Perfection: A birth story

I spent Saturday cleaning. The day before had been surfaces - cupboards and bathrooms and showers and toilets and whatever else appeared not quite perfectly clean. Saturday was floors, sweeping and mopping and scrubbing and washing mats until finally the house felt Ready.

Our fifth precious one was due on Sunday, but our last three had all been 5-8 days overdue so I wasn't holding my breath quite yet. I was predicting her arrival for the following Sunday, Father's Day. I did want the house to be Ready, though, just in case.

At 6:00 am on Sunday, I woke to crampy contractions, as I had each morning at 6 am for the past few days. They were irregular and minor and I paid no attention to them.

At 9:00 am, I went to the bathroom and discovered the slightest bit of bloody show. I crawled back into bed and told my half-asleep husband that the baby was coming today. The contractions continued to be crampy, irregular, and minor.

I had a shower around 9:20, during which the contractions become strong and regular but short. They stayed that way while I put clean sheets on the bed and folded a load of towels.

At my husband's prompting, I paged the midwife at 9:50 and again at 10:00. She called back to say that she was at another birth but would send another midwife from the clinic. We had discussed previously how much I did not like having a stranger in my home as the second midwife during Min's birth, so my initial reaction was are you KIDDING me?? But then she told me who it was; it was a midwife who had been part of my team for Kai's insane unplanned unassisted birth, so that was okay then. I was already quite fond of her and would be happy to have her be here.

After hanging up, we started timing my contractions at 10:15. They were consistently about 45 seconds long and 2-3 minutes apart. I was leaning on the dresser or on my husband and rocking through each one. They were strong but felt productive and easily manageable. We called the midwife again at 10:56 because she still wasn't here and things were feeling pretty serious. She said she was a few minutes out and to call her if the water broke. Less than 5 minutes later, my water did indeed break and we called back to let her know.

It was now 11:00. With my water broken, I knew the baby would likely be coming within the next couple of contractions. I moved to the shower, laid down a couple of towels, and got onto my hands and knees. The next ctx hit and it was strong. I lost my focus and allowed a bit of panic to set in and fight against the ctx, and while the baby did move lower, there was no crowning yet. After it eased, I managed to get one of my legs up so that I was in a better position. I calmed myself down, re-focused, and when the next ctx began, I worked with it and the baby was delivered entirely - head, followed by the slightest of pauses, and then the rest in one smooth motion, there into my waiting hands. It was 11:07 am, just over two hours from the time I had told my husband the baby would be arriving sometime that day.

At this point the midwife was on the stairs. So close, but once again we had unexpectedly had an unassisted birth. The baby began crying immediately. After resting there holding the baby for a couple of minutes, I looked at my husband and asked, "shall we check?" We unwrapped the towel and discovered, to my surprise, it was a girl!

We had a name for her before she was even conceived. Each of our kids had hoped we would have a girl. I would have been delighted either way, but I was grateful that our other daughter would have a sister.

I needed to shift positions, so I asked that we cut the cord now. Kai stepped forward and helped the midwife do so, and I handed our little girl to my husband. I moved into a more comfortable position and the placenta came without difficulty a few minutes later. I showered and moved into our bed. The midwife checked us over and both baby and I were fine.

The morning had been perfect. Everything had gone absolutely beautifully. There were no paramedics and fire fighters as with Kai's birth, no feeling of being swept along by the contractions as with Ell's birth, and none of the difficult decisions that came along with Min's birth. We had deliberately chosen this time to only have my husband, our kids, and the midwife there for the labour and delivery. We may have missed out on the midwife by a minute, but it was perfect anyway.

For our previous three homebirths, we had always included a dedicated support person for the kids. This time, however, we felt comfortable forgoing that (although I did have a wonderful friend on-call in case things did not proceed smoothly and an adult was needed for the kids). I am grateful that we made this choice. There was no pressure, no deadline. In the days prior, there had been no nervousness over whether the baby would arrive before whatever family member was coming to take care of the kids. No one was staring at their watch waiting for me to go into labour before they had to catch a plane back home. There were no extra voices or eyes in the house while I focused on birthing our child. It was simply perfect.

We had, as always, prepared the kids for the homebirth in advance. The kids had been in and out of the room during labour and knew that they were welcome to be there for the birth if they wanted to. Jay had been leading the midwife up the stairs and came into the bathroom just as she was born. Kai had been offered the opportunity to be there after my water broke, but had replied that he was listening to an audio book (C.S. Lewis's "A Horse and His Boy") and to please come get him after the baby arrived (all the laughter and tears at how perfectly "Kai" that reaction is). Ell and Min were both there, along with my husband, who had been, as always, a wonderfully supportive partner throughout the labour and delivery.

Our newest child (nicknamed Zoe in this space) is now five days old. Our first few days have been spent snuggling close as we rest, leaving everything else alone for a while. The world will wait; we will emerge when we are ready. The lovely husband is caring for each of us wonderfully. Zoe and I are working on getting a good (pain-free!) latch - after four other babies, I wasn't expecting this particular challenge, but here we are and we're figuring it out.

I am so grateful for the blessings of these past few days - her beautiful birth, her beautiful self, and each beautiful member of our family.

Homeschooling through the seasons

As year-round homeschoolers, there is no defined beginning or end to our homeschooling year. We flow from season to season as we strive for a holistic life-learning approach to education. Each season, however, brings with it a rhythm of its own, a fresh way to look at our learning and to structure our days.

Summer

Here we are on the cusp of summer. With a fifth little one expected within the next week or two, our summer will certainly require a shifting of rhythms.

Most years, however, our summers are spent in outdoor exploration with little in the way of structure. We try out new beaches, parks, and playgrounds. We talk, ask questions, find answers. We learn the names of the flowers currently blooming and we tend our vegetable garden. Butterflies are raised and released. New recipes are tried. Our days are often flipped around to take advantage of the cooler morning weather.

This works well for a season, and as autumn approaches we find ourselves ready for a bit more routine to our day. Although we tend towards an unschooling approach, some sort of framework keeps that unschooling from sliding into chaos for us.

Autumn

As the rain begins, we move into a different yet familiar rhythm. The specifics differ with each year, taking into account family circumstances and each child's individual needs, but the framework of it is generally the same.

After breakfast and a brief time of housework, we begin our Morning Gathering together on the couch. With some variation, this typically includes:

- Greeting, day's review, gratitude
- Bible story
- Hymn
- The Lord's Prayer and the Apostle's Creed
- Peace

After this gathering, we move into individual RRR time. Each child spends some time sitting with me on the couch and doing some combination of reading, writing, and/or math, depending on their needs and goals for the year.

Reading includes reading practice for those who need it. Our preferred resources are Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons followed by Sets 1-5 of Bob Books.

Writing may include letter formation, copywork, dictation, spelling lists, creative writing, or expository writing.

Life of Fred is our preferred math resource, along with times tables practice, logic and numeracy games, and other varied forms of numeracy development.

Autumn lunches make for an ideal read-aloud time. We particularly enjoy using this time for broad overviews of history such as Hillyer's A Child's History of the World or Gombrich's A Little History of the World.

Fall Fridays are STEAM project day, where we set aside our usual Gathering and RRR times and focus on hands-on science and art instead.

A portion of each afternoon is reserved for quiet time, an essential part of our day for each of us.

Winter

As fall moves into winter and a new calendar year begins, we often find the need to freshen up our usual routines. While autumn tends to have an individual focus with a heavy emphasis on reading, writing, and math, winter seems to demand a more cozy, group-based rhythm.

Our Morning Gathering continues, but the spiritual portion is truncated. We read Scripture, pray together, and sing a hymn. We choose a hymn for about a week and go through it one verse per day, discussing what the words mean. This becomes a great theology and vocabulary lesson! The kids take turns reciting our monthly poem; we've been going through Maurice Sendak's Chicken Soup with Rice book this past year. The poems are simple so it's been a great opportunity to focus less on memorization and more on how to make an entrance, introduce a poem, speak clearly, include expression, hold still, and be a good audience.

