Sunday, April 28, 2013
Help
I tried to push my stroller and get my two younger kids out the door that was trying to shut against me. You saw it and held the door for me. Thank you.
I just wanted to make it through the store and back to the car while the baby screamed loudly. You smiled sympathetically instead of judgmentally. Thank you.
I felt overwhelmed at the grocery store on the rainy day, trying to figure out how to get three kids into the car with the least amount of wetness involved. You offered to carry my bags. Thank you.
I hadn't had a break from home in two weeks because the baby needs me all the time and I felt guilty whenever I left. I'd already had to say no to three other social events. You told me it was OK to bring the baby along on this one. And you held her for me while she cried. Thank you.
You saved your advice for your own daughter instead of telling me that I was doing something wrong. Thanks.
You told me that my kids were behaving well, even though they'd just lost my coupon book and had been arguing with each other for days on end.
You noticed me with that overwhelmed look in my eyes, and you didn't just walk away, but you stayed and had an intelligent adult conversation with me.
You did what you could to help, reminding me that some day, I'll be in your shoes and wish for those days back.
Your smile reminded me that these babies are treasures.
You encouraged me when I felt tired and drained. You pulled my hand while I was sinking in despair.
Thank you, kind strangers.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Book Review
Today is "Finish the Book Day" in our house. WE finished 1A math book, read aloud Stewart Little, and I'm nearly done with The Hobbit. I also finished a library book from one of my favorite authors, Richard Peck. You may know him from the Newberry Award-winning book "A Day No Pigs Would Die". THe book I read today was called "The Teacher's Funeral", and like usual, Richard Peck delivered a great yarn.
He does a good job using local dialects and capturing the rural turn-of-the-century Indiana life in a charming way. I really enjoyed the story, told from the perspective of a 15-year-old farm kid set on escaping another year of school. It's a good read, as are all of Richard Peck's books that I've read. The other titles of his I've read this year are:
On the Wings of Heroes (my personal favorite)
A Year Down Yonder
A Long Way from Chicago
If you want some light-hearted, easy reading to pass your time, check it out.
He does a good job using local dialects and capturing the rural turn-of-the-century Indiana life in a charming way. I really enjoyed the story, told from the perspective of a 15-year-old farm kid set on escaping another year of school. It's a good read, as are all of Richard Peck's books that I've read. The other titles of his I've read this year are:
On the Wings of Heroes (my personal favorite)
A Year Down Yonder
A Long Way from Chicago
If you want some light-hearted, easy reading to pass your time, check it out.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Doubt
We sat across from each other with a backgammon game between us (who even knows how to play that!), hot tea in our hand, on old plush couches with coffee shop music filling the empty spots in our conversation. We were in The Living Room, a college student friendly cafe that had Christian bands preforming on weekends, and lots of tasty food and coffee to enjoy. But tonight I just felt a lump in my throat, and i didn't want to eat or drink.
I hadn't ever really told anyone about the dark plaguing doubt that had overtaken my heart that semester. It had been creeping in for a while, in different things, as I sat through Bible classes and scoured verses and listened to sermons and sang songs in chapel. I believed in God. I knew my faith was true, and yet, the more I read the Bible, the more questions arose, and the more I wondered if maybe there was a chance I'd made a mistake.
It was honest questioning, but I was afraid to ask the questions. I thought that the whole Christian community I'd surrounded myself with would shun me. I was engaged then and I was afraid my fiance would want to break up. I wanted everyone to believe that I was intelligent and spiritual and I was afraid to give words to those things in my heart that were pounding against in the darkness of night.
Doubt.
What I didn't realize then, as an insecure 19-year-old, was that doubt is part of faith. Without doubt, there can't be faith. If you never had to question your beliefs, they wouldn't really be worth believing in. But no one tells you that before you leave for college. No one warns you that you can get so absorbed in Christian college atmospheres that you can lose sight of your own faith.
