The Bad Parent/Horrendous Child Ritual

My youngest daughter, she of the years given back to us, she who speaks in musical throaty sounds as much as she speaks in words, she has a way with animals. I sing a song to her, "There is a love hidden inside your borders just waiting to be free, so keep hoping, St. Francis, you'll be a free man yet, you'll see the sun shine again, over your city streets. Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength; they will not be put to shame." (Kristene DiMarco)

Sometimes I think she is a better mother than I. She is a born nurturer. She speaks the language of each creature she tames. The kittens of each litter. The birds she sings to and bewitches into landing on the stakes of their fort while she dances with her hands like wings behind her, the little bird cocking it's head and twittering back as if it is having a conversation with this four foot tall girl. She speaks to babies in grunts and moans and pre-verbal sounds and cocks of the head just so until they are laughing or sleeping, entranced by someone so old who still speaks baby.

She can put anything to sleep. Even the crabbiest kitten. Give her a rag to swaddle it in, and a song to sing, and a few minutes later, that kitten will be sleeping her arms, her swaying around the living room in the afternoon light proud as a peacock and happy as a clam.

Bedtimes at our house lately have devolved into 2 hours of battle to get the kids to lay in their beds. Let's face it: we parents take turns chiding, disciplining, punishing, yelling, cajoling, threatening, pleading, and sometimes swearing. The children (mostly the youngest two) take turns crying, whining, charming, stalling, and being mischievous or outright naughty.

After reading up on the issue, looking back at old journals to figure out what worked in the past, and brainstorming and praying a bit to try and figure out what we've changed lately that's made bedtime such an inconsistent and riotous affair in our household, it really turned out to be quite simple. Exhausted since I started my new job, and often working at the computer into the wee hours on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, bedtime rituals went flying out the window. Aaron, unaccustomed to putting the kids to bed, had to think on his feet, and just came up with, a) it's bedtime, b) children should get into their pajamas and get in bed, and c) they should stay there, by themselves, no matter what, for as long as it takes them to go to sleep. This came as quite a shock to the children, no doubt, who've been storied or sung to sleep nearly every night since they were little.

Last night, we put our bedtime ritual back in place. Although it did take over an hour and I nearly fell asleep with the kids in the process, it worked! Only problem: my husband, just as exhausted as I have been, was also asleep when I came downstairs, so we didn't get any evening bonding time. Hopefully we'll get that back over the next days or weeks. But at least we didn't do the Bad Parent/Horrendous Child routine for 2 hours at the end of the day as we have been for weeks! We both woke up more cheerful than we have in months - and feeling ready to start our work day with a more peaceful heart.

Do you ever drop the ball suddenly on routines or family rituals and only realize after the fact that you've screwed up? Ever done the Bad Parent/Horrendous Child bit at your house?

Sharing with Joy this week, getting real!

Letter to Aaron: Past Lovers

There's a cost to sacrificing purity. Shadows in the dark, shadows in the light. A brick and mortar building, 1970's white and red, squat little construction houses memories and ghosts I can't exorcise by willpower alone. He has them too, my lover, my husband, old memories of relationships past that rise up occasionally, and we talk about these, sometimes angrily, or regretfully, at times mournfully. It is so with consequences, bleeding into the present in unpredictable ways. And for all that lack of purity in days gone by, there is a deeper sense of appreciation for what is shared now between us. Still a knowing of what was lost in the folly of youth. We both ache to know what became of those we loved and lost, those we wounded and walked away from, those who scarred us and scavenged our souls and scurried off into the dark of unknown tunnels of labyrinths of their own making.


How were we spared the downward spiral paired to the acerbic slow death conjugated to troubled souls?

It is like a bad habit kicked, the bad taste still rising in your mouth unbidden, the occasional urge to taste the bitterness again, to know what became of those mistakes made, those people paired with, to see where life has taken them to while we have escaped the shipwreck and found the shore and made a home there.

We grit teeth and turn stoic from questions without answers, offer a quick prayer for those we can't reach out to, for they are like fire to our kindling souls still, and instead we cling to each other and purity restored, and to a few simply verses from II Timothy 2, repeating them like a mantra in the dark night, stilling the long twilight of questions and doubt:

Now in a large house there are not only gold and silver vessels, but also vessels of wood and of earthenware, and some to honor and some to dishonor. Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from these things, he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work. Now flee from youthful lusts and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart. But refuse foolish and ignorant speculations, knowing that they produce quarrels. The Lord’s bond-servant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God may grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will.

I lit a fire with the love you left behind,

And it burned wild and crept up the mountainside.

I followed your ashes into outer space

I can't look out the window,

I can't look at this place,

I can't look at the stars,

They make me wonder where you are

Stars,

Up on heaven's boulevard

And if I know you at all,

I know you've gone too far

So I, I can't look at the stars

~Stars, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals~

Linked to an old meme from Amber & Seth Haines

Apology - please accept?

