Lucky Seven

It has been seven years since I married that man.

They say the seventh year is the hardest and Lord knows that was true for us. The seventh year was one of tears and heartache and every day the fight to press on, to show up, to love well. The seventh year was the year during which all my pretty pictures of our marriage came crashing down as truth came to light. The seventh year didn't feel lucky at all.

In the weeks leading up to this day, I didn't want to think about it much. Couldn't we just let it pass quietly and unobserved? What was there to celebrate this year?

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Oh, this year was hard in so many of the worst ways. But there is so much to celebrate as well. There are the obvious things, yes, a graduation and a good job and a new home and other such cherished blessings, but there are quieter celebrations to be had as well. We both showed up, every day, to fight for what was lost. We both showed courage beyond what either of us has had to show thus far in our marriage. We grew to know each other more deeply, to love each other better, to be honest no matter what it cost us because the alternative was the end of this, of us. We rediscovered each other in beautiful ways. We held each other through so many nights of tears. God. It's beautiful. It's worth celebrating, every single pain-drenched minute of it.

Our marriage has been sifted and what remains is more solid, more treasured, and more focused now that the extraneous has been shaken away. So many of the old things no longer matter, the things that used to seem so big and important. I think of our marriage today and our marriage a year ago and I wouldn't trade these months of pain to go back to the way things were. I would have told you back then that our marriage was lovely, and in many ways it was, but it was only a shadow of what it could have been, of what it now is.

We celebrate less naively this year, but perhaps more joyously than ever.

Witnessing Love

It has been a little quiet around here lately, hasn't it? My beautiful sister-in-law got married this weekend - married! - so I drove up last week with the boys and my growing belly to be here for the big day.

Every single one of those 12 hours in the car were entirely worth it to witness such magic.

And hey, you know me - I'm here navel-gazing the whole time, thinking about marriage and husbands and love and frustrations and all the ups and downs of the whole messy thing.

Because the husband had to stay behind and work for a couple more days, the boys and I were here alone until he flew up to join us. Two days of fielding questions alone, the same repeated series of questions from family, extended family, family friends, people I've met but don't know, and people I have never met in my life. Two days of guests and preparations and conversations and solo parenting in a home that isn't mine.

And even though I absolutely adore every one of the ten in-laws that either live here or came in from out of town for the wedding, those two days were all it took for me to intensely feel the absence of my own husband.

I really really missed him.

And then he (finally) got here and greeted me with a vague side hug and didn't notice my newly-cut hair and headed downstairs to watch sports with the men without giving me so much as a peck on the cheek and suddenly I couldn't remember why I had missed him at all.

That's marriage for you. Sometimes, anyway.

But it's so much more, too. Once he was here, I felt grounded again. Here was my pillar, my support, my buffer, my anchor. Here was a strong hand in mine, a comforting arm around my back, a knowing gaze, a silent conversation. Here was someone I could always seek out in a crowd, someone I could join without feeling like I was intruding. Here was the one beside whom I could face the world.

And more. Here was the one who helps carry the burdens of our life together, both big and small. Somehow it's the small things that seem to mean the most - the way he brushes the boys' teeth because I hate the sensation; the way he phones on his way home to see if I need anything; the way he brings me water or makes me tea or any of the other countless ways he seeks to serve me and help me. Sometimes we're selfish or ignorant or thoughtless, but always the desire is to serve one another, submit to one another, consider the other's needs and wants and thoughts and perspectives.

And oh, those perspectives. Marriage is endless discovery. I know him and yet I don't, because there's always more. He knows me and yet he is often surprised, adding another piece to the puzzle that is the woman he married.

I remember the days after our marriage, hiding away in what was now our condo, both of us in a state of perpetual joyous awe. We had gotten married; how insanely lucky were we? I felt a (perhaps odd) sense of relief over the finality of it all. Of course nothing is certain, but we were young newlyweds; tragedy was the farthest thing from our minds at that moment. Instead we found comfort in the security of our vows.

That sense of comforting security has yet to leave. He knows both the best and the worst parts of me, and yet he continues to love me. Like motherhood, marriage has significantly deepened my understanding of God's love for His people. My husband sees my deepest flaws and yet he loves me anyway. God knows my heart, my inner thoughts, and yet He loves me anyway. It is the most humbling thing I know of, to be loved anyway.

Humbling. Out of all else, it is that single word that stands out as describing marriage. It has been for me a source of both great joy and deep fury. It has been a continual lesson in holding loosely to expectations, letting go of all that I thought marriage should look like and embracing instead the uniqueness that is the two of us. It has been a steady refining of my understanding of what it means to be my husband's ezer kenegdo, his valiant ally who opposes in wrong and supports in righteousness.

Nothing is quite what I pictured when I said I will, and I wouldn't have it any other way.


To my beautiful sister-in-law and my new brother-in-law:

May you be blessed with wisdom, patience, and understanding.
May you continually learn more about each other,
growing closer as you work together.
May you be compassionate,
placing the other before yourself and doing everything in love.

We love you guys.

Letting go of the checklist

It started with joy.

Only it wasn't.

It was JOY in capitals, JOY the acronym, JOY which meant Jesus --> Others --> You.

Jesus first, always Jesus, and then look to the needs of others. When those needs are met, if there's anything left in you, then go ahead and indulge in caring for your own needs. Quickly though; soon enough, it will be time to start at the top again. Jesus. Others. You.

Then I got older, joined the ranks of married women, of mothers. JOY wasn't enough anymore; now it was a very specific order:

1. God
2. Husband
3. Children
4. Others
5. You

It didn't have a cheerful little acronym to go along with it, but who needed one? I came across it everywhere. Always it would begin with a brief nod to God being our ultimate priority. This was followed by a stern reminder that we as wives were under our husband's authority, and we were to serve him and meet his needs above all others. Keep him happy to keep him holy.