Thank the Lord for my friend Nathan. He was a senior that year, so when I asked him if we could talk, he took me out to the Living Room and I spilled what had been hiding in my heart. He knew me well. We'd had a lot of talks that year, and he and I thought the same about so many things. When I told him what I was thinking, about the doubt and the questions, he told me it was OK. And he told me that he didn't know other people felt the same way he did. I was so relieved then. Not only because I gave voice to the fears and doubts and called them what they were, but then I knew I had a like minded person who suffered in the same way I did.
I'm not really sure what happened after that. I started writing my questions down like Nathan adised, and looking everywhere I could for answers. I knew a lot of philosphy back then, and I had a lot more time to read. And God always drew me back to the foundation I had in Him. Somewhere in the rest of that semester, I found Him again. He'd been hidden from me. Not the theology and written words and teachings and all of the things that men say about Him. But Him. Jesus, my friend, who knows me and loves me and cares for me. And the questions become afterthoughts when I remember His promises, the way He's led me.
They're still there. I think they always will be. It's the way my mind works, asking questions and wondering about origins and things. But no matter where I go in my wanderings, I just can't completely walk away. Because "he remains faithful when we are faithless", and I know, like CS Lewis said, He is Himself the answer.
Harder to Believe Than Not To - Steve Taylor
Nothing is colder than the winds of change/ when a chill numbs the dreamer til a shadow remains/ among the ruins lies your tortured soul/ was it lost there or did you just surrender control? You shiver with doubts that were left unattended. so you tossed away the cloak that you should have mended / you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to. Harder to believe than not to.
Some stay paralyzed until they succumb/ others do what they feel/ but their senses are numb/ and some get trampled by the pious throng/ still they limp along
And are you steady enough/ to move to the front/ is it nods of approval or the truth that you want/ and if they call it a crutch then you walk with pride/ your accusers have always been afraid to go outside
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended/ so they toss away the cloak that they should have mended/ you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to
Harder to believe than not to.
I hadn't ever really told anyone about the dark plaguing doubt that had overtaken my heart that semester. It had been creeping in for a while, in different things, as I sat through Bible classes and scoured verses and listened to sermons and sang songs in chapel. I believed in God. I knew my faith was true, and yet, the more I read the Bible, the more questions arose, and the more I wondered if maybe there was a chance I'd made a mistake.
It was honest questioning, but I was afraid to ask the questions. I thought that the whole Christian community I'd surrounded myself with would shun me. I was engaged then and I was afraid my fiance would want to break up. I wanted everyone to believe that I was intelligent and spiritual and I was afraid to give words to those things in my heart that were pounding against in the darkness of night.
Doubt.
What I didn't realize then, as an insecure 19-year-old, was that doubt is part of faith. Without doubt, there can't be faith. If you never had to question your beliefs, they wouldn't really be worth believing in. But no one tells you that before you leave for college. No one warns you that you can get so absorbed in Christian college atmospheres that you can lose sight of your own faith.
Thank the Lord for my friend Nathan. He was a senior that year, so when I asked him if we could talk, he took me out to the Living Room and I spilled what had been hiding in my heart. He knew me well. We'd had a lot of talks that year, and he and I thought the same about so many things. When I told him what I was thinking, about the doubt and the questions, he told me it was OK. And he told me that he didn't know other people felt the same way he did. I was so relieved then. Not only because I gave voice to the fears and doubts and called them what they were, but then I knew I had a like minded person who suffered in the same way I did.
I'm not really sure what happened after that. I started writing my questions down like Nathan adised, and looking everywhere I could for answers. I knew a lot of philosphy back then, and I had a lot more time to read. And God always drew me back to the foundation I had in Him. Somewhere in the rest of that semester, I found Him again. He'd been hidden from me. Not the theology and written words and teachings and all of the things that men say about Him. But Him. Jesus, my friend, who knows me and loves me and cares for me. And the questions become afterthoughts when I remember His promises, the way He's led me.
They're still there. I think they always will be. It's the way my mind works, asking questions and wondering about origins and things. But no matter where I go in my wanderings, I just can't completely walk away. Because "he remains faithful when we are faithless", and I know, like CS Lewis said, He is Himself the answer.
Harder to Believe Than Not To - Steve Taylor
Nothing is colder than the winds of change/ when a chill numbs the dreamer til a shadow remains/ among the ruins lies your tortured soul/ was it lost there or did you just surrender control? You shiver with doubts that were left unattended. so you tossed away the cloak that you should have mended / you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to. Harder to believe than not to.
