Time to read

I pile the stack of books on the counter with a thud and smile at the librarian as I hand her my library card.

“No kids today?” She asks.

“No. Just me.” I say.

“Now, I have to ask you,” she says, in her rich European accent, “you have the three little boys, yes?”

“Yes.” I won’t pass this comment on to the noisy boys, who are ten and would take great offense at being called little.

“My dear,” she asks as she scans Wednesday Wars by Gary Schmidt, “when you do have time to read all of these?”

Good question. When do I have time to read? I mumble something about after the kids go to bed, but I think of it throughout the evening. The simple answer is that I prefer a good book to just about anything on television, but the truth is: I can’t not read. Words are part of who I am. And who I’m becoming.

How do I have time to read?

How do I not have time?

There is a God. And He likes me.

I was in the final moments of copyediting a lengthy document when the unthinkable happened: I somehow lost part of the document. Or the computer ate it. Or whatever.

It was bad.

I checked my files again with no luck: the endnotes were gone. And if the endnotes were gone, I had to wonder what else was gone. I considered cutting and pasting the endnotes from the original document, but quickly scrapped that plan. My reputation as a freelance editor depends on accuracy. Every. Single. Time.

I walked away from my computer and said a prayer while I crawled into bed for a nap. Because I’m spiritual that way.

I had been looking forward to a weekend with my family. A few games of UNO, a family movie, maybe some leaf raking if the weather cooperated. Now all of that was in jeopardy. I needed to keep working in order to make my deadline, and all of my fantasies about free time dissolved like the first sort-of snow of the year.

I printed out my edited document, planning to go through the whole thing again and make the changes on the original, just to be safe. And, what do you know, there were the missing endnotes. Maybe the computer hand’t eaten my document after all.
I consulted with Llama Papa, and with a few clicks, my beautiful copyedited document was there. All of it.

A few more changes, and it would be done. And I would be free for the weekend.

My first response? There is a God. And He likes me.

And yet even if the document hadn’t been recovered, I know the same thing is true. Even if I spent my weekend behind a computer screen, it’s true.

It’s easy to lose sight of God’s goodness when life feels hard, but it’s more true than any feelings we have: there is a God. And He loves us.

nachos from heaven

Last summer, her world fell apart. One of my dear friends got up one day like every other day, and by the end of it, her life was crumbled up around her.

So we did what we have done for years, my friend and I. We headed to Chilis for nachos and a heart-to-heart. But when we got there, the nachos were gone. Off the menu. Replaced with “new and improved” nachos.

Only they were not improved. Just different.

And when your world us falling down, sometimes you just want the same, old nachos.

Last night, this same friend and I met at Chilis. She’s facing a tough week with so much strength and faith and dignity, it makes me cry. And when we opened the menu, there it was: classic nachos.

I know in the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal. But it was a big deal. The cheesy concoction between us, we enjoyed sweet, comforting communion. And while I don’t think God is off finding me close parking spots at the Walmart, I do think He sent us those nachos. In all things, God is with us.

Keep it Simple Sister

Christmas.

It’s coming.

And I feel compelled to break the silence on this blog to share a few thoughts. Jill Savaage had a great post this morning on simplifying the holiday season, and I wholeheartedly agree.

All around me, women have that glazed expression that will only get worse as the holidays get nearer and they get more and more exhausted. Because, as women, we are the Keepers of the Christmas Magic. We tuck children into bed and our real work begins—making the holiday special for everyone around us.

I believe this is a noble task. I also believe we can make things simpler for ourselves by adjusting our expectations. I’ve written about this before, but each year I remember the days I spent in the hospital on bedrest while expecting the twins—from the day before Thanksgiving until the day after New Year’s. The entire holiday season was spent in and out of active labor, and you know what? It didn’t matter that I didn’t send a single Christmas card, put out a single decoration, or purchase a single Christmas gift. All that mattered to me was that my little family was safe and together. Truly.

The rest of it? It’s optional.

Let that free you, my friend. Do you dread sending Christmas cards? Don’t. Find another way to keep in touch with faraway friends. Hate buying so many presents? Ask people if they still want to exchange gifts. In this economic climate, people are happy to cross someone off of their gift list.