With that in mind, our children were given the next prioritization. After all, motherhood was a woman's greatest calling (whatever that meant for the unwed or childless among us, and however that fit with being ranked #3 on our list of priorities). We were raising up the next generation of great Christian leaders; it was imperative that we tend to them after our husbands. Always, though, impress upon them the fact that we esteemed our husbands above them. They must know which relationship we prioritized.

Once the needs of home and family were cared for, it was time to turn outwards. Meet the needs of others. Volunteer, serve, get involved. Tend to the children's ministry. Bake cookies. Visit the sick and the elderly. Sign up for this, that, and the other. Sometimes this step was broken down more specifically (such as "extended family, church, work, others"), but the idea was the same. Others others others.

At last would come the obligatory closing: you have needs too, so find time to meet them. Just be sure it's done after your obligations to God, your husband, your children, and everyone else.

That, I read over and over, was to be the order of my life. A nice tidy checklist, simple to follow and indisputable in its order of importance. Check, check, check, top to bottom. God husband children others you.

If only life were so linear.

I tried, for a time, to fit into this Good Christian mold. A bit of prayer time or Scripture reading and check, first thing off my list. Next I'd ask my husband if there was anything he needed. Being an extraordinarily unneedy person, he'd usually just give me a curious look, a shrug, and an easy pass to go on with my day. Another check, although I'd spend my day hyper-focused on his needs, determined to meet them whenever they may finally arrive. I'd worry if dinner wasn't perfect or if I fell behind in laundry or if heaven forbid the child was being too much of an "inconvenience" to him.

The rest of the day was spent tending to our firstborn (check). When he was asleep, I'd take care of whatever external obligations had built up over the day (check). Finally, it was time to meet my needs...usually by falling into bed exhausted. What other needs could I afford besides food and sleep?

I am immeasurably grateful that this pattern was short lived. Soon, through an unexpected string of events, I began my journey towards a more intentional way of life. It wasn't enough anymore to simply unquestioningly do what was expected of me. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know if it truly had any firm foundation. I began to dig deeper and in doing so I came to a more holistic, authentic, and life-giving understanding of God than I'd ever had before.

Lacking in both logic and biblical backing, the ladder of priorities was one of the first constructs to go. Life was not so simplistic and compartmentalized; life was messy and interconnected and beautifully so. Life was not a checklist, a hierarchy, a ladder, or a straight line. It was circular, it ebbed and flowed, it changed with the seasons and the needs and the joys and the challenges. It demanded balance and give-and-take, not ranks and tidy checks on a list.

Although I didn't have words for it at the time, I soon found myself embracing a more circular view of my priorities. Instead of simply being the first item to check off in my day, God became the center and source of everything, with the things close to my heart radiating outwards like the spokes of a wheel. God was part of all areas of my life; it was all worship when done as worship.

With the checklist gone, I began to learn how to weave my priorities into the everyday fabric of my life. Everything connected, overlapped, and somehow worked together. My time with God was no longer required to be independent of my time with my children. We lived those relationships together and God was everywhere, in all of it, in our songs and our discussions and our praises and our activities. My husband, too, became part of it all; even when he was away, I sought to honour him and consider his needs and desires, not out of obligation as a subordinate but out of love as his ezer kenegdo, his valiant ally. Others, too, became part of our everyday lives, all of us living life together.

We don't always get it right, but the freedom found in letting go of the rankings has allowed us an authenticity we didn't have when I was trying to separate life into ordered compartments. Sometimes needs arise in one area and demand precedence over other areas. We embrace that and work with it rather than trying to force it into its proper rung on the ladder, ignoring it until the higher rungs are taken care of. As long as we allow God to be at the center and everything else to radiate out from Him, things seem to fall into place.

Everything is from Him and through Him and for Him; He alone makes everything good.

Five years together

Today is our fifth anniversary, Love.

You don't know it yet, but I have big plans for our evening. Your wonderful parents are taking care of our sweet boys while we, for the first time since our wedding night, spend a night at a hotel alone. With a third little one on the way, it will be our only chance for quite a while, so I wanted to take it - for you.

After our dinner at a fancy French restaurant, followed by a evening stroll downtown, we'll head back to the hotel to enjoy the rest of the evening and night to ourselves. I have our reservations made and everything we need stashed in the trunk - our packed suitcase, a selection of DVDs, sparkling grape juice, and, of course, chocolate. Mostly for me, but I'll share with you. I'm nice that way.

It's funny how two strange people like us ended up together. It seems that we who make our decisions based on number patterns and other such twisted forms of pseudo-logic should have a voice of reason as a partner. Then again, it is awfully nice to have someone who doesn't laugh when I say we should stop here because it's chapter fourteen; no, instead you argued that fifteen was a better chapter to end on, being a multiple of five. (I still say I'm right: fourteen, twice seven, has been my lucky number since childhood. What could be better than seven times two?)

Remember our beginnings? What a long process that was. Years of watching each other from a distance, certain our feelings were one-sided. Then off you went to university and that, I thought, was the end of that. Two years later you returned and finally, finally, we allowed ourselves to form a deep and true friendship. A year later, I had just given up any hope that you would take it any further than that when, at long last, you asked me that very question. Ah, that awkward first year of being a couple. Everything was new and exciting, but Love, I like what we have now so much more.

A year of dating and then off you went again. We did the long-distance thing for two terribly long years before I could finally join you there, secure in the knowledge that we were both ready for that final step, the big scary M-word.

