Life is on such warp speed that I'd pretty much decided to forego a family Christmas card this year. Which isn't very ME at all... I'm all for collage spreads, and considered just using images that I loved from throughout the year... but seriously, I'm so buried in stuff I needed to get done, oh, seven months ago, I was just going to let it go...
But on Sunday, Shawn informed me that it was supposed to be a great day. I think he may have even said 'gorgeous'. So I decided that I wanted to try to get a family shot for a Christmas card. Spur of the moment. That is also very NOT me.
I had wanted to do it in the afternoon, when the light was just right. But we realized that the likelihood of the perfect storm of perfectness coming together for that was.... yeah... you got it.
So I acquiesced to doing it midday with ugly midday light... when hopefully everyone would be as cooperative as possible.
Well, it was intermittently overcast and sunny, which made timing shots all so interesting. My kids are unable to stand where asked for longer than 37 milliseconds. My kids are both unable to smile naturally on command. I am unable to do an 'official' photo of my family or children without becoming insanely furious. And worst of all?
I wore my grandma jeans on accident.
I mean, seriously? WHO does not notice when they are trying to coordinate their family's clothing for a photo, spur of the moment with what they have and what happens to be clean.... that you put on the ONE pair of jeans that you own that you detest with passion and look soooooo ugly?
HOW. DOES. THAT. HAPPEN????
I didn't even notice until hours later after dinner was cooked and cleaned up and I went to change clothes. Saw those jeans on the floor and thought, "how strange.... those are my nasty, ugly, awful grandma jeans lying on the floor. I would have sworn I just put the jeans I took off right there, but no, those are the grandma jeans. Where did those cute jeans go? Not here. Or here. Or over there. Oh no. OH NO. NO!!!!! nooooooooooooooo!!!!! It couldn't BE! I wore those awful, awful, awful grandma jeans for the PHOTOS!!!!"
I suppose that should be a sign that I have one too many things going on. You think?
At any rate, the resulting images had Shawn and me in hysterics over the kids' attempts to smile for us. I could get upset if I didn't know she was trying SOOOOOO hard to smile pretty and she thinks she is... And for the fact that I can't smile naturally either, so I totally commiserate. So while I don't have a new canvas worthy image to hang over my fireplace, I DO have some hilarious images that invoke serious joy in my heart.
And really, isn't that the grand purpose of it all, anyway?
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she called me a hypocrite | in defense of Billy
[I have hesitated to hit publish on the post. I'm still not sure if it is the right thing to do.] I don't remember exactly when I started going to her to cut my hair. But I've threatened her if she ever considers moving away, because she cuts my hair better than anyone ever, ever, ever has. Apparently I have difficult-to-cut-well hair; she told me so. I just seriously love what she does. She makes me feel beautiful in a land where I've felt like I had the worst hair on the planet for thirty years. She assures me she won't ever move, but man, I'll be up a creek if she does.
It was time to visit her again and we had the usual discussions. If you know me, you know I'm not real big on surface chitchat. I'd rather not talk at all if all we're going to discuss is stupid non-consequential stuff (please oh please do not dictate to me the storyline and dialogue of a tv show or movie, scene by scene. please). So the hairdresser chat talk has always been a struggle for me. But I try to take it to deeper places and she usually bends to me. Another reason I like her. I don't think I am someone she would ever choose to befriend on the outside world, but I always walk away feeling like we had a good time and a good talk.
She is younger and doesn't have children of her own yet, but she does have nieces and nephews. We can relate some on that front. So on this visit, the talk had meandered onto movies and tv shows and the language in them. The lovely show Spongebob was introduced and I vehemently exclaimed how I feel that show is just awful and I do not, and will not, let my kids watch it.
[It's always great when we walk into a crowded doctor office waiting room and Little Buddy gasps, then shouts "Mommy! That BAD show is on!!!" while every other kid is happily watching away and their parents give me the evil eye. Seriously, it seems that it always playing wherever we seek medical attention all over the region of east Tennessee.]
Earlier in the conversation I mentioned how Little Buddy loves to watch Billy the Exterminator.
[If you are not familiar with Billy, it is a reality/documentary type show produced by A&E. Billy's Bio on A&E.com puts it plainly: Billy is "the spikey-haired, leather-bound, chain-mail donning founder of the Louisiana-based family-owned pest control business, Vexcon LLC,." Many would say Billy's appearance is extreme and his language is uncensored. The show chronicles the adventures of aiding clients in the elimination of their pest problems. Click the link to find out more. Image from A&E website.

So, we watch Billy. I think she was a little surprised that I'd let Little Buddy watch it. I'm sure she isn't the only one who is surprised that I do. Her response to my Spongebob outburst however took me a little by surprise.
"So wait... you let your kids watch Billy the Exterminator, but you won't let them watch Spongebob."
I answer, fully confidant in my reply because it makes perfect sense to me. Yes, yes I do.
She sarcastically replies, "Riiiiiiight, Carey. That makes a whole lotta sense."
awkkkkkkward.....
My hairdresser has just insulted me. And I could see how, on the surface, it does seem a little confusing. Though it does make perfect sense to me. (But I guess hypocrisy makes perfect sense to all hypocrites, no? perhaps I'm just a deluded hypocrite.) I replied with an attempt to quickly explain it. How Billy chooses to use filthy language and we discuss how that isn't a life choice we want to make, but in Spongebob, those characters are just plain nasty to each other. How they interact. It's a respect issue and we won't view that."
I think she rolled her eyes. Said "uh huh" in a sarcastic way. And then everything was realllly awkward from that point out. I'm not sure if she realized that she'd offended me. I'm not sure if she realized that was probably not the wisest customer service move on her part. Perhaps she did and that's why she was strangely silent from there on out.
I paid, scheduled the next appointment, and got in my van. By this point I was fuming, to put it mildly. She had boldly, and in front of other wildly listening ears, told me she thought I was full of it. I admit, my pride was stung. And I didn't defend myself adequately at all.