And the most important piece of advice I can give you, mother-of-young-children-I’m-talking-to-you: keep your kids’ expectations reasonable. Don’t go overboard. Young children enjoy gifts more when there are fewer of them. If your kids are older, it may be hard to backtrack; but if they’re little, resist the urge to overindulge them. You will thank me when they’re thirteen and don’t expect Santa to show up with a thousand dollars worth of goods.

So, without further ado, here’s my personal Holiday Survival Guide, in no particular order:

Make a master list for gifts. Include everyone you buy a gift for—teachers, coaches, family, children—everyone. Then brainstorm. Set a budget. As you buy gifts, cross it off the list. Start this today. Just do it. All those little details running through your head? Write them down.

Decide as a family how to spend your time. Do you enjoy going to lots of parties? If the answer is no, it’s okay to say, “not this year.” But maybe you’ve always wanted to have a holiday gathering, but never seem to have time. If that’s the case, make it a priority. Put the date on your calendar and do it. My point is, don’t just let December pull you under—take control of your calendar.

Spend time with friends. Take coffee breaks, make playdates, and enjoy the people you’re living life with. Incorporate friends into holiday activities like baking, cookie decorating, and even putting up the Christmas tree.

Incorporate spiritual disciplines. Don’t neglect your spiritual life because of busyness. Find time to pray, meditate, and reach out to others. After all, Jesus kind of is the point. Remember that. It will put the rest of the holiday into perspective.

Shop online. Seriously. The deals are fantastic and many places offer free shipping. If you know what you want, why drag everyone out to the mall to get it? I’ll never forget when the preschooler was younger and we walked into Kohls at Christmastime. His eyes got big and he asked, “Is THIS the mall?” So, thereyougo. Obviously shopping with the kids isn’t on my to-do list very often!

Plan meals. If I know I’m going to spend the day baking or shopping, I plan a very simple dinner. Sometimes this dinner even involves frozen food from Trader Joes. And, no, I don’t have any pride left. But I do get adequate rest.

Make your family a priority. If you’re screaming at everyone to get in line and have fun because, goshdarnit, it’s Christmas and this-is-supposed-to-be-fun, well, you’re missing the point. Chill out and go with the flow. Throw the kids in the car in their jammies and go through the drive-thru at the donut shop and just drive around, looking at lights. Enjoy the people you live with. If your traditions are turning you into a screaming shrew, maybe you need to rethink your traditions. (Or get therapy. But that’s another post.)

I know Christmas gets crazy, but we don’t have to go crazy to enjoy it!

my garden is dead

It turns out my garden plot is one of the “new” plots the park district created for this growing season. The soil wasn’t great to start with, but the bigger problem is that it’s on the low side.

We had torrential rain this spring, and my plot was completely underwater for about six weeks.

My gardening neighbor was able to get a new plot in the center. The rest of us just watched our gardens rot.

When things finally dried out, I could have replanted. But, to be honest, I didn’t have the heart.

So. Much. Work. Down. The. Tubes.

It just makes me sick.

But the alternative—investing more resources into something that isn’t healthy to begin with—isn’t good either.Sometimes we just have to cut our losses and move on. Is it painful? Yes. But this is life too.

Sometimes we work really hard and our garden dies.

mine

The preschooler has a problem.

He thinks everything in this house belongs to him. He walks around and gathers things up, saying, “Hey! Do you like my new ball/guitar/flashlight?”

There’s only one problem.

None of this stuff is his.

Twin B. is most aggravated by this new development. With a strong sense of fairness and a very black and white approach to justice, this pushes him over the edge. “I just bought that game last week with my own money. Now he’s saying it’s his!”

We remind the preschooler who really owns the stuff he’s pocketing, but he just laughs. In his mind, I think, everything in this house belongs to him. He’s on the receiving end of so many hand-me-downs, he probably figures eventually it will be his.

And I remind Twin B. that his frustration at his little brother might be how God feels sometimes. He gives us so much. Everything we need! A home, plenty of food, clothes, and even some of the stuff we want, like toys and games and vacations. And sometimes we forget it’s all a gift, and we walk around like the preschooler, just grabbing onto it, insisting it’s ours; refusing to share.