And then there was, perhaps, our true beginning. We don't talk about it often, not with others. We let people assume we did everything "the right way", that we're "good Christians" (whatever that means, really). But maybe our world needs more truth, like the truth of two dark lines on a pregnancy test and tears and days of silence and both of us feeling like scared kids, worried about what our parents would say, what our church would say. Suddenly it didn't matter that you'd already chosen the day you'd ask me to marry you (our third dating anniversary) or that I'd already chosen our wedding date (seven-seven-oh-seven). All that mattered was that we'd done things wrong. Those plans of ours changed.

There's this question that has been weighing on my mind this past week, thinking about those beginnings of ours. I remember when, after two days of silence, of you being there-but-not-really-there, it came time to talk it through. I already knew what I was going to do. I was going to love my baby and let the rest happen however it happened. But what about you? I finally asked, and there was more silence, and then you told me you'd stay. You'd stay because even if you left, people would still find out. You were being honest about your inability to hide from the consequences of our actions - people would still find out - but oh, those words sunk down deep inside me. And sometimes, during moments of doubt, that is the question that weighs on my mind: Is that the only reason you stayed? Would you have left if you could have escaped shame-free?

We were lying in bed last night, both of us tired but unable to sleep. I wanted to ask you that deep niggling question of mine. But then a different voice spoke up. Stepping over my insecurities and fears, the voice of peace and calm and reason asked, what does it matter? And oh, Love, it doesn't. It doesn't matter why you stayed then because there isn't even the slightest part of me that questions whether or not you deeply love and cherish me now. You do, and I have never had cause to question it.

Children aside, this is the single greatest gift you have given me in our marriage: the gift of knowing for certain that you love, cherish, and adore me. Oh, you don't always like me. I don't always like you. We are so woefully imperfect, learning and growing together along this journey. But you love me and I love you, and I hope you feel my love just as assuredly as I feel yours.

This dance of ours has had its highs and lows over the years, but here we are, ending our fifth year together on the mountaintop, closer than ever. It gives me hope for the rest of our years together. This marriage stuff can be hard, but it is oh-so-worth it.

So Love, here's to five years together. I can't wait to see what the next five bring.

When the husband's away...

When he told me he was leaving for a whole week on some fancy-schmancy school/networking trip, I had visions of quiet evenings to myself, delicious meals of the sort he would never enjoy, and everything running like a well-oiled machine since I wouldn't have to be waiting around or reminding him to get to his tasks. No, they'd just be my tasks, and of course I'd get them done promptly.

Yeah.

The first night went like a dream. The kids were in bed promptly at 8:00 and the toddler was asleep shortly after. The boy and I had our nightly snuggle and chat. I left him with a glass of water and came out to a clean, quiet living room. I listened to music while adding the day's memories to our family journal. Everything was as peaceful as my introverted self had imagined it would be. It felt a bit strange going to bed that night - I had this odd desire to take my laptop with me for company - but I went anyway and had two boys snuggling with me by the time morning arrived.

Wednesday was a longer day. Nothing stands out as making it particularly so, but long it was. Turns out it's kinda nice to have someone around to help out with the little things, like changing diapers or wiping bottoms or taking out the trash. Who knew?

The day ended on a particularly great note when the toddler tripped and smashed his mouth into the edge of the coffee table. The poor child cut his lip on the inside, opened a gash below his lip on the outside, and shifted one of his front teeth forward. There was, of course, a lot of blood, and an initial reaction on my part of oh-my-goodness-do-we-have-to-go-back-to-the-ER-already??? The gash on the outside probably would have received a stitch or two if we'd gone in, but in the end I decided it wasn't an ER-worthy wound, if only he would stop chewing on it and reopening it every time the bleeding slowed. That problem was quickly solved with a bandage; unfortunately, the poor child was absolutely furious about this solution and proceeded to angrily sob himself to sleep in my arms. I laid him down in bed and he had a nice long nap - which sounds perfect, except that he woke up at bedtime. He was still awake when I went to bed. Naps, while a nice downtime during the day, are never worth it with him come bedtime.

Thursday started off well. His lip looked much better when I removed the bandage. We went out to play with some friends. Had a great morning and headed back shortly after lunch, stopping for a sandwich and donut at Tim Horton's. Unfortunately, the long drive back home meant - guess what? - another nap for the toddler. Oh boy.

By the time dinner arrived, I was exhausted. After a long internal debate over whether it would require more energy to cook dinner or to take the kids out for dinner, I settled on going out. We went to IHOP, where I had salt for dinner. Or at least that's what the entire meal tasted like. I'm pretty sure I actually ordered pot roast with mashed potatoes and corn, but perhaps I misspoke. At least the kids enjoyed their pancakes. Dinner was followed with a run around the mall's play center, a (purchase-free!) trip to the toy store, and a few necessary groceries. I was pretty much feeling like Supermom by that point - I'd fed my kids, let them run around, and got groceries. Whoot! Top of the world. So what if yesterday's dinner pots were still soaking in the sink? Habits, schmabits. I'd get to them the next day.

By the time I dragged myself back into the house, got the kids' teeth brushed and pajamas on, and settled us all into bed, I was pretty sure I'd never feel awake again. The exhaustion. Wow. The toddler had another nap-induced late night, but eventually he was out and I was able to drift off into what felt like the most wonderful sleep ever.

Until 1:30am, that is, when I woke up to the discovery that, oh yeah, I forgot about the diaper part of the bedtime routine. That was pretty much the low point of the week. Bedtime routine is the husband's nightly responsibility. He gets them their snack, reads their bedtime story, brushes their teeth, puts their pajamas on, and doesn't forget about the diaper. You'd think it'd be a pretty common sense part of bedtime, but heck if I can ever seem to remember on those rare nights when the bedtime routine falls to me. Well, lesson learned. Don't forget the diaper if you don't want to be giving a bath and scrubbing poo off the carpet at 1:30 in the morning. I sure didn't want to be.