Then I got mad at myself for getting mad. I began the introspection of introspections that my brain always defers to. Okay, Carey. You're mad. WHY are you mad? If you are mad and defensive, it's probably because she hit a tender spot. Because you know she is right and you're being a self righteous, obstinate, hypocritical, pharisaical, judgmental person who refuses to admit error. Shame on you. Serves you right to get humiliated in public over it.
As I continued to drive home, however, the clarity of this seemingly conflicting decision to banish Spongebob yet embrace Billy hit me. You know, I just don't think well on my feet. Never have. I take time to process. My brain seems to connect so much better when I'm typing my words than when I speak them. Not to mention when I'm flustered at being misunderstood and insulted. That inserts itself between my brain synapses and coherent thought ceases. Well, that and how there's just entirely too much swirling around in my brain at any given moment, so access to decisions and thought processes made long ago is no longer instantaneous.
I have never 'watched' Spongebob (though we were mad fiend fans of Pinky and the Brain in college). I viewed pieces of an episode here or there several years ago when we were first entering the kid cartoon world. I was utterly appalled at the language the characters used. I was utterly appalled at the way the characters interacted. I was utterly flabbergasted that any parent would choose to put their child in front of this show. Particularly a toddler/preschool age child. So I made the decision that this would not be something we were part of. Yes, all shows, and I do mean all, include things I wish they hadn't, both in language and behavior. But Spongebob seemed to be all ABOUT what I didn't want them to hear/see/observe/model.
[One of my sin tendencies is to be judgmental. It just is. I have and am working so hard to break this down. So in sharing this, I very, very, very much do not want to sound judgmental. I don't want you to come away thinking I will judge you if you let your kids watch Spongebob. Over the years I have observed that I am in the minority here and that lots of people think its great. This is a personal decision here, for our family. There is no one size fits all, ever. That is all. ]
My kids, both of them, have always been fascinated by animals and creatures. They've never played with little kid versions of things - they are always drawn the realistic versions. Little Buddy has never been into cars. He's had small little forays into construction, which mostly included the simultaneous foray into dirt and mud. But on the whole, he has been all about animals. Specifically ocean creatures. But I believe that our family fascination with Billy the Exterminator began earlier last summer when we bought an animal trap ourselves. We needed to catch, and relocate, the pesky groundhog who was eating up our garden. Before we got him, we caught two raccoons, a rabbit, and a neighborhood cat. I believe it was then that Little Buddy began to be fascinated by this world of extermination. The kids just loved dealing with the trap.
So we began to watch the show. Billy's language is unpleasant to put it mildly. He says almost all of the words that I'd really rather my kids have never heard, let alone use. But dude!!! Little Buddy LOVES it. I mean, LOVES it. For a while, he wanted to be Billy for Halloween! He loves learning about the different animals and bugs. Learning about the different techniques required to catch them. And what to do with them once they've been removed from the undesired situations.
Little Buddy loves to learn. He just does. He is so very much MY kid. He soaks up knowledge, on a topic of interest, like a dry sponge in the desert. Billy the Exterminator combines entertainment with learning on a subject he is fascinated by. I love that.
Little Buddy recently turned five. While he is a boy, I do feel that he is emotionally mature for his age. He's very logical and he reasons. He thinks things through. And when I hesitated to let him continue watching the show, due to the language mostly, I realized that we could talk about this. That he was at a maturity level that allowed some understanding.
He's in preschool. He's around other kids from other families with different values and priorities than ours. I cannot keep him in a bubble. I shouldn't keep him in a bubble. It is my job as his mom to keep him innocent. It is my job to protect him. But it also my job to prepare him. The older he gets, the more he is exposed to, just walking around our world. He'll be reading soon, and I know I'll get the questions about what billboards say and store names. Places that I'd rather not have to explain. And goodness, just taking a trip to walmart opens a Pandora's box of possibilities of what he will see/hear/observe. At some point, I must begin to teach him to discern on his own what is good, honorable, noble, pure, and righteous. Being able to make the decisions on his own is something that I believe we must always teach. There's not a day when, bam, he's old enough to begin that lesson. We must always be teaching that lesson.
So we've talked about how Billy uses words that are ugly. And that we don't say those words in our family. Billy has made a poor decision to speak in that way. And there are consequences to his bad choice.
But do we turn our backs on him because he's made a bad choice?
Is that what Jesus asks us to do? Run away from someone who doesn't fit the perfect mold of Americanized Pre-Fabricated Christian? Run away from someone who makes a mistake? Makes a bad choice?
It was when I realized we were teaching another lesson, through allowing Billy the Exterminator, into our home that I felt great about my decision. Billy is letting us demonstrate how we are going to love and accept anyone, even if they make a poor choice. Even if they do something we consider wrong. We love them anyway. We accept them anyway. We welcome them into our lives. We may not adopt their ways as our own, we may not condone their choices or actions, but we love them anyway. We do not turn our backs.
I want my kids to grow up with this mentality. Because that is what Jesus has called us to do. We aren't supposed to put ourselves in a capsule and only allow in those who look like us, act like us, believe like us. And I'm making the most of a parenting opportunity made available to me. I could lecture this topic til I'm blue in the face, and more than likely, Little Buddy wouldn't understand where I was going with my words. But using something he is interested in to demonstrate my point, makes this a very effective lesson for all of us. I can visibly demonstrate to my kids how we are going to obey something Jesus has asked of us.
Jesus didn't seek out those who looked outwardly appealing. He didn't turn away those who were everything he spoke against. He embraced them. He welcomed them. He loved them. He may not love their actions and decisions, but he loves them.
I made this mistake of turning my back when I was in college. My closest friend in the world, who knew who I was and what I'd come from, who could identify with me on things I cannot put into words even now, who I'd been with since 8th grade, chose to enter the world of alcohol during our freshmen year in college. She went to Carolina while many of the rest of us were at NC State. I still wish she'd come with us to State. But what happened, happened. When I discovered this was what she was pursuing, I couldn't handle it. I'd grown up in a home where alcohol and its painful ramifications were rampant. I experienced a whole lot of hurt from alcohol. Alcohol has wounded my heart and my soul. I couldn't handle my friends, let alone my best one, being part of that. I really don't remember the discussion. But somehow our friendship ended. And I mean ended. Cut ties. I wanted nothing to do with her if this was the road she pursued. I felt like my entire reality had spun on its axis. I felt so betrayed. I was so very hurt. And I couldn't handle being around someone who didn't share my feelings and perspectives, wholly.
