PENSIEVE

I don't know if it's kind, but it's smart, important advice

Inspired by the eloquent, beautiful Viola Davis, during her acceptance speech for the Screen Actor's Guild award for Female Actor in a Leading Role for her portrayal of Aibileen Clark in The Help.  

"The stain of racism and sexism is not just for people of color or women. It's all of our burden.... I don't care how ordinary you feel, all of us can inspire change, every single one of us."

Succinct, poignant words...I sure do like her style.  

Davis reminds me a little of Stephanie, Holley, Lisa-Jo and our team of (in)courage authors, who all challenge me to Imagine Possibilities Of God-size Proportion.  Hmmm, IPoGP...it might just catch on!

 

Pins & Stumbles welcome!!

p.s.  I bet Davis' and Octavia Spencer's wins had Kola Boof's blood boiling!

p.s.s.  We'll leave for Germany Tuesday around 12:30 EST; prayers welcome....

p.s.s.s.  Want a One Word bracelet like my Adventure one?  Lisa would love to make one for ya!

Thanks to Despair, Inc. for the poster template.

One Sentence Saturday, #2

When I consider the impetus of my fears ~ a combination of the unknown, perspective and imagination, all as they relate to some reality ~ I'm able to trust that most are either unfounded worry or opportunity for personal and/or spiritual transformation.

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Want a quick, fun, simple weekend post?  Please join in One Sentence Saturday!  Click though to pick up the badge and read details.  Then add your post below and be sure to visit the person before and after your link number to support and encourage the growing #1SS community!

 

 

Waiting, attitude adjustment and The Lion King

These days are finding me running from one thing to the next. I've come to rely on The Never-ending To-Do list, mainly because e.v.e.r.y.thing I can think of TO do must go on the list lest I forget; bathing and breathing included.

Most important are the parent-y things reserved for the ma-Ma.  Like doctor's visits. Yesterday, sports physicals for my boys topped my list since soccer is just around the corner.

Because they have a $25 deal, a local walk-in clinic is our destination when it's time for a school physical.  Yesterday was no different.  We walked in at 3:20.  

We walked out at 5:30.

Their actual face time with the doc was about 20 minutes.  The rest of the time we were treated to waiting room public broadcasting--it's been a long time since Arthur taught me a lesson and I'll be durned if the scholarly aardvark hasn't found the Fountain of Youth!

It's not hard to imagine all three of us were approximating spontaneous combustion, which might explain why one of my sons burst into uncontrollable laughter when the doctor asked him to cough.  That's one response, I suppose.

Typically this type of thing undoes me.  I'll fume til my fire fizzles to embers, which serves no one and doesn't even make me feel better.  

But the truth of my "right now"?  

I DO NOT HAVE TIME TO SIT IN A DOCTOR'S OFFICE FOR ALMOST 2 1/2 HOURS! 

But yesterday something was different.  Maybe it was because after I shared my Terrible Awful Very Bad Day, I received a few notes from readers whose TAVBDs aren't days, but weeks or months or worse!  They were SO NICE about it, too, feeling  my pain while sharing their {much more terrible awful} own, and I was flat over myself.

For goodness sakes, I get to travel to Germany off and on for the next year on the company's dime (sorta).  My problems?  Minor, sometimes emotional, inconvenience.  That's about it.  

The ridiculous wait at the doctor's office, while rude and inconvenient, wasn't life or death and my errands will get done eventually.  And if they don't get done it won't be the end of the world.

On my post-doctor, rainy drive to T.J. Maxx to buy a suitcase for our trip, I had an ephiphany:

Getting mad about something in the past
is an absolute waste of time.

Now, I'm sure, being the savvy person you are, you already know this.  But do you really believe this?  Because believing this, owning it, changes everything for the better.

I can't change the past; it's neutral.  The past is indifferent towards my present and cares not for my future.  If I make the choice to dwell on the past, it can rob me of present and future joy and contentment.  

I decided right then and right there ~ in the middle of the T.J. Maxx parking lot ~ that I wasn't going to allow the aggravating past three hours to steal any more energy or time.  