Fortunately, every morning is the start of a new day, and this day was definitely better. I took mercy on myself and dozed on the couch all morning while the kids played. I almost felt human by the time I got up. We had a quiet afternoon of crafts and books before heading out to a big sale at one of out favourite toy stores. Two hundred and some-odd dollars later, the boy's birthday gifts were more than purchased. (Fortunately, the purchases were all actually gifts I intended to purchase, so it wasn't a bunch of impulse buys, and I saved a good bit of money on them too!) Then it was out for dinner again (*coughA&Wcough*) and back home for a brief rest before starting the evening tidy. The kids cleaned the living room while I finally tackled the kitchen and a few other bits of housekeeping that had been neglected over the past couple of days. The toddler went right to sleep at bedtime and the boy, after our snuggle and chat, was asleep soon after. And I remembered the diaper.

So here I am, listening to music, eating chocolate-covered cherries, and rambling on in an incredibly unimpressive blog post (my apologies, dear readers; I blame the pregnancy exhaustion and promise you something far more fabulous in the days to come). We will see what the next days hold - will I remember the diaper? will the dinner pots get washed? will I sleep all morning again? - and look forward to the husband's return early Monday morning.

He might not be perfect, but it turns out it's pretty darn nice to have a partner to walk through this life with.

I miss you, Love.

On fathers and husbands

It was late when we pulled up to the house last night, the boys and I, after nearly 11 hours of driving home from their Oma's house.

Please, God, just let the house be clean this time. I'm tired. He's had all week to himself, no little hands to undo his work, no outings to take up his time, no one other than himself making messes or dirtying dishes or creating laundry. Please, just let it be clean.

It wasn't clean.

An hour later I had the sheets on the bed, the laundry folded and put away, the counters cleaned off, the other messes tidied. I went to bed without a word. You think I want to spend time with you now? Dream on.

Oh, grace. I can offer it to everyone else - my children, friends, strangers, even myself - but where is it when I need it for my husband? I punish him with my silence even as I speak out against punishment. My relationships with my children seem to come so instinctively to me. Oh, we have our bad days, don't ever think otherwise, but for the most part we flow peacefully through our time together. But this wife thing? I just can't seem to figure it out.

I am a sucky wife married to a sucky husband.

No.

I am a human wife married to a human husband.

He is a mess and I am a mess. He is inconsiderate and I am uncompassionate. He cannot see what needs to be done around him and I have the communication skills of a tree. If that.

But every time it gets really bad, I remember my dad.

I asked him once how he did it. How did he put up her cruelty? How did he endure the low blows she dealt, nothing off-limits, nothing sacred? How did he not take it all personally? Why did he stay? I wanted to understand.

He looked at me and answered my string of questions with one simple line: "Because I made a vow."

Because he made a vow. It was as simple as that to him. He endured the abuse* and continued to love her with a steadfast patience I could not comprehend, all because he had made a vow.

And I! What have I to deal with? Some laundry in a basket? Some clean sheets in the dryer instead of on the bed? Dirty dishes in the sink? A husband who yes, can be thoughtless, yes, can be black-and-white in his thinking, yes, can be lazy, but who has never even once given me reason to think he didn't absolutely love and adore me? Who has never treated me poorly or tossed cruel words in my direction or given me reason to fear for myself or my children?

In short?

1. My dad is my hero.
2. My husband loves me.
3. And I love my husband.
4. Flaws and all.

* I want to be clear that I don't advocate for people staying with an abusive spouse. Unfortunately much of the Christian church, in valuing the marital vows, has swung into the opposite dangerous extreme of encouraging women to stay with abusive husbands, or mocking men who try to seek help when living with an abusive wife. This is often coupled with a misguided understanding of "suffering for Christ" or "turning the other cheek". I believe it is not loving to allow a spouse to continue in his or her sin, nor to leave children in danger for the sake of the marriage. Some time apart while the spouse receives the help s/he needs may be best for all parties involved. However, every situation is unique and requires a unique response. Because my father is not in physical danger and because he has compassion for the pain my mother has endured in her life that has caused her to become the person she is, he has chosen to honour his vows in this way. There are other equally valid ways of honouring one's vows that don't involve just living with the abuse.

Attachment Parenting: A father's role

Today in our Attachment Parenting Series, we will be discussing the role of fathers. If you have written a post on fatherhood as it relates to Attachment Parenting, please do share it with us in the comments below!

Introduction

Fathers play a vital role in Attachment Parenting (AP).*

When the mother is the primary caregiver, she will naturally be the one to spend the greatest amount of time in contact with the baby. In the early weeks, the mother will be the one to do most of the parenting of the infant simply by virtue of the amount of time a baby spends at the breast. However, it is because of this higher contact between mother and child (when the mother is the primary caregiver) that the father should be highly involved in parenting during the time he does spend at home.

An involved father serves a two-fold purpose: he will bring his own unique offering to the child, and he will help prevent the mother from burning out.

* For simplicity’s sake, I refer to the “husband”, “father”, and “marriage”. Please expand this to fit any form of long-term partnership that involves parenting a child, where one parent stays home with the child as the primary caregiver. The unique needs of attachment parenting as a single parent require their own focus, one which I am not qualified to provide.

Unique offering

The father brings his own unique offering to his child. With the exception of physically breastfeeding the baby, the father can be involved in all areas of raising his child. This close involvement will allow a young baby to become accustomed to the father’s distinct smell, sound, and feel, providing the baby with a second strong attachment relationship. As the child grows, he or she will continue to benefit from this close relationship and from the unique offerings brought by each parent.