That was in 1998. I dumped her. I abandoned her. I turned away and never looked back. Because she didn't meet my standards.
She found me on facebook in 2007. Nearly a decade later. We reconciled. And though she's a million miles away from me geographically, STILL she knows my heart like nearly none other. There's a part of me that is so full of joy to have her back with me, I could nearly burst. It frustrates me so much that she's so far away and we can't connect face to face, but I'm so grateful for technology and the opportunity to connect with her there.
But you know what? She doesn't hold a lot of my values. Still. And that old me would have continued to shun her, because we are not on the same page on some issues. But that's not what Jesus asks me to do. And my heart is so happy to have her back with me now. Jesus asks me to love her anyway, and we are both the better for it. And I missed out on 10 years of her life because of my mistake.
So back to Billy. Billy chooses to use filthy language that we don't use. But you know what else? Billy is also a really nice guy. He's always very, very respectful to those he encounters. He's knowledgeable about his craft and he's willing to share about that. He's concerned about the animals' well-being and demonstrates the decisions he makes around that. He's responsible, dedicated, and hard working. He's incredibly well spoken. He's doing a job that most people would consider disgusting and beneath them, with confidence, grace, and finesse. He's demonstrating a whole host of great character traits that I want my children to see in someone else besides mom and dad. We've learned so much just watching the show, and had a good time while doing it.
We've watched the family dynamics that admittedly aren't my favorite. But again, we've used this as a learning opportunity. My kids are so, so blessed and so, so sheltered. They don't know that every child doesn't live in a fairy tale home life like they get. So they have an opportunity to see, in a safe way, how downright ugly those family members in Billy's family can be to one another at times. And we can discuss how there are children who have to grow up in families where the members aren't nice to each other. We are opening their eyes to the plights of others and instilling some empathy within their hearts. We talk about how it must feel to be spoken to in those ways and how we want to always choose not to do that to each other. To make good decisions, even when we are frustrated or angry or stressed. We couldn't have that conversation if they'd never witnessed something of the sort.
Billy also gives us a learning opportunity on the tolerance front. I love the area of the country that we call home for many reasons. But one thing I don't like is the complete lack of cultural diversity. I grew up in a home that wasn't tolerant of others and I don't want that for my children. But I knew it would be more difficult to instill that value when they simply were hardly ever exposed to anyone who looked any different than they do.
But you know what? Neither Little Buddy, nor Little Lady, has never, not once, asked me why someone else looked the way they did.
I don't want to take credit for that. I don't know why they haven't. I'm not trying to say I'm some great parent, and I know now that by writing and publishing this very thing, I'll get a nice piece of humble pie real soon. But regardless, they have never asked. They've never seemed to notice that some people have different skin tones. They've never seemed to notice that some people dress in different ways or wear their hair in more flamboyant styles. The only thing that seems to be an issue is hair length. Little Buddy is just really confused by women with short hair. He seems to think that anyone, children included, with short hair is a boy. It doesn't bother him - he just insists they are boys. Though there are several people in our life who are adult females with short hair that he knows are women, anyone new with short hair is a boy. I think this is just a factor of his very logical, reasoning brain.
At any rate, I don't want him to grow up feeling that there are differences between people based on how they choose or don't choose to appear. I want him to be open and tolerant and accepting to anyone. Everyone. Whether it is an issue, like race, that isn't a choice, or an issue like appearance, that is.
So Billy's appearance is not like ours. And ironically for Little Buddy, both he and his brother Ricky wear their hair long. He looks 'extreme' to many in America. But Little Buddy doesn't think a thing of it. And that makes my heart happy. He's growing up with the mindset that one's appearance is not the basis on which to make judgements.
All of this to say, perhaps I am a hypocrite. Perhaps I look like a typical southern hypocrite Christian who will condemn one rally issue, fighting to the death, while fully embracing another issue and sweeping the conflict under the rug. Perhaps I've deluded myself to make my heart feel better about a bad decision. Perhaps the two shows are really no different in terms of what I would allow in my home for my children to see. I will pray for more clarity and wisdom on that case.
But today, I stand firm in my decision. I'm thankful for the life lessons that Billy the Exterminator has brought into our home, something a hateful cartoon never could. I'm thankful for the further cultivation of the love of learning. I'm thankful for the opportunity to teach that we love others, no matter what they look like, no matter what decisions they make.
It was time to visit her again and we had the usual discussions. If you know me, you know I'm not real big on surface chitchat. I'd rather not talk at all if all we're going to discuss is stupid non-consequential stuff (please oh please do not dictate to me the storyline and dialogue of a tv show or movie, scene by scene. please). So the hairdresser chat talk has always been a struggle for me. But I try to take it to deeper places and she usually bends to me. Another reason I like her. I don't think I am someone she would ever choose to befriend on the outside world, but I always walk away feeling like we had a good time and a good talk.
She is younger and doesn't have children of her own yet, but she does have nieces and nephews. We can relate some on that front. So on this visit, the talk had meandered onto movies and tv shows and the language in them. The lovely show Spongebob was introduced and I vehemently exclaimed how I feel that show is just awful and I do not, and will not, let my kids watch it.
[It's always great when we walk into a crowded doctor office waiting room and Little Buddy gasps, then shouts "Mommy! That BAD show is on!!!" while every other kid is happily watching away and their parents give me the evil eye. Seriously, it seems that it always playing wherever we seek medical attention all over the region of east Tennessee.]
Earlier in the conversation I mentioned how Little Buddy loves to watch Billy the Exterminator.
[If you are not familiar with Billy, it is a reality/documentary type show produced by A&E. Billy's Bio on A&E.com puts it plainly: Billy is "the spikey-haired, leather-bound, chain-mail donning founder of the Louisiana-based family-owned pest control business, Vexcon LLC,." Many would say Billy's appearance is extreme and his language is uncensored. The show chronicles the adventures of aiding clients in the elimination of their pest problems. Click the link to find out more. Image from A&E website.

