- SJ
I don't often write very revealing posts, but this is something I've been thinking a lot about.
When Addie was born, Darren and I referred to her as our "oldest" child. We knew we wanted more than one. Stuart came along in short order (seventeen short months between the two of them). During the two-toddler years when I barely broke surface most days, I revisited the question as to How Many children I wanted. I still wanted more than two. It turned out to be a moot point: I didn't get pregnant for three years. Finally Darren and I agreed that if we never had any more children, we were happy with our two and looked forward to seeing them grow up.
After a completely unexpected miscarriage (because I didn't even know I was pregnant), we conceived Daphne. Once she was born, she didn't sleep through the night until she was two years old. At least three times a week, I slept on the couch with Daphne on the floor beside me. That was the same time I went through a time of spiritual anger and upheaval. The thought of another child made me break out into a cold sweat. But even then our mindset was, "Not yet," instead of "Never."
Life goes on, and occasionally settles down. Phillip arrived last year to a rested and happy family. He's low-key, smiley, and everybody's favorite baby.
And now I don't really want any more children.
It isn't "I can be happy even if I never have another one," or even, "Not yet." It's that I feel satisfied and complete with my four children. I don't intend to make this a part of my identity ("Hi, I'm Sara and I have four kids and I'm Done!"), but I want to be done with the baby stage. Why have I been thinking about this question almost nonstop since Phillip's birth? What more is there to consider?
What isn't there to consider?
Since my teenage years, I've been part of the conservative Christian homeschooling circle. Within this circle is a vocal subculture that says that there is never a good reason *not* to have more children. Can't afford it? God always pays for what He delivers. Worried about your health? Lack of trust in God. Tired of what pregnancy does to your body? Your focus should be on spiritual blessings. Want to be done with the baby stage? You're buying into the worldly idea that children are an accessory and convenience. Don't want any more children?
Wha...?
How could you not want more children? Children are a blessing from the Lord! You should love life! Have an open heart! Don't reject God's blessings! If you can't receive this greatest of God's blessings, He just might take other blessings from you.
So drone the Voices in my Head. All their answers have some truth in them. It's hard to argue against half-truths.
Also, anytime I go over my personal list of reasons why I want to stop at four, it comes out sounding faintly insulting to my friends who do have (or want) large families. As if they don't really feel the sacrifices they make for their many children. As if they're naturally wired to want to spend eighteen to twenty more years changing diapers, singing the ABCs, teaching manners, coordinating schedules, stretching income. No, of course they know what they're doing, and they're willing to do it. And if they can do it, why not me?
Since I'm the one who brought up the subject in the first place, I guess ought to explain that, as of now, Darren and I don't intend to take any permanent steps to prevent children. Also, we don't use chemical birth control. So it is entirely possible that despite our very careful efforts, we could have another child. If that's the case, then our friends can congratulate us happily. Darren, after all, is perfectly happy with the idea of more children. And whatever I might think of yet another pregnancy and a fourth c-section, I would be very excited to meet our new little person. But I hope that doesn't actually happen. Maybe in a few years I'll feel differently, but as it is, I involuntarily think of Phillip as my "youngest."
Still, I just can't bring myself to believe that God gives me permission to make that decision. After all, when you've spent many years listening to people who say they speak for God, it's very hard to hear Him say anything else.
Note: I wrote this several weeks ago, then let it sit a while. Partly because I'm uneasy posting something this personal, but also to see if my feelings changed once Pip was older and sleeping better. He's now sleeping through the night, not nursing, and a little ray of sunshine crawling around the house all day. And I still feel the same way.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Homeschooling Stereotypes
--DJ (initials at the top, at the request of several commenters who notice a distinct difference between my and Sara's writing style :))
On the invaluable blog Homeschooling Research Notes, there was a recent interesting discussion about homeschooling stereotypes, especially as noted in TV shows. We all know them - there's the jumper-wearing 11-kids-raising one, and then the granola-eating unschooling out-of-control one, and I'm sure the list could go on. Funny, though; I've been at several homeschool conferences recently, and I didn't see any of these. Lots of blue jeans, and at one small conference, I was complimented several times on my "large" family. Large, with four children. I was surprised.
One of the commenters noted, "I think the fact that there are now 'homeschooled types' means we’ve become just another part of American culture." I agree. Now, I suppose there could be another whole discussion on whether this is good or bad, but I tend to think it's very good for the long-term survival of homeschooling.