We then move on to a group lesson and discussion on science and history. This past winter we used David Macaulay's How Things Work for science and Gombrich's A Little History of the World for history.

Our gathering time finished, we move into a brief individual time. Our Life of Fred books are often finished by early December, so we take a break from the focused RRR time and work on more individual subjects. This past winter, for example:

- Jay would take The Jesus Storybook Bible and a regular Bible, read the relevant passages from the day's story in the Bible, and then compare/contrast the storybook version against the full version.
- Kai would read to me. He's a reluctant reader, so having him just sit and read to me each day greatly helped improve his fluency.
- Ell would work on letter recognition and printing with me, as well as early numeracy skills.

After that, if we started early enough, we had time for board games before lunch. With Life of Fred on pause for the time being, we chose to do some "gameschooling" for a while before jumping into the next LOF books.

This group routine is a good change each year, and the discussions add more science, history, and theology to our day than we typically have in the fall.

Spring

Eventually, however, our cozy winter group rhythm needs its usual seasonal sprucing up. We wind up our science and history and move once again into a more individual-based rhythm. It's a good time to reevaluate where each of the kids are and what each of them needs for the next couple of months. This spring, Ell insisted that I begin teaching her how to read, and both boys were eager to get back into Life of Fred. We also prepared and planted our garden, spent more time in nature, and of course had the usual pre-baby biology unit (always a favourite with the kids). This led to an unexpected enthusiastic interest in genetics and the opportunity for several other rabbit trails - perfect for spring.

As the weather warms up even more, our routine will shift once again into more of an outdoor/nature/exploration focus. This year we'll stay a bit closer to home, allowing me time to recover from childbirth and giving all of us the opportunity to get to know our new little one. We'll do less day trips and make good use of our backyard instead. There will be less audiobooks in the van and more read-alouds on the picnic blanket in the shade. It will be, as always, what our family needs.

This seasonal shift in routines works well for us and keeps things feeling fresh and relevant. I believe it to be one of the most important aspects of our homeschooling journey.

What seasonal shifts are currently happening in your daily rhythm?

Creative ways to say "no" to young children

As parents, we try to look for ways to say "yes" to our child's requests, allowing them to explore their world and develop their independence. Often, however, our answer must be either "no" or "not yet". When declining or postponing a young child's request, whether because we are unavailable at the moment or because the request itself is unacceptable in some manner, there are a variety of ways to get the message across without a direct "no".

These variations acknowledge the child's requests, validate their desires and emotions, and give them a clear picture of what options are open to them. Because the focus is on acknowledgement and positive phrasing, the child is likely to be more receptive to the response and less likely to experience overwhelming emotions and melt down as they otherwise might in the face of a simple "no".

Using age-appropriate phrasing, consider the following alternatives:

Timing

The answer to the request may be yes, but perhaps that exact moment is not the best time. In that case, postpone the request using a variation of the following phrases:

When...then...

"When your pajamas are on, then we can read a story."

Yes, after ___.

"Yes, we can go to the park after your toys are back in their basket."

I can help you with that after ___.

"I will get you a glass of milk after I finish washing these pots."

Right now I am ___. Would you like to join/help me?

"Right now I am doing the laundry. Would you like to put this shirt into the washing machine for me?"

Wish Fulfillment

Sometimes a child's request cannot be accommodated. It might sound like a great idea to the child, but it's simply not going to happen. Try wish fulfillment, a form of playful parenting, to acknowledge your child's desires:

That would be fun, wouldn't it? Let's try ___ instead.

"It would be fun to paint the dog. She would be so colourful! I don't think she'd like it very much though. Let's collect some rocks and paint them instead."

I wish we could ___, and then _[expand on fantasy]_! How about we _[more acceptable activity]_?

"You want ice cream right now? I wish we could too! I'd put cherries and chocolate sauce on mine. What colour of sprinkles would you put on yours? Wow, that sounds delicious. Talking about food is making me feel so hungry. Dinner is nearly ready, so let's set the table together."

Redirection and Distraction

While aspects of redirection and distraction can be found in the above phrasing, these approaches are useful in their own right. Here the focus is on avoiding power-struggles through simple observation followed by providing acceptable options:

"You may not play with Mommy's book. Here is one of yours."

"It is time for Quiet Time. Which CD would you like to listen to?"

"I see that you are spitting. You may go spit in the sink. When you are done, would you like to read a book with me?"

Additional Resources

Of course, this is only one tool for use in one particular scenario. Taking "no" out of the equation helps to side-step a power-struggle with a small child, but it holds no guarantees; meltdowns and tantrums happen during this time of development when young children are learning how to express and work through their emotions. When the situation warrants it, reflect the child's feelings back to him and, if needed, offer help in expressing those feelings in a healthy, appropriate, and acceptable manner.

For further reading as it relates to the gentle discipline of young children, check out these additional resources:

The Hows of Discipline
Ten Alternatives to Time-Out
Gentle Discipline for Toddlers

Adapt and Renew {One Word 2017}

Each year, in lieu of resolutions, I choose a single word on which to focus for the next 12 months. The fluidity and holistic nature of this word fits my spirit better than one specific resolution. They flow one year to the next, Grace leading to Joy leading to Presence, Intention leading to Rhythm leading to Habit, the culmination of all of those Opening my life wide for what may come. Then, a hard year, a decision to simply Go Forward bravely, one step after another. The year following demanded that I Fearlessly rebuild and heal and live, while the year after that brought Light: Live Light, Seek Light, Be Light.

Now another new year has arrived, and my focus is shifting once again.

2010: Grace and Intention
2011: Joy and Rhythm
2012: Presence and Habit
2013: Open
2014: Go Forward
2015: Fearless
2016: Light
2017: Adapt and Renew

Adapt. Renew. I find these two words circling each other as I look at the year ahead. These past two years have been ones of intense and deliberate habit building. I have shifted my sleep schedule, taken up running, adjusted our homeschooling rhythms, and developed a solid work-from home routine. It's been good. Really good. I'm happy with these rhythms.

But change always comes, and I know myself well enough to recognize that the perfectionist in me doesn't adapt well. If I can't keep my ideal routines, then it's easier to simple cast them aside rather than try to fit them into new shapes.

Well, change is coming again. In June, we look forward to welcoming our fifth child into our home.

I can't tell you how grateful I am to be able to say that.

I also can't tell you how very much this changes those intentionally-developed rhythms and routines.

I've already had to give up running. I had visions of running throughout my pregnancy, or at least for as long as felt comfortable, but my quickly-loosening joints put an end to that early on. The usual first-trimester exhaustion and nausea meant I was sleeping later and napping frequently. My work hours began to dip and homeschooling rhythms shifted as well. And naturally the prospect of a baby meant that further changes to our family routine would become necessary in the months ahead. Such is the nature of pregnancy: a demand to slow down, to rest, to do less.

It didn't take long for that perfectionism and anxiety to start speaking up. If I can't run and if yoga just doesn't quite compare, then I guess I can't really do anything. If I can't get up before the kids are awake, then my usual pre-kids morning routine simply cannot happen at all. And so it goes.

Unsurprisingly, that wasn't working either. I could feel it as my anxiety rose, my patience dropped, and my internal motivation went for a run and didn't bother coming back.

And so I must Adapt. These rhythms, routines, and habits must be Renewed for the coming year. Rather than write it all off as a lost cause, a bit more creativity and flexibility is required of me. The renewal has begun; we are shifting things around, finding what works, always the continual change but this time keeping a little more of the Good from the hard-won habits of the past two years.

Adapt. Renew. The latter brings a sense of birth, fitting for the year ahead, while the former has a less delicate feeling to it, a demand to simply do what must be done. They feel equally fitting, somehow, and I take from each what I need for this time and for the time to come.


Do you have a One Word this year? a resolution? a new goal or habit? We'd love to hear about it!

Advent with Children: A Simple Gathering

Advent begins this Sunday. Often I would still be scrambling to make the necessary preparations at this point, but several years of trial-and-error have smoothed the process for our family.