I inadvertently misrepresented my family of origin this morning by posting a link to a video I didn't watch first - the official music video for Mary Chapin Carpenter's "House of Cards". I liked the song along with the post because I think it is a tenuous balance to be comfortable and not sexy in my marriage. My marriage needs to be treated as fragile. I wasn't referring in any way to my family of origin and I'm sorry to say I didn't watch the video before posting as I was in a rush to get to town. This is my public apology to my family - especially my parents - who raised us in a wonderful home!! This was a good reminder to me that the reputations and testimonies of my family - husband, kids, parents, siblings, friends - are out in public to be inspected on my blog. No man is an island...I needed to be reminded to be careful about what I share in this very public forum. Please accept my apology to the world for my hasty mistake!

Mistakes

The sun sets unbelievably pink and lavender, sets on a day filled with mistakes, brings the darkness that has filled my heart all day into the world, night always to be weathered before it pulls up day. Two of my best friends hover on the edge of divorce, and I am there to pray and love and accept. But I flee that sorrow-filled room, back to the warm arms of the husband who still loves me, whom I still love. My son acts up all day and finally goads me to explosion in the evening, ironically the evening I write about how I want to parent. It grates. I flee his constant tears and whine and I am on the porch swing with the black cloud of self-reproach stealing from the sunsets glory.

I want to be so much farther on the trajectory of Christian life, so much further from that old sin that I've supposedly died to because Christ lives in me. It's not dead yet. I'm still trying to pack down the grave site of my sin, pack it in so it can't reach an arm up through the dirt to grab my ankle anymore. Sin's bony claw reaches through, now and then, and I am in the grip of an old way of living that I thought I buried years ago when I lost my voice after cancer surgery. But no, I can raise my voice, I can stamp my foot in frustration, I can wither the child lost in temper tantrum with a look, hard and fierce, from my brown eyes.

And so my heart breaks a little on that porch swing. I am so disappointed in self. This steals from Christ all over again...the pity party that follows my fall keeping my attention focused on self instead of the Cross. Ugh. I throw off the despair like an unwanted moth-eaten sweater, and try to shrug on Grace. 

The darkness is gone. The sun is up. The Son is out. But the Son isn't finished. One surprise still awaits them. "Suddenly, Jesus met them and said, "Greetings". The women came up to him, took hold of the feet, and worshipped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Don't be afraid. Go and tell my followers to go on to Galilee and they will see me there'" . The God of surprises strikes again. It's as if he said, "I can't wait any longer. They came this far to see me; I'm going to drop in on them." God dies that for the faithful. Just when the womb gets too old for babies, Sarai gets pregnant. Just when the failure is too great for grace, David is pardoned. And just when the road is too dark for Mary and Mary, the angel glows and the Savior shows and the two women will never be the same. The lesson? Three words. Don't give up. Is the trail dark? Don't sit. Is the road long? Don't stop. Is the night black? Don't quit. God is watching. For all you know right at this moment he may be telling the angel to move the stone. The check may be in the mail. The apology may be in the making. The job contract may be on the desk. Don't quit. For if you do, you may miss the anwer to your prayers. God still sends angels. And God still moves stones. ~Max Lucado, "He Still Moves Stones"

One of those shipwrecked friends sends a prayer in letters to me, and I pray them with her. Lord, I'm broken....I boldly claim your promise that you will not break a broken reed. I'm broken. Please send me help. Help to heal my broken heart, help not to become bitter, help in finding a job wit benefits, help to caring for my son, help to find the right council for the divorce, ;;;to "forgive those who trespass against us....". Lord I need a legion of your angels to surround me, I desperately need your protection, your love, your grace, your mercy, your healing -physically and spiritually. Please Lord....hurry....Amen.

O come, Lord Jesus, and rescue us from these lives rotting around us. Rescue us from the power of sin, teach us to lean hard into your Grace. Live Grace. Before I die, might I live Grace?

What shall I do with you, my love

What shall I do with you?

For your loyalty to Me is like the morning clouds,;

Like the dew that goes away so early.;

What shall I do with you, my love?

You keep bringing Me sacrifices

To ease your mind, 

 But it's your heart that I want.

Hasn't it been a long road

With disappointments,

Chasing after lovers

That just throw you away?

And are you done fighting now?

All the love it takes to lighten you,

Shame was never meant to be your portion.

Though these sins are red as scarlet,

I will wash them white in My mercy.

~Kristene Mueller, Mercy~

Jumping the gun

Any time the temperature tops 60, the kids start asking to go swimming or run through the sprinkler. I gave in a couple of days ago, and let them go for a twilight run through the sprinkler.

It's one of those moments, as a mom, where you give in knowing the kids are probably going to hate it. The desired effect being they will wait until it is much, much warmer before they want to something crazy like this again.

My plan backfired.

"Mama, I'm FWEEZING!"

It was only after dozens of blue-lipped passes through the freezing water that they told me I was right, it's too cold to go in the sprinkler right now.

I think of God's long line of patience with me, how He allows me to do things that aren't best for me, and waits silently for me to come in from the cold so He can wrap me in His arms again.

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

I just want to be ok today

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

I just want to be ok today

I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today

I just want to feel something today

I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today

I just want to feel something today

Open me up and you will see

I'm a gallery of broken hearts

I'm beyond repair, let me be

And give me back my broken parts

Just give me back my pieces

Just give them back to me please

Just give me back my pieces

And let me hold my broken parts

~ Be OK, Ingrid Michaelson~