On a related note, I just finished reading "Write These Laws on Your Children" by Robert Kunzman, and I found it fascinating. Kunzman interviewed six homeschooling families, all Christian conservatives of one stripe or another, going out to their homes to watch the instruction, and following up over the next year. Although I didn't think it was as well-written as "Kingdom of Children," my favorite book on homeschooling, I liked the book very much overall. His major concern was that all children in a democratic society need to be raised to realize that in order to survive as a democracy, compromise and working with others is necessary. His second concern was that children should be raised to think for themselves, which I fully agree with, but in my opinion he somewhat simplistically believed that if children take on the belief structure of their parents, this concern has not been adequately addressed.
I don't agree with all of Kunzman's suggestions, but I think his book is very valuable reading to us homeschool parents.
On the invaluable blog Homeschooling Research Notes, there was a recent interesting discussion about homeschooling stereotypes, especially as noted in TV shows. We all know them - there's the jumper-wearing 11-kids-raising one, and then the granola-eating unschooling out-of-control one, and I'm sure the list could go on. Funny, though; I've been at several homeschool conferences recently, and I didn't see any of these. Lots of blue jeans, and at one small conference, I was complimented several times on my "large" family. Large, with four children. I was surprised.
One of the commenters noted, "I think the fact that there are now 'homeschooled types' means we’ve become just another part of American culture." I agree. Now, I suppose there could be another whole discussion on whether this is good or bad, but I tend to think it's very good for the long-term survival of homeschooling.
On a related note, I just finished reading "Write These Laws on Your Children" by Robert Kunzman, and I found it fascinating. Kunzman interviewed six homeschooling families, all Christian conservatives of one stripe or another, going out to their homes to watch the instruction, and following up over the next year. Although I didn't think it was as well-written as "Kingdom of Children," my favorite book on homeschooling, I liked the book very much overall. His major concern was that all children in a democratic society need to be raised to realize that in order to survive as a democracy, compromise and working with others is necessary. His second concern was that children should be raised to think for themselves, which I fully agree with, but in my opinion he somewhat simplistically believed that if children take on the belief structure of their parents, this concern has not been adequately addressed.
I don't agree with all of Kunzman's suggestions, but I think his book is very valuable reading to us homeschool parents.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Water Fountains and Hallways
-- by SJ
I've finally thought of a way to fill up the special journal that Darren got me for Christmas. It's made with a variety of pages -- legal, notebook, graph, blank, etc. Since each type of page has different associations for me, I've decided to write a memory or essay about whatever topic a particular page inspires. I'm not worrying much about composition or polishing, although I do admire how nice my handwriting looks.
I'll share a few on the blog as I fill up the book.
***
Paper Type: Notebook
Association: Public School
When I think of "school," two images to come to mind: the playground at my elementary school, and the red walls and black tile floors of my middle school.
The elementary school playground was enormous: big enough for three sets of swings, a kickball field, several pecan trees with square benches built around the trunks, and two water fountains. I don't know how big the playground would be to my adult eyes, especially as subsequent construction shaved off two sides. But it's usually not a good idea to revisit the vast spaces of childhood as an adult. Best to let them live in memory.
Those water fountains are worth remembering because I think both are gone now. They weren't your modern shiny single-spout metal deals. No, these things were huge blocks of concrete, three feet long by four feet high. They were light brown; it seems as if the concrete must have had pea gravel mixed in because there were nubby, smooth pebbles all over the block. I tried many times to dig out some of the pebbles. Those fountains were probably cast some forty years before my recess hour: them pebbles weren't budging.
Instead of one spout, there were three, mounted in a line along the center length. The sides of the block sloped in and down, creating a trench for the water to flow off the edge. Water, and sand, and sticks, and leaves, until a teacher told us to stop playing in the water.
There were never three spouts working all at once. Somebody usually wedged a small rock into the circular hole where the water was supposed to come out. I never got a thrill out of vandalism, and I'm still annoyed at the kids who tampered with our water supply. In South Mississippi heat, that was no small offense.
**
The middle school hallway that first comes to mind is the one in what was the "sixth grade building." (That school, once the black school for the town, is now an "intermediate school" housing fourth and fifth graders.) I wonder why I think of it with fairly positive associations: sixth grade was a disorienting year for me.
