, once again, by the short-tempered Little Boo's complete intolerance for mess.
When my own heart aches for understanding and grasps for charity.
Sigh.
It's a lesson in patience.


The hardest days are those I will myself through. To banish the thoughts of perfection never reached.
To ignore the whispers of not-good-enough.

These are the days I stand face-to-face with my own self and dig deeper and try harder than it seems possible.

It's the hidden struggle I fear most. The one that assails my thoughts and threatens to shipwreck my heart.

On those days I am so grateful for the companions I have here on earth, who help me along to my heavenly goal.  Andrew, who listens to my frustrations, wipes away my tears, and steadies me.  My dearest friend, who patiently listens, sympathizes, and then reminds me of the bigger picture.

The hardest days are what make me feel the most blessed.

Daybook: On a Cold Monday Evening

Noticing God's Glory~

One more cold evening... at least for the week. It's funny how it doesn't get super dark these nights. Almost like you could play outside at 9pm, just like in the summer. Very strange.


Listening To~

Erm. Party Rock Anthem. It's kitchen clean up time.
;)



Clothing myself in~

American Eagle Artist jeans, scoop-neck shirt, cowboy boots. Pearl earrings and hair down.
I'm also nursing a Smirnoff. It's been a day.


Giving thanks for~

Heated homes. Food aplenty. DH's job.  I saw a woman rummaging through the recycling bags set out for collection today, looking for cans to redeem. Made me sad, and very grateful.


Pondering prayerfully~

God does not show Himself equally to all creatures. This does not mean that He has favorites, that He decides to help some and to abandon others, but the difference occurs because it is impossible for Him to manifest Himself to certain hearts under the conditions they set up. The sunlight plays no favorites, but its reflection is very different on a lake and on a swamp.    ~Fulton Sheen

Trying so hard to be that crystal clear lake.


Turning the pages~

Five for Sorrow, Ten For Joy.  For bookclub.



Thinking thoughts as I go about my day~

I had a New Year's resolution this year. I still do have it. Surprise, surprise. :)
It is "To do all things well."
I have a tendency to declare good enough and move on. Given my vocation and how crazy it can be around here, there are many times I need to declare good enough and move on. I certainly can't afford perfectionism.
However, there are also times I declare good enough when it isn't even close to good enough.
Doing all things well does not mean perfectionism, but a focused, intentional way of living. To really think about what I am doing, who I am doing it for, and why.
All of my tasks should be done well.
And yes, it's harder than you think.
:)


Creating~

Order. As usual. It's a beast I contend with daily.


Learning lessons in~

Prudence. Holding my tongue. Keeping my trap shut? Yes, that's it.
Oh, and being cheerful about it.
:)


Encouraging learning~

Had to send a note to Little Boo's teacher. She's young, a bit inexperienced and was not being prudent in the classroom regarding Little Boo's difficulties with Math.
Now we are on the same page, and Little Boo should see some improvement in her understanding of this enigmatic subject. 
As always, I am very impressed with the school, it's teachers and administration. I try not to be the helicopter parent, and they bend over backwards to take care of concerns promptly.
It's really a win-win.



Carefully cultivating rhythm~

The re-entry for the school kids is hard at the end of a long day. I try to make it painless, but squabbles inevitably erupt. I know they need some down time, but they can't ignore their other siblings.
Any advice? 


In the kitchen~

DH is working late, so it's chicken nuggets and corn on the cob. I take it easy on these nights because, truly, they are never "easy."  


Loving the moments~

When I look up from my duties and see Little Dude being totally occupied by one of his older siblings. They play chase with him, or ball, or simply scoop him up and dance him around. And I think they enjoy it more than he does.
Yes, he is spoiled but you know what? So are they.
:)


Living the liturgy~

Lent is coming. And boy, do we ever need it.


Planning for the week ahead~

Tuesday Valentine parties... at school and at home. Funny how things are amped up for the at-home kids when the others are in school. Trying to keep that score sheet even... :P


Capturing the images of my days~


A little hockey lesson...

Plus some big sister time...

Equals...


One very happy Little Dude.

:)

Building Up

I just don't want to get in the way of who my kids are supposed to be. 


An older mom in my bookclub summed up her parenting philosophy in this one sentence. She, who has 2 daughters married, 4 grandchildren, and her youngest a mere 8 years old, is always someone I keep tabs on. I listen extra hard when she speaks. I like her family, love her kids, and want to know more, always more. But she is reluctant. She doesn't have all the answers...


Not a single one of us does.


I look back at the early years with my most erm... challenging.... child. That would be Little Boo.

She entered the world innocently enough.


Then, as she grew older, and her personality emerged, she totally rocked it.

She became THAT child.

The child who needed to push the buttons on the microwave to warm her bottle.
The child who would put her own shirt on, backwards if need be thankyouverymuch.

The child who could feed herself, climb up and down from the table by herself, and wash her hands... all by herself.

The child who insisted on buckling herself in her car seat. Even though she had tried 24 times to do it and failed. Even though her siblings were ready to scream in frustration. Even though her mom wanted to leave, no one was allowed to MOVE (esp the car... don't even THINK about inching down the driveway while she's attempting time #25...) until she is securely buckled. (damn those 3-point harnesses)

THAT was my Little Boo.

And now....

Now, my Little Boo is a true joy, genuinely funny, and a real help. She comes out with the best comments. She has a hilarious outlook on life. She was a huge help with Little Dude during his fussiest moments. And lately, she has been known to come home from school, dump her stuff in the home school room, and scrub the entire kitchen top to bottom. Just because she wanted to.

How did this metamorphosis occur?

I wish I had an answer. I wish I could say I followed thus and such philosophy of parenting. I wish I could point you to THAT book that was the key to our seeming (read: insert huge disclaimer here) success.