Some stay paralyzed until they succumb/ others do what they feel/ but their senses are numb/ and some get trampled by the pious throng/ still they limp along
And are you steady enough/ to move to the front/ is it nods of approval or the truth that you want/ and if they call it a crutch then you walk with pride/ your accusers have always been afraid to go outside
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended/ so they toss away the cloak that they should have mended/ you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to
Harder to believe than not to.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Dear Society (A frustrated rant form a mom who's having a bad day)
I'm kind of tired of you making it so difficult to have babies. While some of you make it into this big deal to try and market all of the things we "need" that actually just clutter up the house and make things more complicated, others of you try to tell us that having babies isn't "enough", that we should be working too or keeping house better or cooking amazing meals, etc. And then there are those of you who think it is SUCH a big deal that you can't really see anything as important as having babies and you're just as bad.
Here's the thing. I don't like being a mom all that much. Sure, there are parts I love, but do you know how many other things I'd rather do on most days? So, really, you're making my life more miserable with all of your expectations of me.
Also, while you have these opinions, there's also this belief that a mom should be able to leave her baby behind sometimes. I'm sorry. If I have a baby who needs me, I can't just leave her. Good for the people who can. I can't, and you shouldn't expect me to. Yes, I realize that I need to make sacrifices and sometimes I just have to decide not to do some things because bringing a baby won't benefit anyone else there. But you forget. Sometimes having a baby present does benefit people. And most of the time, who does it hurt? The baby is my responsibility. I'm not expecting the world to drop everything to accommodate her. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you, really, and I'd appreciate some flexibility on your end of it all.
Moms have a hard job and it only makes it harder when you shove your expectations onto them. It's not like they make their babies fussy. It's not like they want them to cry when you're trying to enjoy conversation with people. Moms do the best they know how to do, but moms don't like being excluded from society just because they have a baby with them. Maybe you forgot what it was like when you had a baby. Or maybe you never had one. Or, in either case, maybe this mom's baby just isn't like yours. You don't know her situation. You don't know if she's on the brink of a breakdown and just needed to get out of the house for a little bit and see people or get some milk and there's no other option but to take the crying baby along. You don't know if she hasn't slept in three weeks and her brain isn't working that well. You don't know if she cried all afternoon because someone made a remark about her baby or gave unsolicited opinions. You just don't know. But, whatever the mommy's situation is, she would appreciate support and sympathy a lot more than judgmental looks and unreachable standards and alienation.
Thank you for listening.
Signed, an exhausted mommy
PS Thanks to the people who "get" this. I know you are out there and I hope you're the majority.
Here's the thing. I don't like being a mom all that much. Sure, there are parts I love, but do you know how many other things I'd rather do on most days? So, really, you're making my life more miserable with all of your expectations of me.
Also, while you have these opinions, there's also this belief that a mom should be able to leave her baby behind sometimes. I'm sorry. If I have a baby who needs me, I can't just leave her. Good for the people who can. I can't, and you shouldn't expect me to. Yes, I realize that I need to make sacrifices and sometimes I just have to decide not to do some things because bringing a baby won't benefit anyone else there. But you forget. Sometimes having a baby present does benefit people. And most of the time, who does it hurt? The baby is my responsibility. I'm not expecting the world to drop everything to accommodate her. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you, really, and I'd appreciate some flexibility on your end of it all.
Moms have a hard job and it only makes it harder when you shove your expectations onto them. It's not like they make their babies fussy. It's not like they want them to cry when you're trying to enjoy conversation with people. Moms do the best they know how to do, but moms don't like being excluded from society just because they have a baby with them. Maybe you forgot what it was like when you had a baby. Or maybe you never had one. Or, in either case, maybe this mom's baby just isn't like yours. You don't know her situation. You don't know if she's on the brink of a breakdown and just needed to get out of the house for a little bit and see people or get some milk and there's no other option but to take the crying baby along. You don't know if she hasn't slept in three weeks and her brain isn't working that well. You don't know if she cried all afternoon because someone made a remark about her baby or gave unsolicited opinions. You just don't know. But, whatever the mommy's situation is, she would appreciate support and sympathy a lot more than judgmental looks and unreachable standards and alienation.