And then I bought a really big, purple, lightweight trolley and asked the lady at check out, "Wouldn't it be funny if I had hidden a friend in it, and when you unzipped it to make sure I wasn't shoplifting, she jumped out?" and cock-eyed she hurried to complete my transaction.  I might be mistaken but I think she was in a hurry to get rid of me.

Anyways...

At my epiphanous moment, Disney's Lion King came to mind. Ahhh, the sage wisdom of Rafiki, Timon and Pumba.  

Enjoy, again, especially if it's been a while--

 

 

The accidental, honey-fied catching of a fly

I almost titled this the Taming of the Shrew....  Read on.  You'll understand.

* * * * *

Company was coming in hours and he was giving up his room for their visit.  Not because he volunteered, but because we told him so. 

Out of four, his is the messiest room in the house; he would even agree.  He's content to let things fall as they may...and stay there.  Dirty clothes ~ heck, clean clothes! ~ years' old rubber bands from when he had braces, papers from the 9th grade (he's a junior).  His closet floor is stacked to the hem of hanging shirts, and there's no more room for anything that should live there.  Like shoes, which he somewhat orderly lines along his wall behind the drum set.

Five pair, three (I come to find out) don't even fit anymore.

I'm busy, cleaning the rest of the house, readying for my sister and brother and their families.  They aren't White Glovers, but I want them to feel comfortable and anticipated, and part of that is getting the house in Company Order.  It's still in good shape from my manic Thanksgiving cleaning spree, so there's really not a whole lot to do.

Thomas tells me his room is clean, so I wander in to make sure.  With a mom's laser precision, I point out the overflowing trash still in his can, his mirror that hasn't been Windexed since 2009, a few other things; not bad for him.

So he's really done this time, and when I notice the shoes still lined along the wall, I open his closet door to throw them inside.  The towering avalanche of stuff smiles and winks at me.  

So I begin without a word.  My spirit is thrumming the familiar, "If you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself," and frankly I'm not interested in involving him.  I'm the one who wants to know what's in there, obviously it doesn't bother him. 

This time, rather than teaching him to fish, I'm feeding him for the day. 

The rest of the house is waiting a good vacuuming, dusting and mopping, but I choose the Black Hole, unable to resist its attraction.

I start with hanging shirts.  Easy enough; they're mostly on top.

But then I get to the real pile and the only option is to pull everything out to determine what stays and what goes. 

Out comes four duffle bags--they take up so much room!  One he uses, one he might, and two that show their age and he'll never use again.  An old bookbag whose zippers lost their teeth.  Football pads from when he played in 7th grade.  Books from the 10th grade.  Shorts that don't fit.  Socks--the matches to the singles I keep finding!  Empty boxes, three.  Broken drumstick.  A fiery Bozo wig. 

With light at end of tunnel, I finally call him to identify clothes I'm uncertain about.  He's furious when he discovers what I'm doing, his expression, pained.  He thinks I'm judging him, but I'm not.  This time, anyway.

"I'm not fussing, baby," I assure him.  I think he senses this truth.  "There are just a few things I'm not sure about."

"You're doing this NOW?!" he asks, and I explain I just wanted to move his shoes into his closet and one thing led to another.  He knows I clean like this.

He's understandably defensive, anger boiling just under skin.  Resignation hangs on his broad shoulders.  But one by one we beginning sifting through the remaining pile, and he explains whether to keep, give away, throw out, or pass down to his brother. 

We find a rhythm, a momentum.  I am patient and kind. 

Usually I'm a screamy shrew with a judger's dagger.

Small wonder he's tense; he's expecting my usual.

But then something unexpected happens.  As I maintain a sense of calm and kindness, he begins to soften.  His personality comes into play.  We begin laughing...and having fun. 

He's taking ownership.

The boy's gone fishing!

I finish his closet ~ it hasn't looked this beautiful since we moved in ~ but he keeps going!  He empties all his drawers, folds everything neatly, tosses or gives away clothes he won't wear again.