And God watches. He’s full of grace. He just wants us to get it.

It’s all His.

because there's never a good time...

We weren’t planning to have a party today. The kids were with a sitter this morning while I ran around getting ready for a writer’s conference later this week. (Write-to-Publish, anyone?)

But I was home this afternoon, and told the boys they could each invite a friend over to play. We left a few messages, and as the kids began calling back, another friend called wondering what A. was up to, and so it goes. When it was all said and done, we had a backyard full of boys, about 400 water balloons, a cooler full of juice boxes, and a whole lot of laughter.

What a blast.

As I sat at my station filling up water balloons, I thought of all the things I could be doing if all these kids weren’t over—dishes, laundry, washing the floor—and I found myself grateful for an excuse to just sit outside and enjoy the kids.

Besides, after an afternoon of running in and out to the bathroom, the floor would just get muddier anyway. And the kids sure don’t care. They’re just grateful for a place to hang out and play.

It wasn’t on the agenda today—invite half the neighborhood over and make a muddy mess in the backyard—but I’m glad we did.

I hope and pray the boys’ friends will continue to feel comfortable and welcome in our home, and we can be the “hangout house” for many years to come!

What are you waiting for, Moms? You know you'll never be "caught up" on everything. Why not just stop and enjoy the kids, just for a few hours? It doesn't have to be perfect. Just be there. And if water is involved, trust me, they'll have a ball.

summer break

Today is our first day of summer vacation, and my boys would rather be in school.

They don’t want a break. They want to keep going. Even the promise of science summer camps and unlimited books at the library isn’t enough to persuade them.

They’d just rather be in school.

Ouch.

Lest you think I’m holding huge chore fests over here, let me set the record straight: I’m a fun mom, folks. We went bowling yesterday. We’ll host water balloon fights and sleepovers and go to the zoo. I’m fun, I’m fun…really I am!

We’ll balance all this fun out with chores and math facts, but mostly, we’ll hang out at the pool.

That’s just the way I roll.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad my kids enjoy school. And I’m trying not to take it personally that I’m more excited about summer break than they are.

Once I get past ME and my own insecurities, I can see this isn't about me at all. It's about them. The noisy boys are growing up. They have their own interests and friends and lives. This is a good thing. A healthy thing.

Do you savor summer break with your kids? I do. I figure I only have seven or eight left. Less than that when you consider how busy teenagers are.

Will my house be loud? Yeah. Will I get tired of washing wet beach towels and wiping up the muddy kitchen floor fifty thousand times every day? Yeah.

Will we create memories that the boys will remember forever? Yeah. Will I have the opportunity to teach them new things about life and the world and relationships? Yeah.

Will all the hard work be worth it?

Yeah.

missing out

I really wanted to give the kids ice cream cones tonight.

It was hot. 84 degrees to be exact. The kids were playing outside, running in the sprinkler and making our play structure into a “water slide.” It was the first real water play of the season, and all three boys were loving it.

I served dinner outside to my soggy boys, and thought to myself I’ll let them play a bit more, then give them ice cream cones before they come in for showers.

That was the plan anyway.

I cleared the dinner dishes and was taking out the garbage when it began.

“He pushed me!”

“He put water on my face!”

“Mom! He pushed me again!”

The fighting and bickering and rude talk continued, even after a warning. So in they went for showers. No ice cream cones tonight.

And I was disappointed. I really wanted to watch them enjoy the first drippy, all-over-their-tummies ice cream cone of the season. They never knew about the ice cream, so they weren’t disappointed. But I was. I wanted to bless them, but had to hold back because of their behavior.

I wonder how often God feels this way about me? If you follow this blog at all, you know I’m a big believer in grace. God doesn’t treat any of us as we deserve, but instead, lavishes grace on us, in spite of us.

And yet I’m sure there are times when He holds back His blessing, just waiting for me to give up my stubborn pride and stop bickering already so He can bless me. I'm sure there are times I've missed out because of my selfishness or arrogance or addictions.

And God just waits. He wants to bless us and He waits.