That was the year it really mattered that I was unstylish, awkward, and geeky. That was the year I -- an effortless A, sometimes B student -- got two Ds on my report card. (One in math, which was no surprise; and one in social studies, where I was supposed to keep all my work organized into a notebook. Whatever.) That was the year I decided to play French Horn in band, the beginning of my dysfunctional relationship with music. Math became murky, but English was so easy I spent class time creating a fake newspaper. I was invited to parties, but not to the kissing games in the backyards -- although that was more of a relief than a sting.
I developed a crush on a cute new boy that year. Then I found out that my studious, also-geeky classmate Debra had a crush on him, too. The knowledge drew us together. My grades improved dramatically once we became friends because Debra kept her class notebooks in order; I could always borrow hers when I needed to organize mine seven minutes before it was due.
Our mutual crush moved the following year, but Debra and I are still best friends. I suppose, upon reflection, sixth grade wasn't a complete failure. It gets at least a D.
I've finally thought of a way to fill up the special journal that Darren got me for Christmas. It's made with a variety of pages -- legal, notebook, graph, blank, etc. Since each type of page has different associations for me, I've decided to write a memory or essay about whatever topic a particular page inspires. I'm not worrying much about composition or polishing, although I do admire how nice my handwriting looks.
I'll share a few on the blog as I fill up the book.
***
Paper Type: Notebook
Association: Public School
When I think of "school," two images to come to mind: the playground at my elementary school, and the red walls and black tile floors of my middle school.
The elementary school playground was enormous: big enough for three sets of swings, a kickball field, several pecan trees with square benches built around the trunks, and two water fountains. I don't know how big the playground would be to my adult eyes, especially as subsequent construction shaved off two sides. But it's usually not a good idea to revisit the vast spaces of childhood as an adult. Best to let them live in memory.
Those water fountains are worth remembering because I think both are gone now. They weren't your modern shiny single-spout metal deals. No, these things were huge blocks of concrete, three feet long by four feet high. They were light brown; it seems as if the concrete must have had pea gravel mixed in because there were nubby, smooth pebbles all over the block. I tried many times to dig out some of the pebbles. Those fountains were probably cast some forty years before my recess hour: them pebbles weren't budging.
Instead of one spout, there were three, mounted in a line along the center length. The sides of the block sloped in and down, creating a trench for the water to flow off the edge. Water, and sand, and sticks, and leaves, until a teacher told us to stop playing in the water.
There were never three spouts working all at once. Somebody usually wedged a small rock into the circular hole where the water was supposed to come out. I never got a thrill out of vandalism, and I'm still annoyed at the kids who tampered with our water supply. In South Mississippi heat, that was no small offense.
**
The middle school hallway that first comes to mind is the one in what was the "sixth grade building." (That school, once the black school for the town, is now an "intermediate school" housing fourth and fifth graders.) I wonder why I think of it with fairly positive associations: sixth grade was a disorienting year for me.
That was the year it really mattered that I was unstylish, awkward, and geeky. That was the year I -- an effortless A, sometimes B student -- got two Ds on my report card. (One in math, which was no surprise; and one in social studies, where I was supposed to keep all my work organized into a notebook. Whatever.) That was the year I decided to play French Horn in band, the beginning of my dysfunctional relationship with music. Math became murky, but English was so easy I spent class time creating a fake newspaper. I was invited to parties, but not to the kissing games in the backyards -- although that was more of a relief than a sting.
I developed a crush on a cute new boy that year. Then I found out that my studious, also-geeky classmate Debra had a crush on him, too. The knowledge drew us together. My grades improved dramatically once we became friends because Debra kept her class notebooks in order; I could always borrow hers when I needed to organize mine seven minutes before it was due.
Our mutual crush moved the following year, but Debra and I are still best friends. I suppose, upon reflection, sixth grade wasn't a complete failure. It gets at least a D.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Fruit of an Incentive
As part of a work mental wellness initiative, I am working on writing a poem every week for the next few months. I was pretty happy with how this first one turned out. I think it works better read aloud, since it's alliterative.
"Holy Saturday"
Today, the earth stands silent.
Gone the grief of yesterday,
Or rather, say not gone, but paused:
Spent by sadness, women wait;
Friends who faltered breathe deep after weeping:
Weeping will last the night, and joy unlooked-for comes tomorrow,
But today, the earth stands silent.
Not so Hades.
From out its iron gates sound forth
The sound of weapons never before wielded by man,
Weapons strong against strongholds.
Now Man makes mockery of the ancient foe,
Whose scornful challenge, “Who is this king of glory?”