So, we watch Billy. I think she was a little surprised that I'd let Little Buddy watch it. I'm sure she isn't the only one who is surprised that I do. Her response to my Spongebob outburst however took me a little by surprise.
"So wait... you let your kids watch Billy the Exterminator, but you won't let them watch Spongebob."
I answer, fully confidant in my reply because it makes perfect sense to me. Yes, yes I do.
She sarcastically replies, "Riiiiiiight, Carey. That makes a whole lotta sense."
awkkkkkkward.....
My hairdresser has just insulted me. And I could see how, on the surface, it does seem a little confusing. Though it does make perfect sense to me. (But I guess hypocrisy makes perfect sense to all hypocrites, no? perhaps I'm just a deluded hypocrite.) I replied with an attempt to quickly explain it. How Billy chooses to use filthy language and we discuss how that isn't a life choice we want to make, but in Spongebob, those characters are just plain nasty to each other. How they interact. It's a respect issue and we won't view that."
I think she rolled her eyes. Said "uh huh" in a sarcastic way. And then everything was realllly awkward from that point out. I'm not sure if she realized that she'd offended me. I'm not sure if she realized that was probably not the wisest customer service move on her part. Perhaps she did and that's why she was strangely silent from there on out.
I paid, scheduled the next appointment, and got in my van. By this point I was fuming, to put it mildly. She had boldly, and in front of other wildly listening ears, told me she thought I was full of it. I admit, my pride was stung. And I didn't defend myself adequately at all.
Then I got mad at myself for getting mad. I began the introspection of introspections that my brain always defers to. Okay, Carey. You're mad. WHY are you mad? If you are mad and defensive, it's probably because she hit a tender spot. Because you know she is right and you're being a self righteous, obstinate, hypocritical, pharisaical, judgmental person who refuses to admit error. Shame on you. Serves you right to get humiliated in public over it.
As I continued to drive home, however, the clarity of this seemingly conflicting decision to banish Spongebob yet embrace Billy hit me. You know, I just don't think well on my feet. Never have. I take time to process. My brain seems to connect so much better when I'm typing my words than when I speak them. Not to mention when I'm flustered at being misunderstood and insulted. That inserts itself between my brain synapses and coherent thought ceases. Well, that and how there's just entirely too much swirling around in my brain at any given moment, so access to decisions and thought processes made long ago is no longer instantaneous.
I have never 'watched' Spongebob (though we were mad fiend fans of Pinky and the Brain in college). I viewed pieces of an episode here or there several years ago when we were first entering the kid cartoon world. I was utterly appalled at the language the characters used. I was utterly appalled at the way the characters interacted. I was utterly flabbergasted that any parent would choose to put their child in front of this show. Particularly a toddler/preschool age child. So I made the decision that this would not be something we were part of. Yes, all shows, and I do mean all, include things I wish they hadn't, both in language and behavior. But Spongebob seemed to be all ABOUT what I didn't want them to hear/see/observe/model.
[One of my sin tendencies is to be judgmental. It just is. I have and am working so hard to break this down. So in sharing this, I very, very, very much do not want to sound judgmental. I don't want you to come away thinking I will judge you if you let your kids watch Spongebob. Over the years I have observed that I am in the minority here and that lots of people think its great. This is a personal decision here, for our family. There is no one size fits all, ever. That is all. ]
My kids, both of them, have always been fascinated by animals and creatures. They've never played with little kid versions of things - they are always drawn the realistic versions. Little Buddy has never been into cars. He's had small little forays into construction, which mostly included the simultaneous foray into dirt and mud. But on the whole, he has been all about animals. Specifically ocean creatures. But I believe that our family fascination with Billy the Exterminator began earlier last summer when we bought an animal trap ourselves. We needed to catch, and relocate, the pesky groundhog who was eating up our garden. Before we got him, we caught two raccoons, a rabbit, and a neighborhood cat. I believe it was then that Little Buddy began to be fascinated by this world of extermination. The kids just loved dealing with the trap.
So we began to watch the show. Billy's language is unpleasant to put it mildly. He says almost all of the words that I'd really rather my kids have never heard, let alone use. But dude!!! Little Buddy LOVES it. I mean, LOVES it. For a while, he wanted to be Billy for Halloween! He loves learning about the different animals and bugs. Learning about the different techniques required to catch them. And what to do with them once they've been removed from the undesired situations.
Little Buddy loves to learn. He just does. He is so very much MY kid. He soaks up knowledge, on a topic of interest, like a dry sponge in the desert. Billy the Exterminator combines entertainment with learning on a subject he is fascinated by. I love that.
Little Buddy recently turned five. While he is a boy, I do feel that he is emotionally mature for his age. He's very logical and he reasons. He thinks things through. And when I hesitated to let him continue watching the show, due to the language mostly, I realized that we could talk about this. That he was at a maturity level that allowed some understanding.
He's in preschool. He's around other kids from other families with different values and priorities than ours. I cannot keep him in a bubble. I shouldn't keep him in a bubble. It is my job as his mom to keep him innocent. It is my job to protect him. But it also my job to prepare him. The older he gets, the more he is exposed to, just walking around our world. He'll be reading soon, and I know I'll get the questions about what billboards say and store names. Places that I'd rather not have to explain. And goodness, just taking a trip to walmart opens a Pandora's box of possibilities of what he will see/hear/observe. At some point, I must begin to teach him to discern on his own what is good, honorable, noble, pure, and righteous. Being able to make the decisions on his own is something that I believe we must always teach. There's not a day when, bam, he's old enough to begin that lesson. We must always be teaching that lesson.
So we've talked about how Billy uses words that are ugly. And that we don't say those words in our family. Billy has made a poor decision to speak in that way. And there are consequences to his bad choice.
But do we turn our backs on him because he's made a bad choice?
Is that what Jesus asks us to do? Run away from someone who doesn't fit the perfect mold of Americanized Pre-Fabricated Christian? Run away from someone who makes a mistake? Makes a bad choice?