Thank goodness for ice-cream-cones-tomorrow kind of grace.

the guilt

As moms, we all have it. We feel guilty if we work too much; we feel guilty if we don’t work. We feel guilty if we drag our kids out to run errands; we feel guilty if we leave them home and run errands by ourselves. We feel guilty if we’re overweight and out of shape; we feel guilty if we take time for ourselves to exercise.

We just plain feel guilty.

I was sitting with a group of women last week, and the subject of guilt came up. Everyone chimed in, and a mom with grown kids even suggested that this guilt was a good thing. After all, maybe a “good mom” does feel guilty if she takes time for herself, even if it is at the grocery store buying food for her family.

To which I say, in a nice Christian way, of course, BULL.

I just don’t think we need to buy this, ladies.

Whatever your situation in life—working, not working, whatever—do your kids a favor and get over the guilt. And if you leave the kids with a neighbor or sitter or their (GASP) Dad for a few hours to get out alone? Celebrate those moments and come home refreshed. That will do your family a lot more good than the guilt does.

It takes some practice, but let me tell you, life on the other side of guilt** is really nice. It still comes calling once in awhile, but I find that a hunk of dark chocolate shuts it right up.

** I feel like I need to add a disclaimer that I’m not suggesting moms become uber selfish and shirk their responsibilities to their households. Not at all. But, come on. I know moms who work forty hours a week, stay up until midnight baking twelve dozen cookies for the church bake sale, and feel guilty on a Saturday afternoon for sneaking off for a pedicure or, heaven forbid, lying down and taking a nap. That’s what I’m talking about.**

God is trying to kill me

I was about half way to Bloomington for Hearts at Home when a light appeared on the dashboard. “It’s like a parentheses with an exclamation point in the middle and a squiggly line on the bottom.” I told my husband on my cell phone.

“One of the tires needs air,” he said. “You should stop as soon as you can.”

And so I stopped at the next gas station and Llama Papa patiently talked me through the process of checking the air pressure and filling up the low tire. “I’m sorry,” he said more than once. “I should have checked out the van before you left.”

I was just amazed I was able to figure it out, and grateful the rain had stopped.

And then I tried to start the van again. Nothing.

Great.

I went in the gas station and talked with the gals working there. “Did you leave the lights on while you checked the tires?” She asked.

I nodded.

“It’s probably the battery. Give it ten minutes or so and try it again.”

We chatted while I waited and munched on a Milky Way bar that I purchased because, you know, eating chocolate seemed like the right thing to do.

I tried the van again. Nope.

The helpful gas station lady asked another customer, Fred, to take a look at it. Kindly, he did. “Doesn’t sound like the battery,” he said. “It might be the fuel pump.”

A few more phone calls home and we had a plan. Llama Papa would come pick me up and I’d carpool the following day with a friend. I was volunteering both days, so I called and let them know I wouldn’t be there until Saturday.

Then I settled into my van for an hour-long pity party while I waited for my husband to come and rescue me.

It had been a long week. After three interviews in a matter of days, Llama Papa and I were cautiously optimistic that he might be offered a real job. But no. He was their third choice.

I chatted with my friend on the phone and we laughed together at the misery of it all. “You know what’s really funny?” I told her, “I was listening to that Casting Crowns song, Praise You in the Storm, remembering that God really does have a plan for us. And right now, this is it. I was just thinking, Lord, I do surrender to your plan. And then my stupid van breaks down. What IS that?” (Except maybe I didn’t say stupid because, being the spiritual giant that I am, sometimes I swear when I get stressed out.)

We laughed and agreed God wasn’t trying to send me any hidden messages, because if He were, it would be that He’s trying to kill me.

Llama Papa arrived in good time and proceeded to—I am not making this up—start my van on the first try. He offered to trade vehicles with me, and I continued on my way to Bloomington after all.

I’m glad I did. Hearts at Home rocked.

And I’m convinced that God isn’t trying to kill me after all.

perspective

I never thought I'd be one of them. One of those cocky midwesterners with their coat unzipped in the freezing cold, declaring, "What a beautiful day!"

But that's exactly what I did in the school pick-up line this afternoon.