Some years we stay home throughout Advent, while other years have us finishing off the Advent season while travelling to visit family for Christmas. This is a travel year, with the particular joy of getting to spend time with two new nephews born in the past few months.

Whether we travel or stay home, we have always worked to observe Advent in some sort of meaningful way with our children. While always shaped by the particular needs of the family, we have found a steady rhythm in a simple daily gathering.

A Simple Daily Gathering:

1. Candles

We begin by lighting a candle together, which lends a sense of wonder and solemnity to this time of gathering.

• A traditional Advent wreath is first lit on the first Sunday of Advent, with an additional candle lit each week.
• A spiral wreath such as this cradle-to-cross wreath or wooden spiral candle holder will count down the days from December 1 until Christmas.
• Any stand-alone candle can be used instead of a more traditional wreath; more important than the colour or the number of candles is the ritual of marking the beginning of this time of gathering in a distinct way.

2. Scripture

Next we settle ourselves on the couch and read a portion of Scripture. This can be combined with the Jesse Tree portion (below) or can be an additional reading of some sort.

• The names of Jesus and their corresponding passages has been a favourite resource of ours for the past few years.
• The Daily Office Lectionary or the Revised Common Lectionary can provide a helpful guide for daily readings.
• This Advent reading plan accompanies The Jesus Storybook Bible, a particularly good resource for young children.

3. Jesse Tree

A Jesse Tree, comprised of 25 stories and their corresponding symbols, tells the story of Christ from Creation to the Messiah's birth. Traditionally a small tree is used on which a new ornament is added after each reading; however, the physical tree, while a nice concrete addition, is not integral to the progression of the story.

• Unwrapping the Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp is a popular option, with free colouring pages and tree ornaments to go along with each story.
• The Jesse Tree by Geraldine McCaughrean is a stand-alone story, which is particularly useful during years of travel. Corresponding ornaments can be created in a variety of ways, however, for those who appreciate the inclusion of a tree.
• There are countless homemade options and other published Jesse Tree resources that allow you to tailor this time to your family's particular ages and preferences; browse Google or Pinterest until you find your favourite!

4. Hymn

Each week we choose a new Advent hymn to sing together at this point in our gathering. This year our selections include:

• Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus
• O Come, O Come Emmanuel
• Love Divine, All Loves Excelling
• Lo! He Comes With Clouds Descending

5. Prayer and Peace

We close with a short Advent prayer before exchange the Peace and blowing out the candle.

• The Anglican Family Prayer Book by Anne Kitch is an excellent resource based on the Book of Common Prayer. I appreciate how much it simplifies the process of responsive prayer for our family.
• Your own preferred Advent resource is likely to include a prayer for the day.
• A simple free-form prayer can be offered in response to the days' readings. When going the free-form route, I often have each child share something for which they are thankful as a simple low-pressure addition to our collective prayer.

The details of our time of gathering changes with each year, but this outline provides a simple framework on which to hang those particular details. The basic pattern of coming together with a sort of ritual, moving into the reading of Scripture and/or devotional, and closing with a hymn and prayer provides unlimited potential for shifting and shaping this time in a way that feels smooth and right for your family.

While reviewing my Advent reflections in my Sacred Ordinary Days planner, I noticed that I had made note to not neglect my own personal Advent reflection and prayer. In that vein, my favourite grown-up Advent resources include:

• Comfort and Joy by Elizabeth Foss
• Advent for Everyone: A Journey Through Matthew by N. T. Wright
• Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas, with daily writings from C. S. Lewis, Kathleen Norris, T. S. Eliot, Dorothy Day, Henri Nouwen, Madeleine L'Engle, and more.

I hope you find some encouragement above as you create Advent rhythms and traditions with your children. December is a busy month, and a simple time of gathering can prevent us from moving too quickly into Christmastide while also allowing us to prepare our hearts in anticipation of Christ.

How does your family observe the Advent season? Please share your favourite traditions or resources as inspiration for the rest of us! 

What I Am Into - May 2016

What I Am Into :: May 2016


On My Nightstand:

I have been thoroughly enjoying N.T. Wright's After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters. As expected, it's slow going as Wright's words take time to settle in before moving on to the next bit, but it's progressing nicely nonetheless. Highly recommend.

I recently finished Erin Hunter's Into the Wild, at Jay's request. He's been enjoying the series and thought I might like it as well. It wasn't quite as bad as I expected (I admit, I was a teeny bit hooked by the end). It did give him the opportunity him to tell me about the rest of the books he'd read so far, and I could ask relevant questions to find out what had happened to various characters. He reads so much (to his little brother's frequent frustration) that I couldn't possibly read everything he does, but it was nice to share this one with him.

Otherwise, I've been on a bit of a dry streak as far as reading goes. DH just finished with Gaiman's Anansi Boys, so I'll be picking that one up next; DH chuckled his way through the whole book and then fervently recommended it to me as soon as he was done.

On Jay's Nightstand:

Speaking of Jay and his current nine-year-old reading habits, he's a bit of a funny kid. When we go to the library, he'll choose a wide selection of whatever his current favourite comic book is (right now it's Asterix). I'll go stand in front of the children's novels and sift through all the ridiculous tripe in hopes of finding some quality novels to quietly stack beside his bed. He'll roll his eyes and tell me he's not reading any of those because they all look boring - and then we get home and he'll pick one up and we won't see much of him for the rest of the day. He rarely returns any of my selections unread and usually asks if the author has written other books and if so, could I please put them on hold at the library for him? He's read some fantastic books lately. Particularly noteworthy ones:

* Colin Meloy's Wildwood Chronicles
* Jonathan Auxier's Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes
* Charles de Lint's Seven Wild Sisters
* Tony DiTerlizzi's WondLa Series
* Jacqueline Wilson's Katy
* Rachelle Delaney's Ship of Lost Souls
* Kate DiCamillo's Flora & Ulysses

In My Ears:

Audiobooks. All of the audiobooks.

I used to browse our library's audiobook selection before long road trips. The selection was always rather dismal, but I'd usually find a few to put on when the drive started to feel like it needed a good distraction. Somewhere around the best part of the book, invariably, the CD would be too scratched to continue and the rest of the disk would refuse to play. It was rarely a positive experience.

And then I discovered online audiobooks through our library.

I can browse an incomparably larger selection of audiobooks, borrow them for free, download them directly to my phone, and play them through our vehicle's speakers. It's been amazing. Forget saving them for long road trips - as soon as we get in the car, the kids as for our current selection to be put on. Our car rides are silent now. Silent.

And so many good books! We began with Ian Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, read by David Tennant. That was a lovely gem of a book, so we quickly listened to the next three in the series, written by Frank Cottrell Boyce and read by David Tennant. They lacked something of the charm of Ian Fleming's original, but they were highly entertaining nonetheless.

After that, I chose at random Jessica Lawson's Nooks & Crannies. THIS. BOOK. IS. BRILLIANT. Oh my word. It is everyone's current favourite book ever, mine included. It's basically a children's murder mystery and it is...I'm repeating myself, but it is brilliant. So enjoyable to listen to. Clever and witty and gripping and just brilliant. Susan Riddell did a delightful job of reading it, which just made the whole experience that much better. Love.

I have a frightening amount of audiobooks marked as favourite for future listening, as well as an actual CD audiobook of How to Train your Dragon, also read by David Tennant. This is a good problem to have, really. We have Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book (one of his children's novels) all set and ready to go for this afternoon's drive.

In the Kitchen:

Nothing spectacular has been going on in the kitchen lately, other than a spectacular fail of an attempt to use our dusty breadmaker. Right. That's why it's been sitting ignored in the back of a cupboard for the past couple of years. Because I can't make bread in the breadmaker worth anything. So the next day I bought two proper loaf pans and I'll just make my own bread, because somehow I find that much easier than this blasted breadmaker.