Thank you for listening.
Signed, an exhausted mommy
PS Thanks to the people who "get" this. I know you are out there and I hope you're the majority.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Scarlet
Hers was a tragic life, a tragic story full of sad songs and broken desires, and people letting her down. She was abused, used and thrown away more often than any person ever should be. Yet she dreamed, and she dreamed full and bright. She took chances and she ran free, following whims that led her down dark streets and into studios in LA. We used to talk online, chat about philosophy and life and the people we'd known. And I loved her art.
We were so different, opposite in so many things. And yet she understood some part of me that I could never really explain to anyone else, and maybe I did for her too. Maybe she got tired of the things that made us different, or maybe she just moved on. I wish that she were still here, reading this. There was this beauty in her heart that appealed to me, amidst her brokenness and weariness and questionable lifestyle, this poetry that pulled out pieces of purity and bliss, and also a little bit of the ugly things no one likes to talk about. And it made her who she was, that honesty.
She knew darkness like few people do, yet she staggered toward the light so often, reaching her hands out in front of her, squinting straight ahead at the little glimmers that came and went, wishing from her depths that she could grasp it, yet always being evaded. She understood so many things, knew what was best, but still found comfort in a darkness, in the twilight between day and night.
Art poured out from within her, from those broken places that remembered abuse and misuse, from the whole places that saw heaven up ahead, from the heart where fires burn in love and hatred. She could be in movies, she could stand on the stage unafraid, all the while wondering if she was good enough for any of it. And if any of it was good enough for her.
So now she sings and plays piano, and I hope she never goes back to the life before that, where she wandered and questioned and fought. I hope she still fights, though, in searching for the truth and for shimmering things lost in the murk of lies, fights for herself against those who can't appreciate what she does and who she is. I hope she wanders back into my life, because I miss her and think of her often. Most of all, I hope we walk together in heaven and find the pure art, the way it was meant to be all along.
We were so different, opposite in so many things. And yet she understood some part of me that I could never really explain to anyone else, and maybe I did for her too. Maybe she got tired of the things that made us different, or maybe she just moved on. I wish that she were still here, reading this. There was this beauty in her heart that appealed to me, amidst her brokenness and weariness and questionable lifestyle, this poetry that pulled out pieces of purity and bliss, and also a little bit of the ugly things no one likes to talk about. And it made her who she was, that honesty.
She knew darkness like few people do, yet she staggered toward the light so often, reaching her hands out in front of her, squinting straight ahead at the little glimmers that came and went, wishing from her depths that she could grasp it, yet always being evaded. She understood so many things, knew what was best, but still found comfort in a darkness, in the twilight between day and night.
Art poured out from within her, from those broken places that remembered abuse and misuse, from the whole places that saw heaven up ahead, from the heart where fires burn in love and hatred. She could be in movies, she could stand on the stage unafraid, all the while wondering if she was good enough for any of it. And if any of it was good enough for her.
So now she sings and plays piano, and I hope she never goes back to the life before that, where she wandered and questioned and fought. I hope she still fights, though, in searching for the truth and for shimmering things lost in the murk of lies, fights for herself against those who can't appreciate what she does and who she is. I hope she wanders back into my life, because I miss her and think of her often. Most of all, I hope we walk together in heaven and find the pure art, the way it was meant to be all along.
Noise
Do you ever find yourself in a place where all of the usual noise has been removed, and you suddenly find that some part of you had been at tension the whole time, and you hadn't even realized it until the noise was gone? Like the washing machine with its droning, and finally it stops and you just feel like something inside of you was set free? Maybe it's just me.
I think with the usual noise around me, I find those rare silent moments so amazing, and there's some part of me that just breaks out dancing when I'm surrounded by silence. It's so rare, so very rare. Even now, with the baby sleeping and the older girls palying quietly upstairs, it's loud. The washer's running, the furnace. The occasional baby doll shouts something, one of the kids is listening to an audio drama. It's loud, even though it's quiet.