Is cast back in iron teeth: “The Lord, mighty in battle.”
Hell harrowed, sinners saved by sinless Sin.
Bordered by sadness and joy,
Filled with quiet and quiescent triumph,
Today, the earth stands silent.
--DJ
"Holy Saturday"
Today, the earth stands silent.
Gone the grief of yesterday,
Or rather, say not gone, but paused:
Spent by sadness, women wait;
Friends who faltered breathe deep after weeping:
Weeping will last the night, and joy unlooked-for comes tomorrow,
But today, the earth stands silent.
Not so Hades.
From out its iron gates sound forth
The sound of weapons never before wielded by man,
Weapons strong against strongholds.
Now Man makes mockery of the ancient foe,
Whose scornful challenge, “Who is this king of glory?”
Is cast back in iron teeth: “The Lord, mighty in battle.”
Hell harrowed, sinners saved by sinless Sin.
Bordered by sadness and joy,
Filled with quiet and quiescent triumph,
Today, the earth stands silent.
--DJ
Monday, April 19, 2010
Love, Sara
Dear Immune System,
I eat well. I take a multivitamin every day. Sure, I eat sugar like it will earn my way to heaven, but it's nothing you haven't handled before.
So what's with this? A head stuffed beyond capacity, and then a fever? Leaving me huddled in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, for six hours? Come on, I do my part. Why don't you do yours?
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Friend,
I can't go out to lunch with you tomorrow. I'm sick. Judging from how I feel today, we should be able to go out in about, oh, four months.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Swistle,
Thank you for the reminder of this classic movie. Turns out that Katie had never seen it, so we were anxious to fill this gaping hole in her cultural education. (No thanks necessary, Neil and Christy!)
"Strange things are afoot at the Circle K!" always makes me laugh. Oh, and also "Mr. the Kid." Oh, and also "Don't be dead, dude! Most untriumphant!" Oh, also, "'Put them in the Iron Maiden.' 'Excellent!' 'Execute them.' 'Bogus.'" Oh, and also... never mind. Suffice to say that I'm sure the laughter helped my recovery.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Appetite,
Okay, so last night we were so stuffed up that we couldn't even taste the two pieces of pizza we ate. Remember, we're not really all that wild about pizza anymore. Remember how it's mostly just salty? Remember? So why did you insist that I needed to eat a piece this morning just to taste it? We were leaving in half an hour to eat Indian for lunch, for heaven's sake! Get a grip, Appetite.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Friend,
Well, it turns out that I'm feeling much better than I was last night. So I guess we can plan to go out to lunch sometime this week after all!
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Appetite,
You don't like chocolate chip cookies. You don't like soft, underbaked cookies. So what's with the eating three soft, underbaked chocolate chip cookies today? Get a GRIP, Appetite.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Immune System,
After only twelve hours and a night's sleep, I'm feeling back to normal except for a slight cough and sniffles. Please disregard previous note.
Also, here's a multivitamin to reward you for your trouble.
Love, Sara.
I eat well. I take a multivitamin every day. Sure, I eat sugar like it will earn my way to heaven, but it's nothing you haven't handled before.
So what's with this? A head stuffed beyond capacity, and then a fever? Leaving me huddled in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, for six hours? Come on, I do my part. Why don't you do yours?
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Friend,
I can't go out to lunch with you tomorrow. I'm sick. Judging from how I feel today, we should be able to go out in about, oh, four months.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Swistle,
Thank you for the reminder of this classic movie. Turns out that Katie had never seen it, so we were anxious to fill this gaping hole in her cultural education. (No thanks necessary, Neil and Christy!)
"Strange things are afoot at the Circle K!" always makes me laugh. Oh, and also "Mr. the Kid." Oh, and also "Don't be dead, dude! Most untriumphant!" Oh, also, "'Put them in the Iron Maiden.' 'Excellent!' 'Execute them.' 'Bogus.'" Oh, and also... never mind. Suffice to say that I'm sure the laughter helped my recovery.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Appetite,
Okay, so last night we were so stuffed up that we couldn't even taste the two pieces of pizza we ate. Remember, we're not really all that wild about pizza anymore. Remember how it's mostly just salty? Remember? So why did you insist that I needed to eat a piece this morning just to taste it? We were leaving in half an hour to eat Indian for lunch, for heaven's sake! Get a grip, Appetite.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Friend,
Well, it turns out that I'm feeling much better than I was last night. So I guess we can plan to go out to lunch sometime this week after all!