The kids wanted to make "cookie cutter cookies" last week, so I made a batch of sugar cookies and let them go to town, cutting and baking and decorating. It was all grossly unhealthy and equally fun, and baby Min took the opportunity to figure out that if he pushed a chair over to the counter, he could steal cookies basically whenever he pleased. So it was a fantastic experience for the kids all around, and a rather cringe-worthy one for me as a parent. Oh well. (Also, if you have a cookie recipe that is healthier than sugar cookies or butter cookies, but also works well with cookie cutters, please do let me know.)

What We've Been Doing:

The oldest two are currently in a weekly outdoor adventure camp for homelearners, which has been great. Today is archery and next week is canoeing, so to say they're excited would be putting it mildly.

They're also taking skating lessons right now. Kai has often been in skating lessons, but Jay was never interested. I signed him up for this current session because he had expressed interest in learning how to skate, but then when the time came, he decided he didn't want to go after all. I sent him out on the ice anyway, and afterwards he told me that he hated to have to admit it, but he kind of enjoyed it. Kind of enjoyed it is high praise from that one.

On the way to that first skating lesson (after two days of being grumpy with me), he told me that there was a two percent chance he might like it, but only because there weren't any other kids in his class so no one would laugh at him for not knowing how to skate. I told him people wouldn't tease him anyway, just like he didn't tease his friends for not knowing things that he knew. "Thanks," he told me, "now there's only a one percent chance I'll like it, since people wouldn't tease me anyway."

I took away his silver lining, apparently.

Lessons and camps aside, we've been enjoying plenty of trips to the park, a couple of visits from extended family, some kite flying, one morning of turning the entire living room into a giant fort, and another morning of using shaving cream to make marbled paper. Good times.

What I'm Looking Forward to in June:

We have a family road trip coming up at the end of June - and yes, I'm already planning what audiobooks to borrow for the trip. Other than that, June will be a quiet-ish month of finishing up our current round of activities and settling back into our usual routine.

Well, friends, that is What I've Been Into this past month. What about you?

Linking up to What I'm Into with HopefulLeigh...

For the mothers who aren't the best in the world

Well I know I can't enter you in THAT contest!

He said it with that familiar teasing nine-year-old smirk of his. I looked at the poster he had motioned towards. "Enter now: Tell us why YOUR mother is the best in the world!"

Ouch.

That stings a little, but I know what my literal boy was getting at. It's true, I am most definitely not, nor ever will be, the best mother in the world. I gave him a mock glare, he flashed me a cheeky grin, and we continued on with our day.

But it still stung. It was true and it was meant in a teasing manner and it still stung.

There was something else there as well, though, something deeper than the twist of a kid reminding you of your imperfection. There was relief, because he said that. To me. Directly and honestly and without fear. Goodness knows I could not have been so honest as a child, could not have acknowledged such a reality.

I climbed up onto the bunk bed later that night, our evening snuggle as important as ever.

You know, I told him, what you said earlier about me not being the best mother in the world was true...but it still hurt my feelings a bit.

But you're not the best mother in the WHOLE WORLD, he reminded me.

I know. I'm definitely not, and it was okay for you to say it. But it still hurt a bit.

I'm sorry.

Thank you.

I don't know who would be the best mother in the whole world.

I don't know either. What do you think she would be like?

Hmm. Maybe someone that let you do whatever you wanted. Except then she wouldn't be a very good mother because she wouldn't do the things like you do, like teaching me and stuff. I'd just be spoiled and it wouldn't really be being a good mother even though it's what I would want.

Interesting. I understand what you mean. What do you think you would do if I said you could do whatever you want?

I don't know, he giggled. I'd probably spend the whole day just sitting there trying to figure out what I wanted to do! Probably ask for a million dollars and my own phone that I could play games on whenever I wanted to.

And so the conversations go.

It's true, and the reminder is uncomfortable and painful: I'm not the best mother in the world. I am too often impatient and demanding, criticizing instead of encouraging. I lose my temper and shout when I should draw near with quiet connection. I use my authority to badger into submission rather than guide towards maturity. I huff and sigh and stomp. In my selfishness, I forget to really see them.

I'm not the best mother in the world, but I am the mother of a child who knows that, who knows that I want to be a good mother but I mess up, I make mistakes, I'm not even remotely approaching perfect. I try, I fail, and I apologize, providing them with the knowledge and assurance that they are worthy, that they don't deserve to be treated poorly, and that my mistakes are not excused simply because I'm an adult. And they will not grow up to say, "It was good enough for me, so it's good enough for my kids!" They will not say, "Well, my parents did it and I turned out fine." No, they will know that I did my best but wanted to do better. They will know that they can learn from my mistakes, grow, and do better for their own children.

Upholding the status quo is not enough. I want my kids to do better. I don't want "good enough" when it comes to them. I want better than "fine". I want them to thrive, blossom, and grow. As I strive to do better than my parents, I pray my children will do even better than I - and their children after them, and on and on through the generations. Not stagnating, but improving; there is always room for improvement. This is how we grow: we don't settle, we learn.

So to the rest of the imperfect mothers out there: It's okay. They'll learn from our mistakes as much as from the things we get right. And we'll all grow.

The Rhythms of Our Days

We settled into a good rhythm over the winter, easy and natural, a comforting flow to our rainy days. I have not always been particularly good at this. It was not until my first child left behind his go-with-the-flow infancy that I was forced to begin to shape our days into a steady routine. I sought a predictable beginning, middle, and end, with room to wander as life lead us.

And yet it remained a challenge for my distractable and disorganized self. I wanted to mark the rhythm of our days, weeks, seasons, and years. I wanted the comfort and security of routines for my children. I wanted to continue our journey towards intentional living, ensuring that the things we valued were not forgotten as our time idly slipped away from us. I just wasn't very good at it.

It's been six years since I first recognized the value of rhythm in our days. I have managed to find that rhythm in certain seasons, steady and reliable, while during other seasons it has slipped away from me. It has been a trial-and-error endeavor, up and down, off and on, but overall there has been a positive progression. Now, at last, our rhythms shape and guide our daily lives, rooted with anchor points, carried along by intentional habits, and ever being fine-tuned to fit our needs.

Right now that rhythm begins before dawn. I get up early with the husband to fit in my run or yoga. I settle into my morning quiet time while he heads off to work and the kids continue to sleep. My early mornings have become more life-giving than I ever would have imagined, and I most definitely notice its absence on days when it doesn't happen.

During this quiet morning time, I read Scripture, pray, journal, and read from my current non-fiction book. This is the sort of reading that I find more challenging during the day, when I won't have the devoted time needed to focus on the words, or at the end of the day, when I'm too tired to give it the thought required. After reading, I review our upcoming day, and then I do a bit of work or writing if I have extra time. And drink coffee. Of course.

The kids wake up one at a time. Ell is nearly always the first, with baby Min close behind. Jay and Kai sleepily wander out eventually, unless we have time-sensitive plans and I have to wake them up (to a chorus of grunts and grumbles and roars, the little bear cubs). After reading a couple of story books while they wake up properly, it's time for breakfast, followed by a bit of play time. Mid-morning we settle in to our sit-down time together, which may include any or all of devotional time, reading, writing, math, and science or geography. By then it's lunch time, during which we have our history read-aloud.

After lunch is our daily quiet time. Min naps while the other three occupy themselves with solitary activities (reading, puzzles, games, and so on) or head outside for some backyard playtime. I work until Min wakes up. There's often time for a game or two before moving on to dinner preparations. Post-dinner is the usual busy evening activities of clean-up time, baths, teeth brushing, bedtime story, and so on. Before I go to sleep myself, I set out the various things I need for morning - coffee supplies ready, stack of books waiting, clothes chosen. That morning time is precious to me and I wish to waste as little of it as possible.

I have been focusing this year on cultivating a deeper sense of home, and rhythm, I've discovered, is an integral part of that. Rhythm provides the hooks on which to hang our activities, our priorities, and our values. I can wake up in the morning knowing that all of the thought is taken out of our plans - the myriad of daily decisions, the preparations, the choosing of what and when and how, the fitting in of what matters to us as time carries us along. I can just get on with what needs to be done, more fully present in the moment and with less worries for the next few steps ahead.