Preventing burnout

The father’s involvement is of particular importance when taking an AP approach to parenting because it is far too easy for a mother to become burned out when left to meet all of the child's needs alone. Although it is common for the baby to naturally prefer the mother in the early months, the father plays a central role in creating a supportive environment, helping to nurture the child by supporting the mother. A father’s involvement includes both emotional support and practical involvement.

Emotional support

When a father is supportive rather than critical, he frees the mother to share her burdens rather than bottling them up. Because AP mothers often find themselves swimming against the parenting current, they are frequently reluctant to discuss parenting struggles for fear of having the blame placed on their choice to approach parenting in an AP manner. A mother who does not face the same criticism at home will be better able to confide in her husband and seek support from him when needed.

Emotional support can take many forms, including:

• public unity
• verbal encouragement
• involvement in decision-making
• assistance with meal prep and housework
• encouraging a tired mother to meet her own need for self-care, and
• working with the mother to make changes when necessary.

This emotional support should begin before the baby is born with the father’s involvement in the pregnancy. In addition to the above, this involvement may include accompanying the mother to prenatal visits, talking to the baby in the womb, assisting in preparing the nursery, and encouraging the mother through labour and delivery.

Practical involvement

Although a father cannot breastfeed the child, he can support the breastfeeding relationship not only emotionally, but in practical ways as well. Does the nursing mother need a glass of water or a book? Are there meals that need to be cooked or older children that need to be interacted with?

Babywearing is an especially useful tool for fathers, encouraging a strong father-child bond as the baby becomes accustomed to the father’s unique walk, movement, heartbeat, smell, and voice. The father can wear the baby around the house, take the baby for a walk, or rock the baby to sleep.

A father can be involved in nighttime parenting as well. For the bed-sharing family, this involvement may be more supportive than practical, as sleep disruptions are minimal when the stirring baby needs only to find comfort in a nearby parent or latch on to nurse back to sleep. When the child is sleeping in his or her own space, the father can bring the baby to the mother to nurse when needed, change the baby’s diaper if necessary, and settle the baby back to sleep.

Finally, a father can be involved in the daily care of the baby and the home. This includes housekeeping, diaper changes, baths, meal prep and cleanup, bedtime routine, entertaining, comforting, and responding to the baby’s cries.

Benefits

A father’s close involvement with his child will benefit each family member individually as well as the family as a whole.

Benefits to the father

In addition to the rewards any mutually loving relationship brings, the father will benefit from the strong attachment that develops through his close involvement with his child. As connection grows, the parent/child relationship becomes increasingly natural and instinctive. The resulting mutual trust and sensitivity is the basis of the parent/child relationship and the foundation upon which future discipline will rely.

Every interaction with the baby allows the father to better read and respond to his child’s cues. The better the father knows his child and the more the child trusts the father, the easier discipline will be as the child grows. The father will also be better equipped to care for the child in the absence of the mother.

Benefits to the mother

With the assistance of an involved, nurturing father, the mother will:

• be more rested and calm
• be better able to meet her own needs
• be less likely to develop postpartum depression
• feel confident in her husband’s abilities to care for his child, and
• benefit emotionally from the support and encouragement of her husband.

Benefits to the child

The child will benefit from having a second strong attachment relationship. Each parent offers something unique to their relationship with the child, and the child benefits from both. Having a close relationship with both parents better enables the child to grow to be a healthy, well-adjusted adult. The positive interaction with and example set by an involved father will be beneficial to the child as he or she grows.

Mothers and fathers relate to their children differently, approach discipline differently, and interact with their children differently. When the underlying approach to parenting is one of unity, these differences will balance and complement each other. The child will thrive on the unique input each parent brings into their life.

Encouraging the reluctant father

Because of the frequent contact and close proximity between mother and child, the AP mother quickly becomes adept at reading the child's cues. This can shake the confidence of a father at first. He needs to be given the opportunity to bond and learn to read his child's cues as well. AP is particularly beneficial to the father in these circumstances because it allows him to develop the deepest connection with his child in the limited time he has.

To encourage the reluctant father:

• promote early bonding through holding and comforting
• provide opportunities for him to learn to read his child’s cues
• allow him to develop his own unique way of meeting the child’s needs
• offer suggestions if needed without hovering or nitpicking (“You could try…”)
• purchase a gender-neutral baby carrier (the Ergo is a popular “male-approved” choice)
• provide resources for the father to develop a deeper understanding of Attachment Parenting

Summary

The father has an important role to play in Attachment Parenting, bringing his own unique offering to the child while helping to prevent the mother from burning out.

A father’s involvement includes both emotional support and practical involvement. Emotional support may include understanding, encouragement, unity, involvement in decision-making, and assistance in making changes when necessary. Practical involvement may include supporting the breastfeeding relationship, babywearing, co-sleeping, taking part in nighttime parenting, and assisting in the daily care of the baby and the home.

Attachment Parenting will allow the father to bond with his child more quickly and will give him useful tools to support the mother emotionally while assisting in the practical aspects of parenting. In addition to the benefits this offers to the mother and child, it enables the father to grow into a confident and involved parent.


Recommended Reading:

Fathers by Dr. Sears
Becoming a Father: How to Nurture and Enjoy Your Family by Dr. William Sears
Father's First Steps: 25 Things Every New Dad Should Know by Dr. Robert Sears

Four years

This morning I opened my laptop to find a card tucked inside, sweet words thanking me for saying yes, for the day we took turns saying our "I will" four years ago.