It was when I realized we were teaching another lesson, through allowing Billy the Exterminator, into our home that I felt great about my decision. Billy is letting us demonstrate how we are going to love and accept anyone, even if they make a poor choice. Even if they do something we consider wrong. We love them anyway. We accept them anyway. We welcome them into our lives. We may not adopt their ways as our own, we may not condone their choices or actions, but we love them anyway. We do not turn our backs.
I want my kids to grow up with this mentality. Because that is what Jesus has called us to do. We aren't supposed to put ourselves in a capsule and only allow in those who look like us, act like us, believe like us. And I'm making the most of a parenting opportunity made available to me. I could lecture this topic til I'm blue in the face, and more than likely, Little Buddy wouldn't understand where I was going with my words. But using something he is interested in to demonstrate my point, makes this a very effective lesson for all of us. I can visibly demonstrate to my kids how we are going to obey something Jesus has asked of us.
Jesus didn't seek out those who looked outwardly appealing. He didn't turn away those who were everything he spoke against. He embraced them. He welcomed them. He loved them. He may not love their actions and decisions, but he loves them.
I made this mistake of turning my back when I was in college. My closest friend in the world, who knew who I was and what I'd come from, who could identify with me on things I cannot put into words even now, who I'd been with since 8th grade, chose to enter the world of alcohol during our freshmen year in college. She went to Carolina while many of the rest of us were at NC State. I still wish she'd come with us to State. But what happened, happened. When I discovered this was what she was pursuing, I couldn't handle it. I'd grown up in a home where alcohol and its painful ramifications were rampant. I experienced a whole lot of hurt from alcohol. Alcohol has wounded my heart and my soul. I couldn't handle my friends, let alone my best one, being part of that. I really don't remember the discussion. But somehow our friendship ended. And I mean ended. Cut ties. I wanted nothing to do with her if this was the road she pursued. I felt like my entire reality had spun on its axis. I felt so betrayed. I was so very hurt. And I couldn't handle being around someone who didn't share my feelings and perspectives, wholly.
That was in 1998. I dumped her. I abandoned her. I turned away and never looked back. Because she didn't meet my standards.
She found me on facebook in 2007. Nearly a decade later. We reconciled. And though she's a million miles away from me geographically, STILL she knows my heart like nearly none other. There's a part of me that is so full of joy to have her back with me, I could nearly burst. It frustrates me so much that she's so far away and we can't connect face to face, but I'm so grateful for technology and the opportunity to connect with her there.
But you know what? She doesn't hold a lot of my values. Still. And that old me would have continued to shun her, because we are not on the same page on some issues. But that's not what Jesus asks me to do. And my heart is so happy to have her back with me now. Jesus asks me to love her anyway, and we are both the better for it. And I missed out on 10 years of her life because of my mistake.
So back to Billy. Billy chooses to use filthy language that we don't use. But you know what else? Billy is also a really nice guy. He's always very, very respectful to those he encounters. He's knowledgeable about his craft and he's willing to share about that. He's concerned about the animals' well-being and demonstrates the decisions he makes around that. He's responsible, dedicated, and hard working. He's incredibly well spoken. He's doing a job that most people would consider disgusting and beneath them, with confidence, grace, and finesse. He's demonstrating a whole host of great character traits that I want my children to see in someone else besides mom and dad. We've learned so much just watching the show, and had a good time while doing it.
We've watched the family dynamics that admittedly aren't my favorite. But again, we've used this as a learning opportunity. My kids are so, so blessed and so, so sheltered. They don't know that every child doesn't live in a fairy tale home life like they get. So they have an opportunity to see, in a safe way, how downright ugly those family members in Billy's family can be to one another at times. And we can discuss how there are children who have to grow up in families where the members aren't nice to each other. We are opening their eyes to the plights of others and instilling some empathy within their hearts. We talk about how it must feel to be spoken to in those ways and how we want to always choose not to do that to each other. To make good decisions, even when we are frustrated or angry or stressed. We couldn't have that conversation if they'd never witnessed something of the sort.
Billy also gives us a learning opportunity on the tolerance front. I love the area of the country that we call home for many reasons. But one thing I don't like is the complete lack of cultural diversity. I grew up in a home that wasn't tolerant of others and I don't want that for my children. But I knew it would be more difficult to instill that value when they simply were hardly ever exposed to anyone who looked any different than they do.
But you know what? Neither Little Buddy, nor Little Lady, has never, not once, asked me why someone else looked the way they did.
I don't want to take credit for that. I don't know why they haven't. I'm not trying to say I'm some great parent, and I know now that by writing and publishing this very thing, I'll get a nice piece of humble pie real soon. But regardless, they have never asked. They've never seemed to notice that some people have different skin tones. They've never seemed to notice that some people dress in different ways or wear their hair in more flamboyant styles. The only thing that seems to be an issue is hair length. Little Buddy is just really confused by women with short hair. He seems to think that anyone, children included, with short hair is a boy. It doesn't bother him - he just insists they are boys. Though there are several people in our life who are adult females with short hair that he knows are women, anyone new with short hair is a boy. I think this is just a factor of his very logical, reasoning brain.
At any rate, I don't want him to grow up feeling that there are differences between people based on how they choose or don't choose to appear. I want him to be open and tolerant and accepting to anyone. Everyone. Whether it is an issue, like race, that isn't a choice, or an issue like appearance, that is.
So Billy's appearance is not like ours. And ironically for Little Buddy, both he and his brother Ricky wear their hair long. He looks 'extreme' to many in America. But Little Buddy doesn't think a thing of it. And that makes my heart happy. He's growing up with the mindset that one's appearance is not the basis on which to make judgements.
All of this to say, perhaps I am a hypocrite. Perhaps I look like a typical southern hypocrite Christian who will condemn one rally issue, fighting to the death, while fully embracing another issue and sweeping the conflict under the rug. Perhaps I've deluded myself to make my heart feel better about a bad decision. Perhaps the two shows are really no different in terms of what I would allow in my home for my children to see. I will pray for more clarity and wisdom on that case.
But today, I stand firm in my decision. I'm thankful for the life lessons that Billy the Exterminator has brought into our home, something a hateful cartoon never could. I'm thankful for the further cultivation of the love of learning. I'm thankful for the opportunity to teach that we love others, no matter what they look like, no matter what decisions they make.