But our rhythms are continually being adjusted, and this spring season has called for new life to be breathed into these old winter routines. We have been setting down the pencils and spending all the lovely mornings outside, at the playground, the beach, or walking through our favourite wooded areas. Our afternoons are still similar, allowing the baby to get in his nap (I will call him a baby forever and ever and don't you try to make me start calling him a toddler already, I don't care if he's walking everywhere and getting into everything and throwing epic toddler tantrums to go along with his Very Big toddler opinions) and providing me with a consistent time in which to do my work.

I find these times of rhythm transitions to be challenging. I feel off-kilter for a while, feeling my way semi-blindly through our days. I miss the simplicity of knowing generally how the day will unfold, and decision fatigue wears on me quickly. Eventually, though, we settle into the new season, rhythm lighting the path ahead, an ever-evolving framework for our family to grow up in.

What I Am Into - March 2016

What I Am Into :: March 2016
Oh dear - two "What I Am Into" posts in a row, with nothing at all in February. I do so dearly hope I can find a place in our daily rhythms to get back into the practice of writing in this space!

On My Nightstand:

This is embarrassing, but I have finally, for the first time ever, finished reading L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables. I know. What have I even been doing with my life all these years? Anyway, it has now been read, and of course I adored every word in it. It was Jay who got me to read it. He came into my room one night looking for a new book to read (an endless quest, the way that boy consumes books), so I handed him Anne of Green Gables, bookmark still in place from the last time I had picked it up and tried to get through it, many many years ago. He had no such similar troubles, however, and a few days later he handed it back to me and asked if I had liked it when I read it. Upon discovering that I had never actually read the whole thing, he told me that I should. So I did. And he was right. He has since read Anne of Avonlea and is almost finished Anne's House of Dreams, and I will do likewise as soon as he is done with my copy. And then we'll descend upon the library to get the rest of the Anne books that I don't own.

Aside from that, I have been slowly reading through Leahy's The Worry Cure. It was a little unsettling to have the first chapters describe me and my anxiety in such minute detail. This guy knows his stuff.

I finished Landry's Revolution of Mercy: How Kindness Changes Everything. This was such a lovely parenting book. I highly recommend it. If I may share my favourite quote:

"Our ideas of what 'success' is in the middle of the myriad crises of child-rearing should not be whether the child has done what we've asked them to do. True success means that our responses to our children imitate the love of Christ. We are faithful when we 'love our neighbour as ourselves.' Success is faithfulness, not productivity. Success is action, not outcome."

Doesn't that just pare it all down to its perfect basics? (And hey, right now the author is giving away three copies of the book, so go enter before April 4th!)

I've also finished Stephenson's Seveneves and Gaiman's Neverwhere, which were both rather interesting fictions.

During Eastertide, I will be reading N.T. Wright's After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters. I doubt I will finish it during the 50 days of this Easter season - I always find Wright's words require time to let them rest, settle in, and turn around in my brain before moving on to the next bit - but hopefully I can get a good start on it.

On the Screen:

The husband and I have finished Star Trek: The Next Generation and moved on to Deep Space Nine. I miss Picard and I'm eager to get to Janeway, but I'm enjoying DS9 in the meantime.

In My Ears:

I'm still mainly just listening to music while I run. During February, I switched from my 165-180 BPM playlist to my 150-164 BPM playlist. I had a good steady stride rate from the faster BPM playlist and hoped the slightly slower one would now help me to stretch out my stride and increase my overall pace. It worked precisely like that, to my pleasant surprise. My running pace has improved from 5:28 min/km at the end of January to 5:09 min/km in March. I am now running 6K each time (3 times per week) instead of 5K, and currently working towards a goal of 5:00 min/km for 6K (6K in 30 minutes). I've also added in yoga on the two weekdays that I don't run, which has been great for stretching out any achiness from run days.

Aside from running playlists, we've added in some music during Lent and Easter. During Lent, we sang through a Psalm each day using this Psalter. Throughout this Easter season, we will be listening to various Easter pieces, including Handel's Messiah, Bach’s Easter Oratorio, and Pachelbel’s Easter Cantatas.

In the Kitchen:

Easter meant some special baking was in order. These hot crossed buns were delicious. This Finnish pulla was my first attempt at the husband's favourite braided cardamom-flavoured sweet bread, and it turned out beautifully. Finally, these custard cream cookies were a nice dessert after Easter dinner.

What I'm Looking Forward to in April:

Outdoors and sunshine and gardens and dirt under my nails and sunshine and warmth and fresh air and sunshine. Basically just give me a patch of sunshine and let me bask in it.

Well, friends, that is What I've Been Into this past month. What about you?

Linking up to What I'm Into with HopefulLeigh...

What I Am Into - January 2016

What I Am Into :: January 2016
It's been a grey and rainy January, as January tends to be in this corner of our country. The first few days of 2016 were filled with extended family and belated Christmas celebrations and oh yes, plenty of turkey. Since then, we've been finding our rhythms and routines again, some old, some new, always shifting to fit the needs of the season. This season has been a quieter one, close to home - not quite the hibernation that December was, but slow and homey nonetheless. It's perfect right now, but I'm starting to feel that itch for spring and sunshine; oh, dreary approaching February, we will find joy in you somehow.

On My Nightstand:

I finally read Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, because I simply grew tired of seeing it recommended by everyone. It's certainly well-written but equally heart-rending. It might have been better at a time when I was feeling more emotionally prepared for it, rather than the dead of rainy winter in the post-holiday hibernation stage. Regardless, it lives up to all the recommendations.

I also read through most of Gaiman's Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances - again, simply because I saw it recommended so many times. Not sure this one lives up to its recommendations, but the writing is excellent, anyway. The stories are just a bit too random and strange for my taste.

I finished Rigg's Library of Souls: The Third Novel of Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, which was not as good as the first one, but still an engaging read and a satisfying conclusion to the story.

I'm currently well into Stephenson's Seveneves. Highly intriguing so far, although a very slight bit on the slow side. On the back burner is Gottman's Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child, which was excellent thus far but got set aside in favour of a library hold.

On the Screen:

The husband and I have been spending our evenings watching Star Trek: The Next Generation. Make it so! Ah. Picard. I'm a little bummed that I have to sit through Deep Space Nine next, before we finally get to Janeway in Voyager. (Janeway was my childhood hero. My childhood crush was Sully from Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. I cannot decide whether those two choices are a bit...unusual for a child.)

In My Ears:

I haven't been playing a lot of music around the house lately, so really I've been listening exclusively to my 165-180 BPM playlist while I run. Creating that playlist was one of the best things I did for my running. It takes all the thinking out of it for me; I just run in time with the beat, and my pace stays steady and reasonable. My running pace has improved from 5:56 min/km at the start of January to 5:28 min/km at the end. Nothing fabulous, I know, but the steady personal improvement makes me happy. I'm currently running 5K three times each week.

What We're Learning:

We finished our history book (Hillyer's A Child's History of the World), much to the kids' disappointment. Our next one (Gombrich's A Little History of the World) arrived a few days later, but in the meantime they had been requesting re-reads of the chapters on their favourite people and events.

Kai asked why the moon looks different some nights, prompting an interesting exploration of that question. We made this model of earth's orbit around the sun and the moon's orbit around earth. We used this video and this comparative model to consider the actual scale of the sun/earth/moon. Then we talked about the phases of the moon, went into a dark room with a globe and a flashlight and a ball to get a better visual of it, and finished things off by making this interactive model of the phases of the moon.

Then they asked me to print off more of the orbit models and proceeded to make up their own planets and stars, each one with detailed (and usually quiet dangerous) characteristics. So many scraps of cut paper on the floor. So many.

Organizing My Days:

I am in love with my daily planner this year. I am using the Sacred Ordinary Days planner, a liturgical planner which satisfies my soul's need for rhythm. Each of the changes in the church season is accompanied by a guided reflection. The daily pages have space for three daily projects, journaling, the daily schedule, to-do list, daily office readings, and white space for whatever. It's beautiful. I love it. I use it as my personal planner, with journals and prayers and doodles and reflections and various personal things I want to track, as well as a basic daily outline of our schedule. It has become a lovely way to start and end each day.