Four years. It feels so much longer, and yet the years stretch empty ahead of us, waiting to be filled. With what, I wonder? More of the joyous times of marital bliss? More struggles? Both, I imagine, but in hopes of discovering far more of the former and less of the latter, I listen to the words of the ones who are wiser, who have done this far longer. I drink in Ann's beautiful words on how to fall in love again in four minutes a day. I find comfort in Katiekind's wisdom on having raised a family together as her grown children leave home. I watch his parents, happily married after three decades, and I humbly accept their proffered advice. I pray. Oh Lord, do I pray.

I pray that I will seek always to change myself rather than trying to change someone else. I pray that I will speak words of love and encouragement rather than the words I heard my father receive as a child. I pray that I will speak rather than wrap myself in bitter silence. I pray that I will seek to support and serve rather than be served. I pray that I will always hold the good far tighter than the bad.

For there is so much good. I am blessed to have married a man who speaks such kindness, who forgives so readily, who does not hold me to an arbitrary standard of what a wife should be and should do. His children adore him. The oldest loves to "play rough with Daddy!" and snuggles close for another chapter of a story at bedtime each night. The youngest delights in a back-and-forth game of silly imitations, the two of them snapping at each other like turtles or blowing zerberts on bare skin. And us, quiet evenings together after we each tuck a boy into bed, sometimes sharing an activity, sometimes sitting beside each other in comfortable silence as I sew and he builds. He has given me so many fond memories to hold dear.

This afternoon I will make his favourite, triple berry crisp, and tonight the four of us will go out for a celebratory dinner, celebrating a wonderfully full four years of marriage and the hope of the years to come.

Torn asunder

It hurts to confess this.

Many times over the past three years, I have thought this would be easier on my own.

If I just took the boys and left, things would be easier. The bulk of the responsibilities would still lie on my shoulders, but no longer would there be someone in the other room to feel bitter and resentful towards. I would still have little time to pursue my own interests, but not because someone else filled up hours with his own. Things would be my responsibility and mine alone, by the simple fact of there being no one else. That, truly, would have to be easier to accept than this life I currently live, wouldn't it? Easier to be alone and wholly responsible, than to only feel that way?

I needn't share a list of my husband's supposed wrongdoings. I know the list of my own is at least as long. He could reconsider his priorities; I have horrendous communication skills. And we are, both of us, selfish and human.

I find I have far more patience for the immaturity of my children than I do for that of my husband. I also communicate far better with the kids than with him. I set boundaries with them better than I do with him. I don't tend towards either permissiveness or punitiveness with the kids, but too often with my husband I enable damaging behaviour because I don't want to be the nagging wife, and then I get angry and swing to the other extreme, punishing him with my silence and hostility. There are days when the neediness of children deeply wears on me, but more often than not it's the wife part that I really struggle with.

And I catch myself imagining what it would be like. What if I did just...leave? Take the kids and leave a note? A time apart to think, to consider priorities, to establish a set of healthy boundaries before coming together again? I could go back home, spend time with family...I could move near his own parents, a gesture to say I'm not gone forever...I could find my own way, just the boys and I, a small place, we could get by on my modest income from the work I do at home.

Bitterly, I think, that would teach him. He would lose us and then he'd realize, then he'd change.

Last night, I got my wish.

Praise God it was only a dream.

We were fighting - odd enough in itself; we never fight, not out loud - when he straight-out asked me if I wanted a divorce.

I hesitated for only the briefest of seconds before saying, yes.

He left. And when he came back, I had what I "wanted". I was on my own.

As he told me, casually, amicably, I first felt shock. It was over, just like that?

This was followed almost immediately with a feeling of bitterness. Of all the things to take initiative on, he chose this? All the times I had to remind him to do this, prepare everything so he could do that, or give in and just take care of things myself - this, this, he just went out and did on his own?

Finally, I felt a deep and abiding sadness. Loneliness beyond imagination. Ripped in two. We had torn asunder that which God had joined.

We spent, for whatever reason, the rest of the evening with his family. Everyone was so laid back, so friendly, so relaxed. As they talked together, I curled up in a chair, needing no blanket, wrapped in my own shock and loneliness. He was there - right there - and yet, no longer one, it felt as though he were a world away. I couldn't reach him, couldn't talk to him, couldn't claim him as my own, my husband, my darling, who had always been so kind and gentle and loving despite his tendency towards inattentiveness and solitude.

No longer would I be able to curl up against him, to rest my head on him, to be gathered into his strong and safe arms.

No longer would he be there to talk to, that man who had heard my deepest thoughts and shared my daily life.

No longer would he live with me, patiently enduring my own faults, loving me despite my own poor behaviour.

I felt I would never be whole again.

As I woke from my dream, escaping what until then had been nearly a fantasy in my mind, I felt such relief and gratefulness. He's not perfect, and there will always be issues to work through together, but I am deeply blessed to have him in my life. He is patient, kind, loving, and gentle; he desires the best for me and for his family; he is an amazing father; he is accommodating, understanding, and compassionate towards me.

I have married a man. He has weaknesses, yes, just as he has strengths. Just as I, too, have both. We compliment each other well, our strengths accommodating the other's weaknesses. He is my closest friend and constant companion. I am grateful for his presence as we journey through our life together.

No more will I longingly and bitterly imagine my life without him. I am sorry that I ever did so, ashamed and repentant. I am grateful to have been given this glimpse into that reality, the deep sadness and loneliness that follows the tearing apart of two lives joined as one.

I must take my eyes off his weaknesses and look instead to my own. How can I better communicate with my husband? How can I let my needs be known? How can I support and encourage my husband? In what ways am I seeking fulfillment from a man instead of God, as it should be?