After some truly cold weather, today was a balmy 40 degrees and sunny. Truly, it felt like a taste of spring.

And so it is. I am one of them. So hardened by the cold and the snow that 40 feels like a heat wave. I never thought I'd see the day.

when things go wrong

Here’s a paradox: some of our happiest memories as a family are created when things go wrong. Is this true for you too?

Thankfully, we didn’t have any big problems on our recent trip to Disney…just the typical “stuff” that happens when you’re traveling. Here are a few of the highlights that we’re still laughing about:

Chicken. All I have to do is ask Twin A. if he wants some chicken and he busts up laughing. We were eating at Paradise Pier one night, and he ordered a “toddler” serving of macaroni and cheese—the only size they sold—and when he opened the box, there was a condiment-sized cup of macaroni in it. Like, three bites. Not even enough for our toddler.

We laughed, and the two of us walked over to the Chinese stand, where he ordered teriyake chicken and rice. The cashier asked if he wanted an adult portion or a child’s portion, and we wisely asked to see the difference in size. When the cashier held up a teeny tiny white box, A. started giggling. “The adult portion, please,” I said before busting out laughing. The two of us stood there and laughed until tears came out of our eyes.

And then—the story gets better—the chicken was really gross.

He ended up having some of the rice for dinner, and then eating a bowl of cereal back in the hotel room.

Did we pay a small fortune for strange food that never actually got eaten? Yes. But, oh the memory. We still laugh every time we hear the word, “chicken.”

And then there was Legoland in the rain. We bought bright yellow ponchos and celebrated that there were no lines for the rides. The boys huddled under a table at lunchtime and we all laughed at the absurdity of staying at the park in the rain. But we stayed and we laughed and we had a great day together.

Planning is an important part of vacationing with young children, but just as important, I believe, is the ability to be flexible. Things happen when you travel that you have absolutely no control of, and it’s important to be able to take them in stride.

Can you make the best of things and laugh together as a family when things don’t go according to plan? These are the stories your children will love to tell—the “remember when…” stories. They’ll remember the good times too, but the hard stuff—the time you ran out of clean underwear and had to wash it out in the sink—that’s what memories are made of.

You know you're a mom when...

You wake up, thrilled to have a slow day with the kids. No school or activity schedules to worry about and not much going on.

You just need to clean up a little bit, do two or three loads of laundry, make a quick trip to the grocery store, wrap half a dozen gifts, do a little baking, host friends for play and lunch, return a few phone calls and bring a meal to a neighbor.

Not much.

life lessons

“Dear God,” Twin A. prayed, “Please help *Susie…” He paused and turned to me, “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. Me neither,” I told him. “But God knows how much you care about your friend. He hears you and understands your heart, even when you don’t know what to pray.”

As a mother, I want to have all of the answers for my children. When they hurt, I want to make it all better. But sometimes we can’t, and I believe the important thing in those moments is to teach them—show them—how to handle those moments when they come. Because they will come.

We can’t fix things for our neighbors, who are grieving the loss of a wonderful husband and father. But we can be a friend and build snow forts and play. We can make them a meal. We can make a donation. We can pray.

And in doing these things, we teach our children that people and relationships are important.

We’re holding each other tighter this Christmas season, savoring each moment. Because truly, none of us has any guarantee of tomorrow.

Enjoy your family. In the midst of the chaos and the errands and the wrapping, savor the moments when you’re together. Forget the mess and turn on some music. Dance. Hug.

We only get one life. Enjoy it to the fullest.

**name has been changed to protect privacy**

canned carrots

What possessed me to buy these? I must have had some recipe in mind, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. That’s how long these have been sitting on my shelves. Going through the pantry today, I scooted them over to the side—after all, they’ve been there forever. I’m used to seeing them every time I put away groceries. But today I stop and think: why am I keeping these?

I collect things in my heart, too. Grudges, ways of coping, reactions to people. Some of these served a purpose for a time—it’s the way I got by. But now, today, they’re useless. I don’t need them anymore. So why keep them?

It’s time to throw out the carrots.

painting tips

Preschoolers love paint. Moms don't. It's messy and, well, it's messy.