What I'm Looking Forward to in February:

February starts off with a celebration of our ninth anniversary. Considering how healing the past year has been, this makes me smile. Lacking a babysitter (seriously, how do we still not have a babysitter?), we'll likely order some pizza for the kids, set them up with a movie in the living room, and enjoy a nice quiet dinner (sort of) on our own.

Well, friends, that is What I've Been Into this past month. What about you?

Linking up to What I'm Into with HopefulLeigh...

The only way to do it

Sometimes my kids don't want to do the things that they need to do.

Shocking, right? I know. I'm the only one with kids like this. They don't want to empty the dishwasher or tidy their toys or work on something challenging.

So out comes the Mom Voice and I tell them, every time: The only way to do it is to do it.

The only way to get that dishwasher emptied so you can go play is to empty it. The only way to get through that task that feels big and difficult and overwhelming is to get started. These are words to carry you through life, kids.

But this isn't really about my kids. Because for every time I remind them that the only way to do it is to do it, I have to remind myself of the same thing about a half dozen times.

The only way to get out of bed in the morning, self, is to get out of bed in the morning. The only way to run is to lace up those shoes and go run. When faced with a new client and five years of overdue taxes and no useful records, the only way to get through it is to do it. I can stare at it and dread it and whine all I like, but it's not going anywhere until I begin.

Goodness knows that as a perfectionist, procrastination is my constant temptation. If I can't do it perfectly right now, then it's best to just not bother at all, right? Put it off until I have the perfect combination of time, silence, skills, desire, space, mental clarity, everything - then, maybe, we'll talk.

Four kids and homeschooling and working from home and housekeeping and caring for my own self too, however, means that things never go well when I try to wait for the stars to perfectly align. I'm learning to be more creative with my time. I'm finding the things that work best for me: the preparations that make the biggest difference, the small pockets of time that can either be wasted or used, the disciplines and habits that bring a sense of peace and confidence and usefulness to our daily rhythms.

All those things help, yes - but ultimately, always, the only way to do it is to do it. So I sit down to my work and hear those words in my head and I begin. I put on a load of laundry. I take out the sewing machine. Turn on the oven. Pick up the broom. the book. the pen.

The only way to do it is to do it.

Light {One Word 2016}

Each year, in lieu of resolutions, I choose an idea to focus on for the next 12 months. The fluidity and holistic nature of this word fits my spirit better than one specific resolution. They flow one year to the next, Grace leading to Joy leading to Presence, Intention leading to Rhythm leading to Habit, the culmination of all of those Opening my life wide for what may come. Then, a hard year, a decision to simply Go Forward bravely, one step after another. The year following demanded that I Fearlessly rebuild and heal and live.

Now another new year has arrived, and my focus is shifting once again.

2010: Grace and Intention
2011: Joy and Rhythm
2012: Presence and Habit
2013: Open
2014: Go Forward
2015: Fearless
2016: Light

I don't know precisely how this focus on Light will play out this year - my word always ends up surprising me, applying itself in unexpectedly perfect ways - but I do have a general vision to guide me in the weeks ahead.

Live Light

I want to Live Light this year. I want there to be less stuff. Less clutter, less consuming, less purchasing. Less visual chaos creating inner chaos. Less demands on my time and attention, taking away from the better things that could be. Lighter schedules with plenty of margin. It's all beginning to feel like a burden, all this stuff to move around and tidy and sort and organize and care for; I will keep the useful and the beautiful, but so much of the rest needs to go.

Seek Light

Claiming the early hours of the day as my own has provided me with a renewed steady diet of God's Word, and I want to continue to Seek the Light there. His Word is freedom and comfort, guidance and wisdom, a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.

Building on that source of Light, I want to more intentionally Seek Light in my own spirit. I am easily burdened, heavy under the weight of the world's pain, frequently wrestling away despair and anxiety. I need to care for my soul - put on my own oxygen mask, if you will, that I may then be able to better love others.

Caring for my soul means loving my whole self, body, mind, and soul, continuing to prioritize the things that help me to feel strong and free and grateful for this gift. It means running, resting, sleeping, eating, all of it joyously and with gratitude. It means acknowledging my needs and meeting them as best I can where I am right now. It means pursuing both the creative and the intellectual. It means prayerfully releasing burdens and receiving hope, the only rescue from the temptation to despair.

Be Light

With a lighter life and a lighter spirit, I am better equipped to Be Light to others, to share blessings and kindness and love. For too long I have allowed my anxiety and perfectionism to bind me, afraid that my attempts at kindness will only end up being a burden, unwanted, insufficient, just not quite right. I wish to shed those restraints and offer what I can, however imperfect or small those offerings may be. In a world that can feel so dark, even a small Light is welcome.

I want especially to be Light here in this home. Words and acts of kindness, grace, and compassion are never needed anywhere more than in one's own home, kindling love and security, raising up more love and Light to go out into the world.

Live Light. Seek Light. Be Light.


Do you have a One Word this year? a resolution? a new goal or habit? I'd love to hear about it.

Holiday heart-gazing

It's the third day of Christmas, but the main event is over. Our Advent candles are still sitting out, but we no longer gather around to light them each evening. Our tree is still up (the bottom third bare, thanks to a certain grabby toddler), waiting for Epiphany. The cardboard boxes have been taken to the recycling depot. The turkey has been eaten and the stock made and frozen, to my great satisfaction. I do believe it's time to indulge in a little holiday navel-gazing.

Actually, let's rephrase that. Forget navel-gazing. I've decided we'll call it heart-gazing from now on. Navel-gazing sounds so negative. Why is that? Self-reflection is great. It's easy to look at everyone and everything else and pass judgement, but change only happens when we look at ourselves. Get your growth game on, yo.

So there you have it. My positive spin on and justification for some indulgent navel-gazing. Let's make it a thing. Go ahead and use it yourself. You're welcome.

This past season of Advent and our current season of Christmas were both very good and very difficult. The holidays were beautifully intentional, just the way I want them to be. But then I would look up at this whole weary world and I just can't. How do you even pray, where do you even begin to help, to bring hope, or to bring change? I was there during Lent and I was still there this Advent: Thy Kingdom come, dear God, please. It was Advent in the truest sense, a begging hope, a desperate anticipation, a mourning for what is and longing for what will come, for Who will come.

But Advent isn't only for me and my wrestling between hope and despair. And so each day we would light the candles - one spot closer on our spiral wreath, the appropriate number of candles on our Advent wreath - and the kids would argue about whose turn it was to blow out the match, because jostling each other next to lit candles is always a good and wise idea. Then we would sit on the couch (where they would argue about who got to sit on which side of me, because I guess I look better from certain angles maybe?). We would read another name of Jesus, along with the appropriate passage, then move on to the day's reading from Unwrapping the Greatest Gift. We would finish up our time together with a short responsive prayer (thank you to The Anglican Family Prayer Book for making it easy for us) and a weekly Advent hymn. Sibling arguments aside, it was a lovely time each day together, and, I believe, the very first time we have ever got through the entire Advent without losing steam before the end. It flowed well and fit nicely and was a good thing in our holidays.

Christmas was good too. Just us, it was quiet and peaceful and really quite perfect. The best decision I made was intentionally choosing ahead of time to put the camera away while we went about our day. It allowed me to be far more present than other years. No taking pictures of every gift as they unwrapped it, no worrying about blurry shots and missed opportunities and posed smiles and ugh, all of it, I was so glad to just say no to myself and do away with what is usually a stressful and ultimately pointless exercise. When do I ever go back and look at pictures of them unwrapping each gift? I took one quick shot of each of them after the gift unwrapping was done, and otherwise the day passed by blissfully undocumented but fully experienced.

Now comes the time of year when we review, consider what worked and what could be improved. My head's not wholly there yet though. We're busy preparing for "second Christmas" with family arriving this week, but I'll get around to it eventually.