Over Easter when I took a break from media and distractions, I found myself surrounded by other distractions. I don't really even kmnow what they were, but it was hard to sit and meditate like I'd planned. It was disappointing, really. I had thought I would learn all of these new things about God, and that He'd honor my sacrifice and reveal Himself to me, and I'd have time to write poetry and read verses and... well, it just didn't happen. And I don't know if it was me and all of my sin or if it was just life and that's how it is, or if maybe I learned and saw more than I even thought I did. Whatever the case, I still long for that silence that seems impossible right now.
I feel it creep over me all the time, driving in the car without kids, when the radio's on with music I like, but all I want to do is shut it off. Talking with friends whose company I really enjoy, I just wish we could communicate without talking. I long for it, for quiet, amidst the errands, the bills, the TV shows, the Veggie Tales playing, the siblings arguing, the husband telling me about his day, the laundry machines, the rain and wind outside, the lessons of life and the piles of things shouting for me to take care of them. I want it to be silent. I want peace to reign.
That's really what it is. The noise wouldn't be so irritating if I were resting in peace like I should be, like my soul wants to be.
Today the baby was crying like usual because she needed a nap. And I wanted so badly to make it silent for her so that she could relax and fall asleep. Just for ten minutes. It wouldn't happen, and the more I tried, the more upset she (and I) got. Eventually I went into her room and turned on this little music bear that plays white noise or music for 20 minutes. I hung it next to her in bed, and waited while she sucked on her pacifier. She let out one of those little baby sighs, like she was saying, "Everything's finally OK now", and closed her eyes. The music from her bear, replaying itself over and over, took her into dreamland. And when I went downstairs to sit and relax for a second, I thought about that constant noise, and how there's realy no way to drown it out right now. At least not physically.
But all of the voices in my heart that scream at me and tell me to get this done and stop doing that, and make the deadlines and accomplish whatever--those I can drown out. I can squelch them. I can tune into one thing, singing louder than the rest of those voices. Just like little Lois and the bear. I can listen for the voice of God, and if I'm listening like I should, the other voices get quieter and quieter and eventually, peace reigns.
I think with the usual noise around me, I find those rare silent moments so amazing, and there's some part of me that just breaks out dancing when I'm surrounded by silence. It's so rare, so very rare. Even now, with the baby sleeping and the older girls palying quietly upstairs, it's loud. The washer's running, the furnace. The occasional baby doll shouts something, one of the kids is listening to an audio drama. It's loud, even though it's quiet.
Over Easter when I took a break from media and distractions, I found myself surrounded by other distractions. I don't really even kmnow what they were, but it was hard to sit and meditate like I'd planned. It was disappointing, really. I had thought I would learn all of these new things about God, and that He'd honor my sacrifice and reveal Himself to me, and I'd have time to write poetry and read verses and... well, it just didn't happen. And I don't know if it was me and all of my sin or if it was just life and that's how it is, or if maybe I learned and saw more than I even thought I did. Whatever the case, I still long for that silence that seems impossible right now.
I feel it creep over me all the time, driving in the car without kids, when the radio's on with music I like, but all I want to do is shut it off. Talking with friends whose company I really enjoy, I just wish we could communicate without talking. I long for it, for quiet, amidst the errands, the bills, the TV shows, the Veggie Tales playing, the siblings arguing, the husband telling me about his day, the laundry machines, the rain and wind outside, the lessons of life and the piles of things shouting for me to take care of them. I want it to be silent. I want peace to reign.
That's really what it is. The noise wouldn't be so irritating if I were resting in peace like I should be, like my soul wants to be.
Today the baby was crying like usual because she needed a nap. And I wanted so badly to make it silent for her so that she could relax and fall asleep. Just for ten minutes. It wouldn't happen, and the more I tried, the more upset she (and I) got. Eventually I went into her room and turned on this little music bear that plays white noise or music for 20 minutes. I hung it next to her in bed, and waited while she sucked on her pacifier. She let out one of those little baby sighs, like she was saying, "Everything's finally OK now", and closed her eyes. The music from her bear, replaying itself over and over, took her into dreamland. And when I went downstairs to sit and relax for a second, I thought about that constant noise, and how there's realy no way to drown it out right now. At least not physically.