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10 on 10 | November Edition
It's time for another 10 on 10 post. You know what this little creativity project has shown me? It has given me some taste of just how fast time truly is flying. Perspective. This is the fourth time and it really feels like I just posted last month's 10 on 10 just the other day. I know, I know. I sound like a broken record. But seriously. time time time. Where is all the time going?
I want to freeze time. Tag out. If only. These months are pumping by so quickly it scares me silly.
The 10 on 10 project is where nine other photographers and myself have joined together and agreed to post 10 images over 10 hours of a day in our real lives on the 10th day of each month. Those are the only rules. Check out last month's post here. And be sure to check out my friend Chesney's post, who is next on the circle.
I'm a really big rule follower.... most of the time. (when I see reason for the rules, not just for the sake of following the rule. I didn't always realize I was this way. There's some rebellion in there that was hidden for a while). And I wanted to follow the rules for this project. Really bad. Every time. Only ten images. Over the whole ten hours. No exceptions. That was my plan. Every month it got harder, but I did it. I narrowed it down.
Well, folks, I have failed. I made it three months, but now I've failed. After pouring and pouring through the images I took for this month, on October 25, 2011, I just couldn't narrow it down any further. The ability to narrow down images is most certainly one of my weakest spots - I am emotionally attached to almost every image I shoot. It's hard to delete an emotion. So I let myself acquiesce. I'll do what some of the others have done and post 10 collages spread throughout the day. Not so horrible, right? I made peace with that decision many days ago.
Even with that, however, at some point while prepping the post yesterday, I finally cried Uncle. It just wasn't worth spending any more time on. I just couldn't narrow it down further. So I have 14 images, eh hem, collages, for my 10. And that aren't evenly spaced out from beginning to end of my day. I'm sorry. Today the math just won't add up. I know that in twenty years when I'm looking back on my project, I'll be happy that I preserved each and every one of these memories. Because that's mostly why I'm doing this, anyway. For today, I'll be the rebellious photography creative project rule breaker.
October 25th was a Tuesday. The kids had been sick over the weekend, and I didn't send either of them to school on Monday because of it. But neither of them acted like they felt bad at all. After Shawn got home from work, Little Buddy's coughing ramped up... and up... and up. Shawn asked when Urgent Care closed. I called. Five minutes ago. Of course. That night was a rough night with some scary coughing from the little guy we've not experienced before. So first thing Tuesday morning, my planned 10 on 10 day, I got to call the doctor. Early morning appointment for us.
I took the camera along, since it was 10 on 10 day. And as we were driving out of our neighborhood I looked left and saw this. The sunlight and the fog. It was just gloriously beautiful. Even though we were late getting out of the house, I stopped the van, rolled down the window and framed the shot. Sorry, Dr. M. That's why we were a tad late.
Little Buddy has never shown much of a preference for clothing, really. In the last year he's embraced the land of camouflage, but it truly didn't start before then. However, the girl in the Little Lady emerged strong long ago and she does have preferences for her clothing. I am a believer in letting them have bits of control where my control is truly unnecessary, and their clothing is one of those places. This shirt is her favorite shirt - she picked it out with Daddy with a $10 reward card to Old Navy. The pants? Goodness, she loves them. They are way too short for her, and I had to sew the sides to make the waist fit right. I have no idea where they came from. I didn't buy them. Someone, I have utterly no idea who, gave them to us and she thinks they are the best pants ever.
Next on the circle is Chesney Maxwell. I really, really adore Chesney's work and her style. Check out her 10 on 10 post here.
I shot these with my
D90
Nikon 14-24 f2.8
Nikon 50mm 1.4D
Sigma 30mm f1.4
I want to freeze time. Tag out. If only. These months are pumping by so quickly it scares me silly.
The 10 on 10 project is where nine other photographers and myself have joined together and agreed to post 10 images over 10 hours of a day in our real lives on the 10th day of each month. Those are the only rules. Check out last month's post here. And be sure to check out my friend Chesney's post, who is next on the circle.
I'm a really big rule follower.... most of the time. (when I see reason for the rules, not just for the sake of following the rule. I didn't always realize I was this way. There's some rebellion in there that was hidden for a while). And I wanted to follow the rules for this project. Really bad. Every time. Only ten images. Over the whole ten hours. No exceptions. That was my plan. Every month it got harder, but I did it. I narrowed it down.
Well, folks, I have failed. I made it three months, but now I've failed. After pouring and pouring through the images I took for this month, on October 25, 2011, I just couldn't narrow it down any further. The ability to narrow down images is most certainly one of my weakest spots - I am emotionally attached to almost every image I shoot. It's hard to delete an emotion. So I let myself acquiesce. I'll do what some of the others have done and post 10 collages spread throughout the day. Not so horrible, right? I made peace with that decision many days ago.
Even with that, however, at some point while prepping the post yesterday, I finally cried Uncle. It just wasn't worth spending any more time on. I just couldn't narrow it down further. So I have 14 images, eh hem, collages, for my 10. And that aren't evenly spaced out from beginning to end of my day. I'm sorry. Today the math just won't add up. I know that in twenty years when I'm looking back on my project, I'll be happy that I preserved each and every one of these memories. Because that's mostly why I'm doing this, anyway. For today, I'll be the rebellious photography creative project rule breaker.
October 25th was a Tuesday. The kids had been sick over the weekend, and I didn't send either of them to school on Monday because of it. But neither of them acted like they felt bad at all. After Shawn got home from work, Little Buddy's coughing ramped up... and up... and up. Shawn asked when Urgent Care closed. I called. Five minutes ago. Of course. That night was a rough night with some scary coughing from the little guy we've not experienced before. So first thing Tuesday morning, my planned 10 on 10 day, I got to call the doctor. Early morning appointment for us.
I took the camera along, since it was 10 on 10 day. And as we were driving out of our neighborhood I looked left and saw this. The sunlight and the fog. It was just gloriously beautiful. Even though we were late getting out of the house, I stopped the van, rolled down the window and framed the shot. Sorry, Dr. M. That's why we were a tad late.
Outside the waiting area at the doctor's office. Don't they look soooooooo sick?