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Appetite,
You don't like chocolate chip cookies. You don't like soft, underbaked cookies. So what's with the eating three soft, underbaked chocolate chip cookies today? Get a GRIP, Appetite.
Love, Sara.
***
Dear Immune System,
After only twelve hours and a night's sleep, I'm feeling back to normal except for a slight cough and sniffles. Please disregard previous note.
Also, here's a multivitamin to reward you for your trouble.
Love, Sara.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
So eight pictures has the blog covered for a while.
My niece Katie (I can write that without the comma, grammar-geeks, because I have nine other nieces) is up for a visit. Katie is rarely without a smile or a camera, but if she has to choose between the two, she'll lose the smile anyday.
Below are some of the many great shots she's taken during her stay.
Katie and Stuart, a self-portrait.
My current favorite picture of Darren.
Grocery shopping? Why, no, Addie doesn't find it tedious at all. She loves grocery shopping! As long as nobody puts, like, groceries in the cart where she's trying to read.
At Harper's Ferry, a family portrait.
Daphne's mount probably isn't what you think it is. I know, I know, you think it looks like a dinosaur. It's really a horse. She clarified this fact with Katie many, many times.
And then there are those two amazingly cute boys I've got.
Daphne and her co-op buddy, Micah, who are (almost literally) inseparable friends these days. Here he's gallantly walking her back to our van after playing at the park.
And speaking of amazingly cute, the words don't even begin to describe Pip in this picture.
-- SJ
My niece Katie (I can write that without the comma, grammar-geeks, because I have nine other nieces) is up for a visit. Katie is rarely without a smile or a camera, but if she has to choose between the two, she'll lose the smile anyday.
Below are some of the many great shots she's taken during her stay.
Katie and Stuart, a self-portrait.
My current favorite picture of Darren.
Grocery shopping? Why, no, Addie doesn't find it tedious at all. She loves grocery shopping! As long as nobody puts, like, groceries in the cart where she's trying to read.
At Harper's Ferry, a family portrait.
Daphne's mount probably isn't what you think it is. I know, I know, you think it looks like a dinosaur. It's really a horse. She clarified this fact with Katie many, many times.
And then there are those two amazingly cute boys I've got.
Daphne and her co-op buddy, Micah, who are (almost literally) inseparable friends these days. Here he's gallantly walking her back to our van after playing at the park.
And speaking of amazingly cute, the words don't even begin to describe Pip in this picture.-- SJ
Friday, April 09, 2010
I Think We're Alone Now
So I was listening to Pandora, and it plays all this 80s pop for me, mysteriously enough. Who would have thought that "Sara" by Starship is so similar in musical structure to Debussy and Mozart? Or maybe I forgot to add Debussy and Mozart to my list. And maybe I did add "Forever Your Girl" by Paula Abdul, and some other stuff. Anyway, moving on.
"I Think We're Alone Now," as sung by Tiffany, came up today. I remember this song from about sixth grade: a couple of my classmates had written out the words on notebook paper (because you couldn't just Google lyrics back then, children). It was a racy song for 13-year-olds, and we knew it. Here's the first verse and chorus (which I Googled):
Children behave
That's what they say when we're together
And watch how you play
They don't understand
And so we're
Running just as fast as we can
Holdin' on to one another's hand
Tryin' to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
And we tumble to the ground
And then you say
I think were alone now
There doesn't seem to be anyone around
I think were alone now
The beating of our hearts is the only sound
See, back then I thought this was a daring and defiant song. The beauty of revisiting songs like this, as an adult, is that you understand their great comic value.
My favorite line is "They don't understand." Don't understand... what, exactly? Oh, passion and sex, right! Because they're parents! Meaning they HAD to have had sex to have YOU! But it wasn't, you know, passionate sex. Not like teenagers have. You know, somewhere outside, in the dark, on the bare ground, after running and tackling.
Maybe the grownups were just trying to tell you that it's worth waiting for a master bedroom with a lock on the door. But what do grownups know?
-- SJ
"I Think We're Alone Now," as sung by Tiffany, came up today. I remember this song from about sixth grade: a couple of my classmates had written out the words on notebook paper (because you couldn't just Google lyrics back then, children). It was a racy song for 13-year-olds, and we knew it. Here's the first verse and chorus (which I Googled):
Children behave
That's what they say when we're together
And watch how you play
They don't understand
And so we're
Running just as fast as we can
Holdin' on to one another's hand
Tryin' to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
And we tumble to the ground
And then you say
I think were alone now
There doesn't seem to be anyone around
I think were alone now
The beating of our hearts is the only sound
See, back then I thought this was a daring and defiant song. The beauty of revisiting songs like this, as an adult, is that you understand their great comic value.