I put the two pair of shoes that still fit in his closet. 

His pride and satisfaction fills the room.

And it slowly dawns on me....

you can,

in fact,

catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

 

Honey photo credit

Ten things 31 Days of Parenting Teens & Tweens, Day 5

  A parenting series that doesn't build from one post to the next; rather, it's a collection of thoughts and advice from a mama who's been there, doing that, intended as encouragement, not dogma. I hope you'll check in every day to see if I'm speaking to YOU! ~ ♥

 

Ten things to teach your children
before they leave home for good

1. How to clean their bathroom, properly.
2. How to separate, wash, dry and fold the laundry.
3. Basic concepts of money management, including saving, giving to others and planning ahead.
4. How to sew on a button.
5. The right way to use jumper cables.
6. Map reading skills for when you're out of range for a GPS.
7. How to cook at least three things.
8. How to check the air in a car's tires and how to change a tire.
9. How to calculate a tip for a meal.
10. How to fill out a job application and interviewing skills.

Ten random thoughts with a million others yet to be named.  Add your voice in comments?  What do you think every tween and teen needs to know before leaving home?

 

THANK YOU for following my parenting series and for telling others who might benefit.  Also, if you haven't subscribed to PENSIEVE already, might you do so in a reader or by email? 

Missed a post?  Here ya go!

Day 1:  Introduction to 31 Days of Parenting Teens & Tweens

Day 2:  Intentional parenting and developing a parenting philosophy

Day 3:  Tell 'em what they need to hear, not what they wanna hear

Day 4:  Give 'em a push

"Sticks & stones" is a downright LIE!

After I got spanked on Twitter (<-- the nicest way I can characterize it), how could I possibly have the audacity to channel The Help's Aibileen Clark for a post; and not just any post, one for (in)courage?!

Well...because I believe she had something wise, important and live-changing to say.

Based on the response over the weekend (I didn't know this post was going to be published until after the fact...whoopsie!), there are plenty of people who agree.

If you've been hurt by words withheld, bruised by cruel words aimed at your heart or healed and affirmed through words, please...take time to read Speak Life, and share its message with someone who could use a word of encouragement.

 

Sacredness of Women / Pity of Men

Nine months I get to know her before I ever see her face, that perfect round face topped in downy black with serious eyes and delicate features, and though my sister warned me it might not happen, it was love at first sight.

Love before first sight.  

I marvel:  How could anyone not believe in God if they've carried a child from seed to fruit?  I want to shout to anyone, everyone "Can't you see the miracle?!" because anyone and everyone seems to think birth is ordinary.  I fight this urge to shake them awake, claw the scales from their eyes, so they can see, fully see the miracle!

But we all just go about our business and tuck the miracles under deep cover and miss, that in childbirth, we are the image of God, life begetting life.  It's the closest taste of Divine. 

I pity men in this.  

The thrill of first movement.  Watching my stomach swell then stretch so tight I can see fist and foot.  Realization's dawn that the annoying staccato thumping my ribs is my baby having the hiccups!  And then feeding her from my body--another miracle, another shout--"My body is manufacturing milk!" for crying out loud.  IT'S A MIRACLE! 

For all their strength and accomplishment and reasons to be lauded, not one man has ever conceived a child and given birth.  I'll take that over peeing standing up any day.

Nine months I'm host to her body, 18 months I sustain her life, 19 years I mother this child.  I teach and train.  I praise and pray over.  I listen to and learn from.  I'm challenged and challenge.    

Saturday I gave her wings...and let her go.

There is a time and this was the time, but even if it's the natural order of life, even if it is good and right and as it should be, an emotional eruption lodges in my throat and I hold it there.  And it's not so hard to pretend happy because I am happy.  For her.  In spite of the void her departure leaves, I celebrate this time in her life where anything and everything is rife with possibility.

She sees through roses and I let her.  Soon enough she'll see their wilt.

There is a time.

She's gifted me, although unintentionally:  she builds shields that make it easy for both of us.  I should thank her but I won't.  My spirit is buoyant and I sense the prayers of an army, are they responsible?  