Home. Antibiotics prescribed. Beautiful sunny fall day. I let them play outside. In their pajamas.
All boy. We filled the sandbox area below the playhouse with dirt for a 'dirt box' instead of a sand box. He thought it was cool for a day and hasn't touched it for months. But, the all boy in him recently discovered that the dirt clods are like grenades and will explode if thrown hard enough from high enough. And they will also write and disintegrate on the playhouse. Fascinating.
This is what I call her Disney Princess Eyes. I love them. And our backyard in fall. For someone who loves COLOR as much as I do, oh how I love fall.
Watching a 'ponyville' My Little Pony DVD (horrifically, horrifically dreadful and I'm quite convinced solely derived to inflict severe trauma and pain onto the parents who must listen to it. 'Friendship is Magic' I'm down with, but the 'Ponyville' stuff is just evil. And how DARE I, as her mother, select the wrong episode of the movie. That was the initiator of the crying fit. This was also one of the last days she wore her patch before the good news that we get to try life without glasses and patching to see if they've worked.
Holy moly, does this child love play-dough. That's all there is to say about that.
While there is still light and warmth left, I'm going to let them play outside all they can!
Little Buddy has never shown much of a preference for clothing, really. In the last year he's embraced the land of camouflage, but it truly didn't start before then. However, the girl in the Little Lady emerged strong long ago and she does have preferences for her clothing. I am a believer in letting them have bits of control where my control is truly unnecessary, and their clothing is one of those places. This shirt is her favorite shirt - she picked it out with Daddy with a $10 reward card to Old Navy. The pants? Goodness, she loves them. They are way too short for her, and I had to sew the sides to make the waist fit right. I have no idea where they came from. I didn't buy them. Someone, I have utterly no idea who, gave them to us and she thinks they are the best pants ever.
They fight soooooo much. They drive each other crazy and they pick at each other like mad. But then they'll turn around and have so very much fun together I almost burst with the joy of it.
He crinkles his nose like this rarely, but when he does I LOVE it. It is SO cute and I'm happy to have a semi glimpse of that preserved forever. As well as her playing in the many leaves in the backyard.
Last October he got a big boy bike for his birthday. He rarely rides it. He still loves the tricycle... that we adjusted for Little Lady's shorter legs... and the car. They fight over this car.... oh how they fight over it. But lately they've been filling the back with various things.... lately he's been a flower delivery man and they've been picking my mums....
I will say it again. She has the hair I wish I had. I am in love with her hair. She will not let me DO ANYTHING to it. No clips. No bows. No hairhands. NOTHING. Just down. always down.
She picked my mums... again. And I made him sit and let me take his picture. And I got a halfway decent real smile before the last scraps of light were gone.
It was a good, good day. I'm nervous about the upcoming winter months when we won't be able to go outside....
I shot these with my
D90
Nikon 14-24 f2.8
Nikon 50mm 1.4D
Sigma 30mm f1.4
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shattering - what I choose not to do
We all get the same 24 hours.
And yet.
I hear so very often moms confessing that they wonder how on earth another mom does it. Gets it all done. So many amazing things. With so many little feet around. Where do they find the TIME?
Time. I find it is life's most precious commodity. For everything that is important to us -- it simply takes TIME.
And yet.
We all get the same 24 hours. Every last single one of us.
And we all get to choose how we spend those 24 hours. Apparent-Super-Mom doesn't have the super power to stop time and accomplish more than you do. We are all on an equal playing field. Granted, there are some who may be more efficient at some tasks than others. That's the beauty of living in a world full of beautiful individuals. But no one gets any more TIME than anyone else.
I confess. I've allowed Satan to enter my awareness. It wasn't intentional. I didn't set out to let it happen. But happen it did, nonetheless. Slight little whispers in my ear. I didn't recognize his ugly voice at first. The seeds of comparison. Ugly, ugly comparison.
I feel that comparison and expectations are the root of so very much conflict in our lives. And it seems that women tend to fall victim to the compulsion to compare themselves with others more easily and more frequently than our male counterparts.
But like I said, I confess. I've indulged my brain's intrinsic desire for sarcastic remarks on facebook when I've read status updates from Apparent-Super-Mom. How she has showered, dressed, and beautifully make-upped herself after a hearty trip to the local gym where she both ran and lifted weights, bathed and dressed fourteen children with princess bows in all the little girls' hair, prepared a warm home-cooked breakfast that required no less than a forty-five minute prep time with all hormone free meat, free range eggs, and organically grown produce from her own garden, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, mended two pairs of pants, taught two kids to tie their shoes, done two loads of laundry AND put them away, cleaned a bathroom and mopped the kitchen floor, executed AND cleaned up a craft activity involving glue, glitter, paint, holiday confetti, and pipe cleaners, walked the dog and then gave him a bath, clipped his nails and brushed him, read the _Chronicles of Narnia_ aloud to the children and now the oldest ones are writing a report, in Latin, on the story, has reorganized the garage and has a new stash of things all loaded up and ready to deliver to GoodWill, painted the master bathroom a beautiful new shade of teal, did her personal Bible Study and had her quiet time, has dinner already cooking away in the crock pot AND she's linked you to the recipe she's using which you KNOW took at least an hour to prepare before even entering the pot, written an article to be published on a very popular blog, while every member of the household has had the most holly jolly of attitudes, and she even managed to shave her legs and pluck her eyebrows this morning when she showered. And allllllllllllll of this, she accomplished by 8am.
My gut reaction? Honestly?
Gag me.
[I would like to clarify that in no way do I mean to offend anyone who has posted something like this ever. I know I have myself. I also know that the person who posts something along these lines isn't doing it with the intention of making me feel bad about myself. I own that that issue is my own, all alone.]
I used to indulge those whispers and allow myself to come up with horribly witty and horribly nasty rude remarks that I never hit enter on. They were an attempt to defend myself against Satan's ugly stealth attack. Why can't you do all that? What have you accomplished today? This week? You had plans... expectations... for how this early childhood would go. Are you living up to those plans? Because you know she is. So why aren't you? What a disservice you are doing to your children, you selfish, selfish, incompetent girl.