My favorite line is "They don't understand." Don't understand... what, exactly? Oh, passion and sex, right! Because they're parents! Meaning they HAD to have had sex to have YOU! But it wasn't, you know, passionate sex. Not like teenagers have. You know, somewhere outside, in the dark, on the bare ground, after running and tackling.
Maybe the grownups were just trying to tell you that it's worth waiting for a master bedroom with a lock on the door. But what do grownups know?
-- SJ
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Reminder
Click on the links to the left to go to Addie's and Stuart's blog, The Jones News. Their most recent three titles are listed. You aren't required to think the posts are as remarkable and clever as their mama does, though.
-- SJ
-- SJ
Monday, April 05, 2010
Busting Myths
It's the Monday after a holiday, and I'm feeling cranky. So I'd like to take this time to set a few facts straight. Knock a hole in some accepted wisdom. Bust some myths.
Don't get your hopes up -- this isn't actually going to be much use to anybody who isn't me. But what are blogs good for if not cranky rants from time to time?
Note: As might be apparent from the following entries, I have a longstanding grudge against breakfast-mongers. The idea of a "proper" breakfast has been shoved down my throat for years. Um, figuratively speaking.
Myth #1
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. If you don't eat breakfast, you'll be sluggish and fatigued all morning.
The Truth:
While I'm pregnant and nursing, I have to eat breakfast. When I'm a normal person, I'm liberated. I don't need breakfast, and in fact I dislike eating anything before 9:30 in the morning. Breakfast is not my most important meal and I resent being told that it is by people who don't live in my body.
Myth #2
You must drink at least eight (ten? sixteen? three gallons?) glasses of water a day. Everybody should. When you get thirsty, you're already dehydrated.
The Truth:
I don't drink a lot of water. I don't get thirsty. Too much water at once makes me feel icky. Of course, it's different when I'm pregnant: that's the only time I drink close to the recommended daily allowance of water (although of course then I'm supposed to drink more. Whatever). Usually I just let Darren the Human Camel make up the difference.
Myth #3
Exercise energizes you and makes you feel good! Endorphins and all that!
The Truth:
Exercise makes me tired.
Myth #4
Granola and/or oatmeal is a good, filling, energizing breakfast (which is the most important meal of the day.)
The Truth:
Granola holds me over... for about an hour and a half. Then I crash and feel horrible. On the other hand, two toaster waffles with butter and syrup do me nicely until lunchtime. But the best breakfast is beef stew over rice, sometime after 9:30.
There. Isn't the world a better place now?
-- SJ
Don't get your hopes up -- this isn't actually going to be much use to anybody who isn't me. But what are blogs good for if not cranky rants from time to time?
Note: As might be apparent from the following entries, I have a longstanding grudge against breakfast-mongers. The idea of a "proper" breakfast has been shoved down my throat for years. Um, figuratively speaking.
Myth #1
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. If you don't eat breakfast, you'll be sluggish and fatigued all morning.
The Truth:
While I'm pregnant and nursing, I have to eat breakfast. When I'm a normal person, I'm liberated. I don't need breakfast, and in fact I dislike eating anything before 9:30 in the morning. Breakfast is not my most important meal and I resent being told that it is by people who don't live in my body.
Myth #2
You must drink at least eight (ten? sixteen? three gallons?) glasses of water a day. Everybody should. When you get thirsty, you're already dehydrated.
The Truth:
I don't drink a lot of water. I don't get thirsty. Too much water at once makes me feel icky. Of course, it's different when I'm pregnant: that's the only time I drink close to the recommended daily allowance of water (although of course then I'm supposed to drink more. Whatever). Usually I just let Darren the Human Camel make up the difference.
Myth #3
Exercise energizes you and makes you feel good! Endorphins and all that!
The Truth:
Exercise makes me tired.
Myth #4
Granola and/or oatmeal is a good, filling, energizing breakfast (which is the most important meal of the day.)
The Truth:
Granola holds me over... for about an hour and a half. Then I crash and feel horrible. On the other hand, two toaster waffles with butter and syrup do me nicely until lunchtime. But the best breakfast is beef stew over rice, sometime after 9:30.