Pray for us, if you will. Pray that I will not hold to my self-righteous silence in place of honest communication. Pray that I will not sweep hurts and angers under the rug instead of striving to work through them. Pray that I will not forget the immense sadness and loneliness of having our marriage torn asunder - for I know that the reality of it would be no less painful than that of the dream.

Community

Last night was another wonderful night of studying the Bible with a small group of friends from our church. As always, the evening was made even better by the presence of our children amidst us. No childcare needed - just a group of people who occasionally glance down to smile at the children playing at our feet. Every time we get there, the boy and his friend start squealing and jumping up and down before grabbing hands and running off to play with her toys or chase each other around the house. As we start our prayer and study, the kids quiet down (as quiet as a couple of toddlers can be, anyway!) and the babies sit on their mama's laps or nurse at their mama's breasts.

We're quite the collection - a few couples of various ages and several single university and seminary students. It's not a "mom's group" or a "couple's group" or a "college group" or a "parents' group", and yet no one frowns at the giggling children or asks the nursing mothers to cover up or leave the room. (How will breastfeeding ever become the norm in our society again if we continue to hide away in bathrooms, spare rooms, or vehicles whenever our babies need to nurse, as though we're performing some "necessary evil" in feeding our children, something shameful, something indecent, something to be covered up? Society needs to see breastfeeding mothers doing just that - breastfeeding!) It is so encouraging as a mother to be openly welcomed into a beautifully mixed group of people, and to have my children welcomed along with me.

This is what we have been searching for - a community that we can be a part of. People bound not by some common age or stage in life, but rather people of all ages and stages bound by love for each other and love for our Saviour. People who can be honest and real with each other, cry in front of each other, share our struggles and joys and triumphs with each other, learn from each other, and pray for each other.

I'm not an outgoing person. I'm an introvert, and painfully shy on top of that. I'm pretty happy to sit at home all day - but I know this is not how we were designed to live. We were designed to live in community. Community, though, is no longer easy to come by. Raised from birth to be "independent", we have become a society of individuals who pride themselves on relying on no one but themselves.

How's that working out for us? Not so well, I'd venture to say. Staggering divorce rates suggest a distinct lack of healthy married role models. Youth seek connection in sexual relationships before they've even reached double digit ages. Mothers are so overwhelmed by raising children without support that they resort to leaving their babies to cry because they just can't handle it anymore. Increasing rates of post-partum depression further decry this isolation. We were not made to do it all on our own!

Where are the older married couples to guide and encourage the younger? Where are the close family relationships that meet a child's need for connection? Where are the sisters, mothers, aunts, grandmothers, and friends to help the overwhelmed mother with the tasks of raising her children and running her household? I want these things for my children. I need these things for myself!

And so, homebody that I am, I seek community. I seek it for myself, I seek it for my marriage, I seek it for my children. And in this jumbled collection of Christ-followers, I have found it - community, in all it's raw and heartfelt beauty.

I have found it elsewhere, too. Online communities, like the wonderful ladies at Gentle Christian Mothers, have helped me through these early years of motherhood. A smaller online community that I have been a part of for the past few years, consisting of beautiful ladies like Melody, Adrian, and Nicole, has provided friendship, accountability, prayer support, challenging discussions, and a deeper study of God's Word. Blogs and message boards have allowed me to keep in touch with friends I've moved away from (like the lovely Trace), form new friendships (like the inspiring Karyn), and delve into a wealth of information (like the infamous Annie of PhD in Parenting).

Finally, far-flung though they may be, we seek community in our extended family. We may no longer have the multi-generational family under one roof, as was (wisely, I think) done in the past, but we can maintain those important connections despite the distance that separates us.

It may not be as easy to find community as it once was, but it is no less important - perhaps moreso, even, in the society we have become. Intentional community requires deliberate action, time, effort, vulnerability, honesty, and grace.

And for some of us, it means putting aside our introvert ways and pushing through our shyness to reach out to others - for the sake of ourselves, our families, our children, and our society.

Three years

Today has been three years since I said I will.

Not "I do." Far more than just that present moment. I will. As long as we both shall live, I will.

Though at times I stumble...I will love him.

Though I am only a frail human myself...I will comfort him.

Though I may falter...I will honor him.

Though difficult times come...I will keep him.

Though my flesh is weak...I will be faithful to him.

In sickness and in health.

Forsaking all others.

Beyond the fleeting feelings of now.

I will.

And for three years, we have. We have loved, comforted, honoured, kept, and been faithful. There has been sickness and health, good times and bad, richer and poorer.

We have grown together over the past three years, and our changes have only brought us closer. So much has happened in those short years. Two births - there is something indescribable about watching your husband become a father. Three moves, with all of their accompanying stress and good-byes. Unemployment and a return to school, bringing a time of maturation and refocus for us both.

This man has seen me at my worst and still loves me. He has survived pregnancy hormones with his usual enduring patience. He makes me feel beautiful despite my post-birth insecurities. He reminds me of God's provision when I start to wonder how we'll make it. He comforts me during times of frustration and sadness. He encourages me to try new things when I hesitate. He eats my experimental recipes, brave man that he is, and never complains - about anything, really.

I am blessed to know him, grateful to have married him, and content to rest secure in the knowledge that we will.

I love this man

My husband told me the other day, as he rubbed my bare belly, that he finds me even more irresistibly sexy when I’m pregnant, with all my curves and growing bump - after all, he said, isn’t that the whole point of sex? To form a child?

I love that my children have a father who sees them as a blessing and finds their ballooning mother to be attractive.