Still, some things are readily apparent to me when I think back on the past months. This year was one of growth and change - as, perhaps, all years should be. I discovered that I could possibly become friendly with early mornings after all. I took up running. I confronted my anxiety for the first time. I sought healing.

Much of it was good, but there is always room for improvement - for healthier and stronger relationships, for more intentional choices, for better routines, for new habits. What do I want for this new year? Not a complete reinvention, but a slow and steady continual turning, growing. If last year was my year to be Fearless, what will be my focus for the next twelve months? I look forward to a time of quiet reflection in which to ask these things of myself and my God.

But first there are floors to be washed and dust bunnies to be defeated and then family to love and enjoy and with whom to celebrate the birth of the One Who would bring us freedom and a new commandment: Love.

To all of you from all of us: May your new year be filled with the greatest joy and deepest peace. Thank you for being here.

I wasn't...until I was.

I am an introvert, a night owl, a lover of calm and quiet with a desperate need to decompress after the children are in bed.

I am most definitely not a morning person. Never have been. Cheers to the night owls, those watchers and defenders of the dark hours!

And besides, there's all these reasons. The kids will just get up if I get up early. The baby won't let me get up early. I'm too tired after being up with the baby during the night. I need the extra sleep. I'm just not a morning person.

The lovely husband, though, has been getting up early for work, leaving the house in the dark to commute to a project on the other side of the city. I, meanwhile, was sleeping as late as the kids would let me and then feeling like I was scrambling for time the rest of the day. I was getting up to the noise of four young kids, the busyness of the day already begun, and the pressure of activities and to-dos that needed attending to promptly.

So I started getting up the husband, and here we are.

I start off each day in silence instead of chaos. I drink tea and eat breakfast instead of grabbing whatever I can find on our way out the door. I watch the sky go from dark to light as the moon moves across the sky. And I witness a new set of dark hours.

The same lady walks by slowly, twice, every morning. A man with a briefcase and a take-out cup of coffee soon follows, his long and confident strides bringing him into the neighbourhood but never back out, he must drive? I can't figure him out. A yellow school bus picks up more children on its way through. A lady in pajamas brings out her garbage and then goes for a slow walk around her yard or across the street, returning, curiously, with a stack of newspapers. Another pajama-clad lady walks by with her small white dog.

I read, pray, sit. I catch up on my favourite websites, check my work email, see what the day expects from me. Sip tea. Watch.

Ell wakes up first, followed by Min. The boys sleep in. They wake up to me instead of the other way around, and it is good.

I guess I've become a morning person.

What being preached forgiveness never taught me about healing

Forgive. Forgive. Forgive.

How often have I heard this message, growing up in the Christian faith? Don't be angry - forgive! Let go of the past - forgive! Release your hurts - forgive! Whatever happened - forgive.

I wrestled with that message for years. What did it mean? What did it look like? How would I know when I had properly forgiven? I wrestled with it through one challenging situation after another, and I couldn't understand why it felt so insufficient. I was willing to forgive, so why did I still have all this anger and pain?

I was told, repeatedly and by countless people, that I just needed to forgive more fully. I was told by people who knew of my experiences and by people who knew nothing of my wounds but simply preached blanket forgiveness. From the pulpit, blog posts, casual conversations, Christian articles, it was a message that permeated my interactions with my faith. Forgive! Forgive, because it's the right thing to do. Forgive, that your own self may be freed from the past. Forgive, that you yourself may be forgiven. Forgive, and all will be well again.

Forgiveness was the beginning and the end, the first and final word, the totality of dealing with any offense or hurt.

It took more than a decade, consuming anxiety, and a desperate need for help for one person to finally whisper that word I'd never heard before: heal.

Not forgive - or at least, not only forgive - but heal.

Those experiences were traumas, the counselor said, and what you have been experiencing are the effects of those traumas. You need to heal those wounds. I can help you.

And she did.

First by working through those past traumas, then by developing skills to affect my thought patterns in the present, my anxiety went from a continuous roiling boil to a quiet simmer. Oh, it still boils up at times, but dealing with moments of tightly-wound anxiety is so indescribably more manageable than the never-ending vibration of panic right under my skin.

So why had not one single mention of forgiveness, in all these years, ever been accompanied by encouragement to seek healing?

It was as though, after being hit by a car, I was told to "let go" of my concussion. As though forgiving the driver of the car would make my broken arm a non-issue. As though the release of my anger was more important than seeking care for my injuries.

Trauma is a wound, an injury, that needs and deserves to be healed. The cause of the trauma is irrelevant; trauma is trauma, regardless. It doesn't matter if there are those who think it wasn't "that big of a deal". If it was traumatic for the person it happened to, then that trauma exists. It is real. It can be shoved down, ignored, denied, or leaked out in all sorts of unhealthy ways, but what it needs is healing.

But what about forgiveness?

Acknowledging the need for healing does not deny the importance of forgiveness. The challenge lies in all the ways forgiveness has been twisted into something it was never intended to be.

At its core, forgiveness is the pardoning of a debt. It is releasing our demand for repayment, for vengeance. Such debts of this nature can so rarely be "paid back" in any satisfying sort of way, anyway, and by releasing that demand, we free ourselves from endlessly seeking it as much as we free the other person from trying to repay it.

Far more relevant, however, is the list of things that forgiveness is not.

Forgiveness does not mean we no longer feel angry. Forgiveness does not mean we no longer hurt, often deeply. Forgiveness most certainly does not mean forgetting. It is not a slate wiped clean of all memory. It does not grant the offending party permission to re-victimize the one who forgave. It does not fail to seek justice where appropriate. It does not cover up, does not hide, does not cloak the situation in lies and secrecy. It does not deny protection for those who need it. It does not mean there are no consequences. It does not mean that a relationship will continue.

And yet each of those things were included in the messages of forgiveness that I so steadily received and continue to see today. My years of wrestling with what it meant to forgive happened because I was trying to make forgiveness do what it was never intended to do. If you still felt angry or hurt, you hadn't forgiven properly. If you still felt the need to report a crime, you hadn't forgiven enough. If you weren't willing to hush up and forget it all happened, you hadn't forgiven fully. Maybe you need to go pray some more.

But never? What happened to you was wrong. You need to seek healing for yourself. Here are some options. Let's get you some help.

Bursting

I've been noticing lately. Watching, then catching myself watching, grinning, heart bursting with all that is good and right and beautiful.

I notice the intensely beautiful smell of the garam masala as I add it to my favourite butter chicken recipe. I savour my slow morning cup of coffee. I relax into those rare moments of quiet and stillness, feeling my breath and my heartbeat as the tension in my muscles begins to loosen. I watch one season pass into the next, exchanging the warm sun for the cool damp air. I watch these growing children of mine, the steady witnessing of their passing days and years.

I watch Jay rally those around him into a single activity. My shy and introverted self does not understand this mysterious ability, but I love to watch him organize pick-up games of soccer or tag or imagination with whatever kids are in the area.

I watch Kai play soccer, chasing after that ball with such single-minded purpose and joy. It's his first year and he grins the entire time. I watch as the joy builds until he can't contain it, until he starts spinning in circles right there on the field, just a few spins and then back to the ball.

Ell watches too, always watches - her brothers' soccer games, her brothers' gym time, her brothers' this that and always the other, and it's hard to still be little and not get to join. So I signed her up for swim lessons along with her brothers, and oh, such joy and pride! To be in the water, participating instead of watching, is the highlight of her week right now; it is a privilege to witness.

I watch Min as he explores his world and his family and his own growing self. My favourite times with him are our alone times, early in the morning when he first wakes up and again at the end of the day as he and I settle into the dark bedroom until he falls asleep. We coo and nuzzle and laugh until he hums himself to sleep, funny child. He wakes me up in the morning, arms reaching for me, then grabbing my face until I'm properly awake.