I'm afraid I can't offer you much advice for making it less messy, but I DID repurpose an item destined for the garbage can into a cool paint holder.

Introducing, the camping egg carrier.


I bought this eons ago when it was just me and my husband darting off for a weekend of camping in California. Six eggs was plenty. Pancakes one morning, scrambled eggs the next...no problem. Enter three hungry boys. Now, six eggs don't get us through one morning. Last time I packed for a camping trip, I laughed at my tiny egg holder as I was putting an 18-count package of eggs into the cooler.

It's amazing how life changes.

Anyway, since our last camping trip, the egg holder has been floating around. The preschooler likes to carry things in it, so I let him play with it for awhile. I was just thinking it was time to toss it when the preschooler asked, "Can I paint today?"

Aha!

Introducing: our new paint tray. Perfect for a morning of messy painting!

time

There’s never enough of it. Like most of you reading this blog, I’m busy. Juggling three kids, a part-time job, a work-from-home editing gig, and finishing a novel has proven to be a bit much. And before you get too impressed, keep in mind that by “finishing a novel” I mean “spending a few hours editing and writing at some point every week.”

Since there’s never enough of it, I’m learning to make time for what’s really important to me. I try to carve out time each day for each of my kids. Sometimes it’s just ten minutes of one-on-one conversation at the end of the day, or a game of yahtzee or chess (I’m learning! And believe it or not, the kids are teaching me).

Last week, I was story mom in Twin B’s class, and I decided to surprise him and take him out for lunch before my volunteer shift. I dropped the preschooler off to play at a neighbor’s house and caught B. as he was waiting in line to go into the cafeteria. I hope I never forget the look on his face when I called his name and invited him out to lunch. His entire face lit up, and he just grinned as he followed me out to the van. We chatted over burgers at Wendy’s and he kept saying, “I just can’t stop saying thank you!”

It wasn’t just the burger he was thanking me for. It was the time. He knows I’m busy and have a million things I could be doing with an hour of free time. The fact that I was choosing to spend time with him—not because I have to, but because I want to—made a huge statement to him. You’re special. I enjoy you. You’re worth my time.

We all get 24 hours a day. How will you spend yours?

overwhelmed

This past few weeks have been difficult. Not in a crisis rush-to-the-ER kind of way, but in a nagging, worrying kind of way. Llama Papa and I have been talking through family decisions,** and in the midst of it all, I became just a tad bit overwhelmed. Or maybe a lot overwhelmed.

Somewhere in all of my worry, I cried out to God. It was one of those really articulate prayers that went something like this, “God? HELP!” And while there were no magic answers emailed from heaven (I’ve always thought God should get email), I did begin to loosen my grip on all of the what-ifs. Breathe. Trust.

If you’re at a crossroads today, give it a try. Ask.

If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. (James 1:5)

** edited to add: We're not moving or planning any kind of radical change in our family. It's more day-to-day decisions with the kids that feel big and overwhelming sometimes.

friends

Walking back from the school drop off, I’m struck by the strength of the women in my company. Each day we walk back and forth, chatting about homework and diapers and soccer practice and carpools. Most days we laugh, but occasionally we cry.

When I think about each woman and what’s on her plate, I marvel: how on earth does she do it? How do any of us do it?

Up before light, we pack lunches and fold clothes and unload the dishwasher. We check homework tucked into backpacks. We get the kids up and fed and off to school. Then we return to tend other kids, chores, and sometimes work. Pick-up in the afternoon is a bright spot. A chance to laugh at the things that didn’t go quite the way we’d planned. Playdates planned and favors freely given, we’ve formed a community for which I’m grateful.

And then we’re home for snacks and playdates and homework. We make dinner, clean it up, and make sure reading is done. We work some more.

And at the end of the day, we collapse and wonder why we’re so tired.

Today, women, I’m struck by our strength. Too often we complain of our weaknesses: too much chocolate, not enough exercise, our houses aren’t clean enough and on and on we list all the ways we don’t measure up.

But look at all the ways we do measure up. Take a good, long, honest look. And today, my friends, let’s celebrate who we are and what we do. Because it’s awesome.