There. Isn't the world a better place now?
-- SJ
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Easterness
This post is a follow-up to the previous post. After griping about how my church didn't do much a lead-up to Easter, this post is to highlight how I'm carrying on the Easter traditions my mom did with us.
Every year, Mom would line up cups full of vinegar and hot water and food coloring, and let us six kids dye eggs. It was a very fun time, although at the time I didn't get why Mom got so put out when we "mixed" eggs and came up with khaki colored ones. Mom, I get it now.
Most years I color eggs not only with my own kids, but also any random children who happen to be in the house at the time. Here the Joneses and Gracie M. create beautiful(ish) dyed eggs. I remember lovely purple ones in my youth, but so far all my purples come out grey.
It was years before I understood what the Easter Bunny was supposed to do every year. Bring Easter baskets? Oh. Well, my mom did that for us. And surprisingly, even though I do remember the candy, what I most remember is that Mom would put grapes and plums in our baskets. With a household of six kids plus random other kids, the supply of grapes and plums lasted about seventeen minutes. Obviously it was a treat to get my very own in my basket. This year, I filled a completely separate basket with grapes, strawberries, and tangerines. It's beautiful.
With fewer kids to buy for, we can make their baskets a little more lavish: crayons, paints, a new Odyssey collection, and Stuart's favorite card game, Mag Blast. Oh, and a mother and baby swan (in the blue basket) because they were cute:
This family picture was taken at church this morning. The kids are all outfitted thanks to my mother-in-law and my neighbor. Miss Bev got ahold of Nina and asked her to pick out clothes for each of the children, completely surprising us. You can see that she scored on all counts, Miss Bev.
Several Easter mornings, Mom let us attend a sunrise service with her. I'm sure it was a moving experience to worship while the sun rose, but mostly I remember the doughnuts and coffee afterward. No sunrise service for us today, but these days I'm just as happy with blazing spring sunshine.
The service was full of music, because Darren leads worship and Easter is his favorite service. Stuart, who usually just suffers through church, belted out some of his favorite songs. At least five people told us afterward that his singing (which made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in quality) was very worshipful to them. Let the little children come, after all.
So now we're home and eating chocolate. Happy happy Easter!
-- SJ
Every year, Mom would line up cups full of vinegar and hot water and food coloring, and let us six kids dye eggs. It was a very fun time, although at the time I didn't get why Mom got so put out when we "mixed" eggs and came up with khaki colored ones. Mom, I get it now.
Most years I color eggs not only with my own kids, but also any random children who happen to be in the house at the time. Here the Joneses and Gracie M. create beautiful(ish) dyed eggs. I remember lovely purple ones in my youth, but so far all my purples come out grey.
It was years before I understood what the Easter Bunny was supposed to do every year. Bring Easter baskets? Oh. Well, my mom did that for us. And surprisingly, even though I do remember the candy, what I most remember is that Mom would put grapes and plums in our baskets. With a household of six kids plus random other kids, the supply of grapes and plums lasted about seventeen minutes. Obviously it was a treat to get my very own in my basket. This year, I filled a completely separate basket with grapes, strawberries, and tangerines. It's beautiful.
With fewer kids to buy for, we can make their baskets a little more lavish: crayons, paints, a new Odyssey collection, and Stuart's favorite card game, Mag Blast. Oh, and a mother and baby swan (in the blue basket) because they were cute:
This family picture was taken at church this morning. The kids are all outfitted thanks to my mother-in-law and my neighbor. Miss Bev got ahold of Nina and asked her to pick out clothes for each of the children, completely surprising us. You can see that she scored on all counts, Miss Bev.
Several Easter mornings, Mom let us attend a sunrise service with her. I'm sure it was a moving experience to worship while the sun rose, but mostly I remember the doughnuts and coffee afterward. No sunrise service for us today, but these days I'm just as happy with blazing spring sunshine.
The service was full of music, because Darren leads worship and Easter is his favorite service. Stuart, who usually just suffers through church, belted out some of his favorite songs. At least five people told us afterward that his singing (which made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in quality) was very worshipful to them. Let the little children come, after all.
So now we're home and eating chocolate. Happy happy Easter!
-- SJ
He Is Risen
He is risen indeed!