I feel the same sense of gratefulness and adoration every time he looks at our son and smiles, whispering to me, “he’s a pretty cool kid, isn’t he?” Every time he leans over to kiss him as he sleeps. Every time he scoops him up in his arms, throws him in the air, then hugs him tightly and tells him how much he loves him. Every time I see him kneeling down to talk gently to our son, teaching him how to grow into a godly man. Every time I get out of bed in the morning and watch the two of them automatically gravitate towards each other, snuggling while they sleep in for a while longer. I couldn’t ask for a better father for my children.

The boy and I gave him tickets to the monster truck show for Father’s Day. I made the mistake of telling the boy about it ahead of time, which resulted in a full day of asking for the monster trucks. I didn’t mention it again after that! More than a week later, I told the boy that I had picked up Daddy’s Father’s Day present. Thinking for a minute, he said, “fadder’s day…monster trucks!!” What a memory that kid has. Anyway, the two of them had a great Saturday afternoon watching the “big loud trucks!” They met up with some friends of ours there, so the boy made a new little friend (and hasn’t stopped talking about her since) and my husband got to talk to someone who wasn’t a toddler for once.

And I, meanwhile, enjoyed the most wonderful belated Mother’s Day. I had chocolate, a good book, a beautiful day, and more than three lovely hours in which to do nothing but relax. Ah, it was sweet.

We invited my family over for a Father’s Day barbecue the next day. I sought out some bison meat to surprise my husband with. We may not have a farmer’s market here, but I am seeking ways to buy local food when possible. I’ve found a local source for bison meat, deer meat, and fish so far. (Oh, and a local source for strawberries – our backyard! The boy and I were exploring the other day and discovered that our backyard is full of wild strawberry plants! I so love this country living stuff.) We enjoyed barbecued bison smokies, devilled eggs, potato wedges, and watermelon for supper. We finished the evening off with a long walk and warm fresh-baked cinnamon buns (my MIL’s recipe – many thanks!). We all had a really nice time.

I hope, though, that I can make my husband feel appreciated and cherished every day, not once a year. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that, those times when I catch myself starting to silently nit-pick at all the things I would do differently if I were still the one at home all day – but for now I’m not, and my son is still thriving despite those differences. For that, and so much more, I am grateful for this man - and grateful that for whatever crazy reason, he loves me too.

2 years ago yesterday...

I married my childhood sweetheart.

I'm so grateful to have him in my life. He is patient, kind, supportive, honest, goofy, and intelligent. We balance each other out perfectly, in so many ways, and my life is all the richer and better with him in it.

When I was a kid, I swore up and down that I was never getting married, I was simply going to adopt a child and live happily ever after, just the two of us. I have to say, I'm glad I changed my mind. I'd have missed out on one amazing husband - and my child would have gone without an incredible father.

We had a lovely dinner out yesterday, then came home and spent the evening snuggled in bed watching Fireproof. It wasn't without its cheesy moments, but it was quite good overall. (We were both pleasantly surprised.)

Shortly after it ended, our son woke up, staggered sleepily into our room, climbed into bed and the three of us snuggled down together for the night. I am so blessed to have both those guys in my life.

Here's to another happy year together, and the promise of more to come - "until death do us part". Cheers!

Marriage

I love being married.

Last night was one of those wonderful precious nights where my husband and I laid in the dark talking until the early hours of the morning, our beautiful baby boy sound asleep snuggled between us. I so enjoy those times together, those fruitful discussions, those intriguing disagreements, those whispered confessions, those gentle reassurances and encouragements and affirmations.

My heart melted every time he brushed his lips against our son's forehead, each time he stroked my hair and whispered his love and thankfulness.

I fell asleep shortly before sunrise, snuggled against my best friend (sweet baby boy having been moved to my other side), feeling so loved and so at peace, knowing that there was someone who knew me so well and - for whatever crazy reason - still loves me completely.

It is so clear to me why marriage is a picture of Christ and his bride the Church. I've learned so much about the steadfast love of God since marrying this man who loves me despite my faults, forgives me when I wrong him, and seeks to serve me in whatever way he can. I delight in the same, loving him, forgiving his humanness, encouraging him, serving him, fulfilling my role as his helpmeet, his ezer, his "co-carrier of a burden", his "valiant ally".

I am so blessed to have married a man who understands true biblical marriage. Neither of us tries to "set the rules" or order the other person around. We are blessed with echad unity. Our marriage is an act of continual submission to each other, hupotasso, a voluntary attitude of giving in, cooperating, assuming responsibility, and carrying a burden. Always seeking to put the other person first - perhaps to a fault at times! *laughs* It does make deciding what to do rather difficult when we are constantly desiring the other person's happiness.

This oneness, this echad, this unity - it's breathtaking. It is so much more than I imagined it would be. It is not the ultra-conservative church's grossly diminished hierarchy that calls for mere obedience, not the matriarchy at the other end of the spectrum, and not the business partnership of so many marriages in our modern society - God's picture of marriage is so much more than any of that. And I am so grateful.

I love waking up beside this man every morning and knowing that, barring death, he'll be there again when I go to sleep that night. I love resting in the certainty that our marriage will be "until death do us part."

I love that we have such similar goals. I love our differences that force us to think, and the discussions that arise from that. I love his straightfoward honesty. I love that he values my opinions. I love the way he treats me, and I pray that I always do the same for him.

I love, too, that our marriage is so fun. We enjoy being together, we laugh hard and often, we flirt shamelessly with each other. We're pretty much sickening. It's wonderful.

It still strikes me as amazing that when I met him twelve years ago, back in the seventh grade, I knew instantly that God had chosen him for me. He stood out somehow, this quiet boy, and I felt a certainty that I couldn't explain. I had long ago convinced myself I was mistaken when, eight years later, he asked me out at last. Nothing felt more right than finally marrying that boy.

And it still does.