But all of the voices in my heart that scream at me and tell me to get this done and stop doing that, and make the deadlines and accomplish whatever--those I can drown out. I can squelch them. I can tune into one thing, singing louder than the rest of those voices. Just like little Lois and the bear. I can listen for the voice of God, and if I'm listening like I should, the other voices get quieter and quieter and eventually, peace reigns.
Friday, April 05, 2013
The Best Foods
This will be a rant. I will probably write something beautiful about spring coming next week, but right now I"m just in a mood. Husband's been working a lot, and I'm sort of tired out. Which is why I'm thinking about food so much.
Tonight I made this super healthy supper, which feels good. If you know me you know how much I hate cooking, and out of all of the things I'm "supposed" to do right now with my "job" as "homemaker" (Sorry for the excessive quotes, but they are all necessary), cooking is the worst. Definitely below cleaning toilets. Tonight we had stew beef, steamed carrots and red potatoes, and homemade cornbread with homemade gravy. The beef was grass-fed organic, the carrots were organic too. And it just felt good. But here's the thing that I'm getting SO TIRED OF lately. (And I should insert here, it's not because of things any of my friends or peers say or do). I'm kind of tired of feeling guilty about what I feed my kids. I do the best I can, and sometimes the best is really not... "good". Sometimes it involves crackers, or macaroni, or fish sticks from a box. But they aren't hungry, and they're growing and they aren't obese, and we have a pretty fun time together most days. So why do I feel guilty when I make them mac and cheese sometimes? Why does it bother me when I heat up some frozen veggies in the microwave? Why should I be wondering about the source of the eggs we eat?
I'm kind of fed up with the way our country makes food. How we actually EAT industry and commercialism every day. I'm kind of tired of hearing about it, too, though. I mean, if you really take all of the news to heart about genetically modified things, whole foods, intollerances, sprays, etc, there's really nothing left to eat. Uness I'm growing my own garden in some hyperbolic chamber that can't be cross-contaminated, with heirloom seeds that I spent $4 a piece on, with compost that I made out of last year's organic crop, in soil that I dug out from WHO KNOWS WHERE... I mean, how does this work? There's really no good way to stop the machine.
I try. I get organic veggies for the ones we eat a lot of. I've been feeding the kids grass-fed beef (thanks to my parents' christmas present to us). We play outside all the time. We don't use cans of cream-o-whatever soups. We bake our own bread. We don't eat out much, and I don't fry foods much. But it just doesn't seem good enough in this pinterest-loving society I live in. It just doesn't cut it.
When did eating veggies and taking a Flinstone become completely passe? Why is it all so complicated? Why can't they just have a PB and J and go out and play?
Don't get me wrong. I would love to feed them (and me) from the all-natural aisles, and give them those healthy super foods like kale and acai and whatever. But I don't have that much extra money sitting around. And I don't like cooking enough. And I don't want to make myself like it and take that much time to make it, and feel drained every day by the time my husband gets home because I was busy cooking some delicious all-natural meal. Because if I did, I would just resent it. I wouldn't be doing it in love. I would be doing it out of guilt and obligation and I would be miserable. And let's face it. Sometimes dealing with the whines and complaining and just getting kids to put their shoes on to get to school on time is about all we moms can handle before we're ready to pull our hair out.
This isn't a statement against people who do the all-natural thing. Some of my best friends are into that. And they do it really well. Really, I'm "into" it too, as in I've heard all the research and I know what's "best". But folks, as with all good things, there is a give and take at play here. I could make those really healthy meals, but I would be giving up energy and time that I put into the kids. I could pay double at the grocery store, but I would be giving up money we spend on extras and fun things like vacation. So, like with most things that we decide in our families, I've weighed my options and I've gone with what I think is best for us. Sure, I want to do better. But right now, in this preschool-crying baby, messes-all-over-the-house phase of life, "BEST" is taking a few extra minutes to play outside or read a book to the kids, and a little less time standing at the stove. Best is having a little bit of a smile left when Husbandy comes home. Best involves love, and giving sacrificially. Best is keeping myself sane by slowing down to play Scrabble on my Kindle for ten minutes. Best is choosing to place my kids' health and lifespan into God's hands after I've done what I can to follow the health rules, and trusting that He'll keep them here on earth as long as He wants, and knowing that, like Job said, "no plan of His can be thwarted". Despite what I do to ruin them.