When I was 19 and writing pretentiously in my journal, I had realized that Easter, not Christmas, should be the big central celebration of the Christian faith. As it was, the holiday usually sneaked up on us, and we said, "Oh, it's Easter Sunday tomorrow." I resolved that when I was married and had children, I'd make Easter a really big deal. Also, I wrote, my children wouldn't have Easter baskets or egg hunts or any of that nonsense. I subscribed to the view that you couldn't properly appreciate the spiritual significance of something unless it was pure, transcendent, and not cluttered up with a lot of vulgar earthly fun.
Many years later, I find myself part of the liturgical Christian tradition. We spend the entire church year anticipating Easter -- and especially the forty days leading up to it. It's easy to build anticipation with your children when a large chunk of Christendom is doing the same thing. Also, a sacramental view of faith says that humans relate best to God with physical symbols: fire, water, bread, wine. Easter baskets and colored eggs are hardly sacraments, but sometimes a little vulgar earthly fun enhances the spiritual celebration.
All that to say that the kids were up at 7:30 this morning, exclaiming over Easter baskets and singing in off-key, sleepy voices, "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling over death by death, Come away! Come away! Come and rise up from the grave!"
It's Easter! Alleluia!
When I was 19 and writing pretentiously in my journal, I had realized that Easter, not Christmas, should be the big central celebration of the Christian faith. As it was, the holiday usually sneaked up on us, and we said, "Oh, it's Easter Sunday tomorrow." I resolved that when I was married and had children, I'd make Easter a really big deal. Also, I wrote, my children wouldn't have Easter baskets or egg hunts or any of that nonsense. I subscribed to the view that you couldn't properly appreciate the spiritual significance of something unless it was pure, transcendent, and not cluttered up with a lot of vulgar earthly fun.
Many years later, I find myself part of the liturgical Christian tradition. We spend the entire church year anticipating Easter -- and especially the forty days leading up to it. It's easy to build anticipation with your children when a large chunk of Christendom is doing the same thing. Also, a sacramental view of faith says that humans relate best to God with physical symbols: fire, water, bread, wine. Easter baskets and colored eggs are hardly sacraments, but sometimes a little vulgar earthly fun enhances the spiritual celebration.
All that to say that the kids were up at 7:30 this morning, exclaiming over Easter baskets and singing in off-key, sleepy voices, "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling over death by death, Come away! Come away! Come and rise up from the grave!"
It's Easter! Alleluia!
Saturday, April 03, 2010
What's In a Name?
I picked up The Baby Name Wizard and opened it to a random page. My eye fell on the name "Mercy." I like the name Mercy. Darren doesn't. I triumphantly read him the glowing blurb for "Mercy," proving my point that it's a great name.
"See? You should have considered it," I said. "Oh, and yesterday I was in the grocery store and I saw calla lilies and though, 'Oh, Calla! That beautiful name that you wouldn't let me have!' I hope you regret now the void left by Calla, who would have been a beautiful young name. Oh, and Tobin, that cute little boy name. Not that I still hold these against you. After all, there's always that nerdy little name Gwalchavad that I wouldn't let you have."
-- SJ
"See? You should have considered it," I said. "Oh, and yesterday I was in the grocery store and I saw calla lilies and though, 'Oh, Calla! That beautiful name that you wouldn't let me have!' I hope you regret now the void left by Calla, who would have been a beautiful young name. Oh, and Tobin, that cute little boy name. Not that I still hold these against you. After all, there's always that nerdy little name Gwalchavad that I wouldn't let you have."
-- SJ
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Now Accepting Requests
Not wanting to let a good thing lapse, I'm now committing to praying for the fifty days of the Easter season. (And, yes, you should expect a "requests for the season of Pentecost" after Easter is done.)
* If you gave me a request for Lent and have any updates, please leave a comment here or email me either at my home email account or the exaltedwater account to the left.
* If you want me to continue praying for the matter you gave me for Lent, let me know.
* If you have something you want me to pray for, let me know. Anonymous requests are fine, although it would be nice if you left an identifying initial -- not necessarily yours -- so I won't have to pray for "Anon."
Thank you!
-- SJ
* If you gave me a request for Lent and have any updates, please leave a comment here or email me either at my home email account or the exaltedwater account to the left.
* If you want me to continue praying for the matter you gave me for Lent, let me know.
* If you have something you want me to pray for, let me know. Anonymous requests are fine, although it would be nice if you left an identifying initial -- not necessarily yours -- so I won't have to pray for "Anon."
Thank you!
-- SJ
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