It was nothing I did. I think it was more what I didn't do.

I went with it. Whatever she thought she could do, as long as it wasn't dangerous, I let her do it.
Case in point...  At the age of 2, she was climbing in and out of her crib at 3 in the morning, turning all the lights on in the house and playing. To me, that was dangerous. She could have probably opened the front door and walked down the street. So, we bought a crib tent and zipped her in it every night.
But by the age of 3 and a half? She slept on the top bunk of the bunk beds she shared with Little Dear. I knew she could climb steadily and would not fall. She was definitely the more sure-footed one of the two. And? She stayed in bed... no night time wanderings.

The car seat fiascos? Sigh. Yes.... every time we had to go somewhere, we got in the car 15 minutes before we had to leave just so she could buckle herself. I know some of you are shaking your heads... sucker, you are saying. Well, Little Boo would scream for HOURS if I buckled her in. Trust me, we tried quite a few times... and I do NOT exaggerate. It would be HOURS of shrill screaming. An extra 15 minutes was worth hours of peace and happiness, as far as I was concerned.

I guess my philosophy was a lot like the mom I admire. I didn't want to break Little Boo's spirit. I didn't want to mess it up. I wanted to form her and mold her as best as my fumbling hands could. 

I'm not perfect. I know there were things I could have done better. But God has abundantly blessed my meager efforts. Little Boo is a very driven little girl. She is super organized, and very diligent with her school work. So much so that putting her in school was a necessity. The fluidity of homeschooling would have killed her. It was, in fact, frustrating her to no end.

Her competitiveness is apparent on the soccer field. She plays on 2 teams, still. She loves it. And while she is competitive, she is also a fiercely loyal friend. If people are not kind, or the other team is too rough, she goes into defensive mode like nobody's business. She sticks up for her friends and gives back what the other team dishes out. She is not afraid to make a stand.

Her gentleness reveals itself in her ability to identify with others and their feelings. She is very sensitive, and sometimes with her hilarious comments and toughie exterior, I forget that. But she senses when others have been wronged, and comes to me... concerned. She doesn't always get it right. Sometimes she makes assumptions about intentions that aren't there... we are working on that. But at least her intuition is being honed. And I love that she feels comfortable enough to chat with me about it all.


They are all so delightfully unique. And there are no pat answers.
If you have your own Little Boo, and are in the thick of it... hang in there!
I know it can be daunting....

And yet... the peace of knowing that no matter what, God blesses our efforts, He knows our hearts...

When we get a glimpse of the fruits? It's such an awesome thing.

:)

When Approaching This Child... A Repost

from the archives...



Looking back at the change that has taken place in me these past 14 years, the transformation from a know-it-all college grad into a full-fledged mother... I am astounded.

Astounded that God has taken a self- absorbed, self-seeking individual and achieved a metamorphosis that seemed at one time to be impossible.

When DH and I were first married, it seemed a natural result of the love we had for each other, to extend it to a third party. Within our first month of marriage, we acquired a cat.

:)

To our defense, we were eager to have children, but God's timing was to postpone that event. Of course, He truly knew best. We conceived Action Man at the end of my first year teaching, and gave birth to him during my second year. I squeaked through that year, bringing him to school with me, directing the play, and just barely surviving the insanity of it all. DH graduated with his MBA, and I never worked outside of the home again.

My work took what I thought to be an alarming turn. You'd think that being the oldest of 6, I would have some sort of an inkling of what I was getting myself into.

Nope. I was pretty clueless. (remember how self-centered I said I was?? yeah. God had his work cut out for Him.)

And so, when Action Man reared his screaming head, I was stunned. I was even more flabbergasted when I realized that this screaming thing was here to stay. God had seen fit to bless my first born with a severe case of colic. Unable to nurse, spending gobs of money on formula, working my tail off while recovering from an emergency c-section, I was a wreck.

In short, God threw me to my knees.

Which is where He wanted me all along.

In blessing me with such a needy child, and then 2 more births in quick succession, God was going cold turkey on me in the selfishness cure. No "miracle patch" for me. No siree. I suddenly found myself surrounded by irrationality with no time to read, write or pee. My only vivid memory of that time was the three of them: Action Man, Sports Fan and Little Dear (ages almost 3, 1, and 2 months respectively) lined up on my bed, ready for their diaper change. Yes, three in diapers at once. It's quite a war story.

It's also a love story.

God was pursuing me. He sought to change me, to mold me into something better, a more productive worker for the harvest of souls. He knew that the only way he could force me outside of myself was to place a loved one in my care. And just for insurance, to place many little loved ones in my care. He knew that a mother cannot ignore the needs of her child. That the midnight wail, the hourly call to duty would not fail to re-mold a heart hardened by selfishness. That the first bend to another happens automatically in the will of a new mother. An eagerness to serve, to soothe the cries and nourish the heart, soul, and stomach of this precious child comes first without a second thought.

Until, overnight it seems, this clueless 20-something woman is transformed.

It is no wonder, then, that the awesomeness of God comes to us in the tender form of the infant Jesus. Who can deny Him his due? Who can turn away from His cries? Who can refuse Him?

“There is nothing more mysterious than infancy, nothing so small and yet so imperious. The infancy of Christ has opened a way to us by which we can surrender self to Him absolutely, without putting too much pressure on our weak human nature.”

(Wood of the Cradle, Wood of the Cross)

God, in His all-knowing, all-merciful way, chooses to come to us humbled and makes it easy for us to submit. He coaxes us to bend our ways ever so gently towards His will by having us first gaze into the eyes of the Christ-Child. We forget ourselves and all of our grandiose plans, and instead look for ways to please this most precious infant, even to the point of radically re-shaping our entire lives.

:)