Tonight I made this super healthy supper, which feels good. If you know me you know how much I hate cooking, and out of all of the things I'm "supposed" to do right now with my "job" as "homemaker" (Sorry for the excessive quotes, but they are all necessary), cooking is the worst. Definitely below cleaning toilets. Tonight we had stew beef, steamed carrots and red potatoes, and homemade cornbread with homemade gravy. The beef was grass-fed organic, the carrots were organic too. And it just felt good. But here's the thing that I'm getting SO TIRED OF lately. (And I should insert here, it's not because of things any of my friends or peers say or do). I'm kind of tired of feeling guilty about what I feed my kids. I do the best I can, and sometimes the best is really not... "good". Sometimes it involves crackers, or macaroni, or fish sticks from a box. But they aren't hungry, and they're growing and they aren't obese, and we have a pretty fun time together most days. So why do I feel guilty when I make them mac and cheese sometimes? Why does it bother me when I heat up some frozen veggies in the microwave? Why should I be wondering about the source of the eggs we eat?
I'm kind of fed up with the way our country makes food. How we actually EAT industry and commercialism every day. I'm kind of tired of hearing about it, too, though. I mean, if you really take all of the news to heart about genetically modified things, whole foods, intollerances, sprays, etc, there's really nothing left to eat. Uness I'm growing my own garden in some hyperbolic chamber that can't be cross-contaminated, with heirloom seeds that I spent $4 a piece on, with compost that I made out of last year's organic crop, in soil that I dug out from WHO KNOWS WHERE... I mean, how does this work? There's really no good way to stop the machine.
I try. I get organic veggies for the ones we eat a lot of. I've been feeding the kids grass-fed beef (thanks to my parents' christmas present to us). We play outside all the time. We don't use cans of cream-o-whatever soups. We bake our own bread. We don't eat out much, and I don't fry foods much. But it just doesn't seem good enough in this pinterest-loving society I live in. It just doesn't cut it.
When did eating veggies and taking a Flinstone become completely passe? Why is it all so complicated? Why can't they just have a PB and J and go out and play?
Don't get me wrong. I would love to feed them (and me) from the all-natural aisles, and give them those healthy super foods like kale and acai and whatever. But I don't have that much extra money sitting around. And I don't like cooking enough. And I don't want to make myself like it and take that much time to make it, and feel drained every day by the time my husband gets home because I was busy cooking some delicious all-natural meal. Because if I did, I would just resent it. I wouldn't be doing it in love. I would be doing it out of guilt and obligation and I would be miserable. And let's face it. Sometimes dealing with the whines and complaining and just getting kids to put their shoes on to get to school on time is about all we moms can handle before we're ready to pull our hair out.
This isn't a statement against people who do the all-natural thing. Some of my best friends are into that. And they do it really well. Really, I'm "into" it too, as in I've heard all the research and I know what's "best". But folks, as with all good things, there is a give and take at play here. I could make those really healthy meals, but I would be giving up energy and time that I put into the kids. I could pay double at the grocery store, but I would be giving up money we spend on extras and fun things like vacation. So, like with most things that we decide in our families, I've weighed my options and I've gone with what I think is best for us. Sure, I want to do better. But right now, in this preschool-crying baby, messes-all-over-the-house phase of life, "BEST" is taking a few extra minutes to play outside or read a book to the kids, and a little less time standing at the stove. Best is having a little bit of a smile left when Husbandy comes home. Best involves love, and giving sacrificially. Best is keeping myself sane by slowing down to play Scrabble on my Kindle for ten minutes. Best is choosing to place my kids' health and lifespan into God's hands after I've done what I can to follow the health rules, and trusting that He'll keep them here on earth as long as He wants, and knowing that, like Job said, "no plan of His can be thwarted". Despite what I do to ruin them.
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