There is joy in watching each of them, but watching them together is joy multiplied. Jay is achingly tender with Min. Min listens hard for Ell, goes straight for her each morning and follows her around the house. Ell and Kai are my crazy middles, their interactions summed up thusly:

Kai: "This part is lava, and you have to jump over top of it!"
Ell: "But I can't jump that far!"
Kai: "Yes you can! Jump!"
*crash*
Ell: "WAAAAAH!"
Kai: "Oh...I guess you can't jump that far."

The husband has been working long hours, and we're all feeling it. The kids miss him and I miss him; he misses both us and rest. But he comes home and reads and wrestles and cuddles and plays, and few things are more heart-bursting than watching the five of them, one big wild mess of puppies.

There is joy, too, in the way he looks at me. These past two years have been filled with difficult work, but we have done the work (and continue to do the work; it's part of this life together, always, I imagine) and it has been hard but good and it is so much better than I knew it could be. I am so grateful, so breathlessly grateful, for this man who chose to do that hard work with me. It could have been so different.

I've been running. I cringe to even admit it, remembering all the times I could not roll my eyes hard enough upon reading that yet another person had begun a Couch to 5K, because oh my goodness, shut up about the running. Well, now I run (sorry not sorry), the end of my own C25K in site, hello week 6. I run because it is the one thing that keeps my anxiety fenced in, almost, mostly, enough that I don't feel the desire to crawl out of my skin or hide from this beautiful difficult life. The familiarity of running surprised me. It's been years since my teenage self ran - cross country and track and even a half marathon once, all those years ago. But still my body remembers, familiar rhythms, feet and legs and arms and breath, and it is a joy of the more strenuous sort.

I've been sewing, too. Next to this precious family of mine, creativity is the most life-giving thing that I do for myself. I finished Jay's bucket hat, at long last, after having put it on hold early this summer because the pattern ran smaller than I realized and it wasn't going to fit. He was so pleased when I finally got around to altering it and handed him his finished hat; I could learn much from his graciousness and patience with me. I'm nearly finished a new purse for myself, and I love it already. There has been an embroidered doll quilt for Ell and a small basket for my keys that I generally toss haphazardly on the table next to the door, and always more projects waiting. There is something intensely satisfying about producing something Beautiful and Useful with one's own hands.

In all this, there is presence and witness and gratitude. Be here. See what is here. Give thanks for what is here.

I am here. I see. Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

In Praise of Quiet Time

I love my children. Being a mother is hard. Our days are precious to me. Our days are challenging. Both parts are true, the beauty and the intensity, but the one practice that helps to keep things in balance for me is our daily afternoon quiet time.

Our quiet time is a mini exhale, an oasis of calm in the midst of our usual noise and activity. It is blessed relief to my introverted soul. It is silence and stillness, just for a little while. It is rest for my mind and body and oh, my ears.

Right now there is only quiet. I can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the tapping of the keys as I write. Sometimes a car drives by. For the next hour or so, I will hear little else.

Our practice of quiet time began six years ago. Jay, who was two years old back then, had decided he was done with naps. Kai was an energy-sucking bundle of joy within me. I was tired. Jay might have been fine without his afternoon nap, but I sure needed one. And so it began.

A stack of books. Two cars. One blanket. We'd pile into my bed and for the next half hour, I was not to be spoken to. I would read (sometimes) or nap (usually), while Jay would drive his cars along the lines of my quilt or look through his stack of books. Occasionally he would fall asleep too, and the two of us would nap for as long as we pleased. It was a nice moment in our day. When it was over, I would drag my big Kai-filled belly out of bed and the day would continue. Back to housework and games, meal prep and strolls through the forest.

After Kai was born, quiet time became an on-again, off-again thing for the next couple of years. The off-again times always left me feeling a little more frazzled, a little less calm and collected. But I wasn't very good at consistency and routine, and so the off-again times happened anyway.

Until Ell. Oh, that pregnancy. Quiet time became less of a decision and more of a default-born-of-necessity; I wasn't so much functioning as merely getting through the day for a stretch there. We made it, though, and at some point that afternoon quiet time became part of our day, a simple fact. This is What We Do. And so we do it.

For the kids, quiet time is an opportunity for rest and quiet activity. It is also a chance for solitude, to enjoy (or learn to enjoy) their own company for a while. Jay will read, work on a project, or draw. Kai usually chooses a puzzle or a game. Ell is in that transitioning period; some days she naps, while other days she chooses a quiet activity of her own. And Min, bless his baby soul, consistently naps during this time.

For me, though, its purpose changes depending on the season. There have been seasons (particularly the growing-a-baby seasons) when it has been an opportunity for a nap of my own. Other seasons have given way to creativity, a chance to write or sew or knit. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I sit quietly with God, a tiny baby, or both. It is never a time for a housework, though. I might do a quick tidy of the main room simply because visual clutter feels like chaos to my brain, and five minutes of tidying makes my quiet time feel far more peaceful.

Right now, in this season, it is my work time. I plug in my headphones, turn on some music, and get lost in the world of numbers and accounting for as long as the baby sleeps. It might not be rest in the traditional sense, but it requires, at least, a different part of my brain that the usual negotiating of peace treaties between warring children, the cleaning up of various bodily fluids, and the other assorted duties that go along with raising children.

Whether it be for sleep, creativity, recreation, or work, these minutes have become an integral part of my day. They are given up only for the occasional full-day outing. What begun as a half-hour nap beside a squirmy two year old has become a guaranteed one hour, and often more, of solitary activity for each of us. As important as I believe it is for my kids, it is one of my own primary acts of self-care. I do the next needful thing and the next and the next and then this - a pause, a stillness - and then continue.

How was my day?

It seems a straightforward enough question: How was your day? I find it a particularly difficult one, though. How do I explain how my day was when anxiety is such a frequent companion?

How do I tell you that I spent the day wrestling with the panicky flutters inside of me? How do I describe the moments when my mind got away from me, when I imagined in vivid detail one or another of my worst fears? How do I explain the amount of effort it took to wrest my mind back from the brink, to remind myself that this isn't real, this didn't happen, this has not happened and in all likelihood won't happen? How do I help you to make sense of the shivering that continued inside even after I'd returned to reality - it's not real, it's not real, but it felt so real and maybe it will happen, who can say?

When you ask how my day was, I don't know how tell you that reality was great - I got things done, I had fun with the kids, nothing went wrong, it was a good day - and yet it was also a terrible day where awful things happened in my imagination and I felt sick and shaky and fluttery. I know it sounds ridiculous because it didn't happen, but it felt like it did.

Other times, there is no specific fear. There is only an empty, floaty, swoopy feeling in my stomach, a tightness in my throat, a feeling like I can't draw in enough air. There's a hum, a vibration, under my skin. I mean, sure, I cleaned like a mad woman this morning, look how productive I was! - but only because I was buzzing with adrenaline, jittery with the blossoming anxiety, feeling it in my veins and my stomach and my shoulders.

I despise few things more than wasting a good day in imaginary fear.

This is, after all, my year to be fearless. Less worry, more life. And it has been, in its own way - in my own way. I'm speaking my anxieties out loud with those who have earned the right to hear them, and that is a fearlessness in itself. I'm noticing it and naming it, looking it in the face in a way I haven't always done. There you are, Fear. That's what you look like in my life, Anxiety. I see you for what you truly are, Worry.

This is just where I am right now. I'm in the wrestling days. I'm not here with advice or solutions or answers. I take some supplements, I talk myself down from the edge, I pray, I do what I can. I practice intentional self-care and gratitude. Exercise and sunshine help. Lists help, if only to keep myself focused, to prevent myself from either indulging the anxiety or zoning out in front of a trivial distraction in an attempt to avoid it.

Some days are worse and some days are better, and overall I hope that I'm moving in a forward direction. Right now that's as much as I hope for: progress, a little bit of progress each month. Some new insight. A few less days with those panicky feelings beating inside. A few more fears spoken aloud, freed, let go. Fewer sleepless nights, mind flitting from one place to another. Something.

Anyway. How was my day? Good and panicky and productive and scary and beautiful and hard. I guess that about covers it.