Not only is there no tearful good-bye, there's hardly good-bye at all.  A fortress.

* * * * *

I didn't expect it when it came, first in the produce aisle at Publix, then when I passed English muffins, again at the Pop Secret display.  Her favorites.  I grit my teeth and mind scream, "Not here!" I will not fall apart at the grocery store.  Emotion passes.

Last night I'm cooking dinner and I reach for plates to set the table--a red one is on top, then yellow then green.  Again, it sneaks up behind me and grabs me by the throat, squeezing reluctant tears.  Her favorites are the red plates, and for half a second I want to bury them all at the bottom of the stack.  

Instead I reach for one of each color, refusing this wake of sadness.  

This season is good.  It is right.  It is cause for celebration not mourning!  

There is a time.

Invisible, indestructible threads bind mother to child; to give birth means that as long as you have breath, a part of your heart beats outside your own body.  

No man can know it.  Science cannot duplicate it.  

When a baby slips from the womb, a mother is born.

And so is another miracle.

 

On learning to be a mother

I will love the light for it shows me the way.  
Yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars.  
Og Mandino

It is sometimes in dark places I learn to become a mother. 

The lessons come quiet, and it is in the doing I learn, and that without realizing. 

Looking back, I can see her.  Me.  She is younger, not as gray or wrinkled, less sure yet parodoxically more certain, depending on the "what".  Funny, but in years to come, she'll grow in confidence about the things she once questioned, but her certainty will diminish about the things she was sure.  Perspective changes but paradox remains, in itself, another paradox.

Or maybe I just sound crazy because that is perfectly lucid to me.

On a single bed with rose-carved maple headboard--a hand-me-down from my husband's childhood because free is always in style--I'm lying on my right side facing her.  She's in restless sleep, the heat from her body searing mine.  She may as well be a thousand degrees.  In a mother's hyperbolic economy in the middle of the night, that would be no worse. 

Her face inches from mine, I inhale her "sick breath," a mixture of breast milk and fever and misery.  It takes only one lesson to remember it everytime. 

Eighteen years later and the scent-memory returns with the mere thought of it!  Am I the only one who marvels at that?  Who remembers like this?

The urge to scoop her up and race to the emergency room counters intellegence.  I recite what I know to be true--fevers are good, it's the body's natural defense to fight infection--but her rattly and raspy breaths argue otherwise.  

She stirs and I touch her.  She instantly settles.  She needs to know I'm there.  She just needs to know I am there.  

My touch heals...

My presence matters...

Sickness has a scent...

This will never change, but I don't know that then.

Lessons of motherhood learned from dark places are never forgotten.  

Light scatters darkness...

Truth dispels deception...

Universal truths seeded in every lesson I've learned along the way.

 

Photo credit

 

Baseball bats and the difference between friends and BEST friends

Sometimes I do or say things my kids don't care for.

Like when I tell them "Do (or don't do) ________, or I'll take a baseball bat to your knee caps."

For example, "If you or any of your friends ride your RipStick down our VERY STEEP driveway AGAIN, I will take a baseball bat to your knee caps."

Bloody carnage seems to beget bloody carnage, and the gruesome pictures recently texted to me of their friend warrant my obsidian warning.

Now it's not that I'm a violent soul or that they feel threatened in any way; it just sounds awful.  And based on its hyperbolic ludicrousness, it's funny to me.

Just not to them.

So imagine my sheer delight when I discovered this in an etsy shop--

Let's just say my children don't share my enthusiasm and the oldest is questioning why-in-THE-world she ever called me perfect....

I'm okay with that.

:)

Serendipity

Finding a four-leaf clover confers an odd sense of accomplishment to me.  Its quad of verdant hearts enchants my own.

Imagine the delight, then, when along a sizzling 3 1/2-mile power walk I discover not one but an entire elfin bouquet--

Seven four-leaf clovers, seven times the luck.

So what if my good fortune is simply the matter of finding?  Not me.