And what follows this thought pattern? Shame. Always, always shame. Then comes resentment.
The shame and resentment push us further away from each other. Further away from community. Instead of a place where we can lean on each other, taking advantage of each other's individual strengths and weaknesses, the very things that make each of us beautiful in our own ways, we create a place of isolation. Because when in proximity to those people, shame and resentment are there and they prick at your heart just like briars that have overgrown a path tear at your flesh as you briskly walk by..
And Satan wins.
It's what he wants, after all. He wants us isolated and alone. Because we were created for relationship and connection. And he wants to destroy that. And he's really, really good at what he does.
But I hate it.
And I'm not going to keep indulging Satan. I used to beat myself up a LOT. I can give myself a GOOD stern talking-to. I was so frustrated at how much I couldn't do. What was WRONG with me? I just couldn't get it all done. I have so, so, so much that I yearn to do. So many creative adventures I yearn to take - crafting, writing, photography. So many things I yearn to do with my children. The perfect household that is always in perfect shape and organized and Pottery Barn certified. The perfect meals. The perfect marriage. Actually taking care of myself and exercising and fixing my hair and makeup and dressing nicely daily. Keeping up with the finances. Staying in budget. Maintaining relationships with family. Maintaining relationships with friends. Not superficial relationships, but real, true deep meaningful relationships. And having an abiding dependence on Christ to see me through each moment, each day. None of these things are bad things.
When I looked around me, however, it appeared that so very many did all of these things flawlessly. It appeared that so many around me have it alllll together. And reading about my friends on facebook, and seeing them in real life with the 'out in public' persona they present, only proved to buffer this theory further. And I wanted to retreat. And for a while, I did.
At some point, however, there were a few statements directed towards me about how someone viewed ME as one who had it all together.
One time and I just laughed it off. Whatever. But when it continued to happen, I really started to think. There were people who thought that I had it all together. Me. That I was accomplishing all these amazing things. How did I find time to x, y, and z?
How positively, absolutely absurd!!!
I'm not! I'm sooooooooooo not!
Back in March, my best friend Dana got to witness it all first hand. Although Dana has been one of my closest friends for a long time, there was still that pretense of being 'put together' that I used when with her. It wasn't necessarily something I put conscious thought to -- it's just how we interact with the people in our lives who don't live in our homes, in our culture. But one Friday afternoon back in March changed all that for Dana and me. I remember making the mental decision to go against the grain and leave the house in the state of utter disarray, in order to take the kids to Bear and Friends for some time at their favorite toy store. We were going to run some other errands after that. But dinner from the night before had yet to be cleaned up in the kitchen. It was a wreck. The kids had destroyed the playroom, and I mean that quite literally. We're talking every toy pulled off the shelves, every game pulled from the cabinets, every game piece strewn across every horizontal surface on the first floor. But I figured we would go ahead and have some time out, and then I'd tackle the project of cleaning up whenever we returned. It's what I felt like doing.
And that would have been a most lovely of plans, if that had been what happened. But Shawn took a fatal swing of his machete in the woods and was brought to the ground and rendered nearly immobile with a spasm in his back. He managed to crawl from the far end of our woods back to the house, find his phone, and call me. He asked me not to panic and then told me that he couldn't move. At all. We rushed home. I could tell something was bad wrong. Long story short, after many hours with various paramedic and chiropractor and doctor type services, we head to the ER. Shawn is barely conscious.
And it is at this point that I call Dana. I beg her to come to the ER and get the kids. It's 5:30pm and Shawn is barely conscious and we have no idea how long we will be there. Finally get ahold of her and she and Scottie readily agree, drop everything and come to our aid. Relief. The kids will be well taken care of. And then it hit me. Panic. Sheer Panic.
Oh. My. God. They will see the house.
They will see the kitchen and how I left it. On purpose.
They will see the playroom and how I let the kids leave it. On purpose.
They will see the bathroom and how I haven't cleaned it in, oh, how long does it take for that black moldy stuff to grow in the toilet? On purpose.
They'll see the kitchen floor. And the playroom floor. And the hallway floor.
They'll see the kids' bedrooms and the state I let them leave those in.
They'll see it all. All of me, in my realness. No pretense. No hiding. Nothing. And how I'm soooooo not put together. Not at all like the persona I've tried so hard to project for visitors to our home. And that crushing reality was.... crushing. I knew it was a turning point for us. Because she knew the real me now.
But you know what? I'm SO glad that happened. It was been the most freeing thing for me to experience. She knows me. The real me who doesn't clean or care or whatever -- and she accepts me and loves me anyway. And I don't have to pretend about anything with her anymore.
Somewhere along the way, all of this materialized and connected in my brain... the concepts of TIME and how we all get the same amount, no more, no less. I knew that the reason I accomplished x was because I just plain didn't DO y. Didn't even bother to try. It's just that the world doesn't get see that I didn't do y.
It's so very easy to wear a mask. I didn't knowingly don my mask for the world. I've always been very adamant about authenticity. But I was still donning the mask. I wanted people to think I had it all together, just like I did with Dana. So the mask that I showed the world included the parts I wanted them to see, but not the ugly parts that I didn't. None of my failures. Failures as a mom. Failures as a woman. None of my chosen omissions. Really, what is the motivation to post on facebook or to say in person, all the amazing things you do? What is the underlying motivation behind all of this? What is it that the person who does these things is seeking?
I believe it is affirmation. We want someone to notice us. We all have this desire. We want someone to come along and say "Good job!!" We yearn for accolades. We want to be well thought of. We want to be the best at something. We want to be sought after.
Once I realized that I, myself, was contributing to this Shame-Resentment Comparison cycle, I wanted to put a stop to it. I don't want anyone to ever look at me and wonder why they can't live up to my standard, do what I do. Because for every thing I do manage to get done, there's another thing I don't. I have tried to announce some of the things that are lower down on my priority list and that I CHOOSE not to do. I want to be real and true. I want to encourage other moms out there - not tear them down. Ever. And besides all of that, I know the source I should be leaning on to find my self worth. The source of those accolades. I know I need to seek God for those things. Finding it in others is always, always temporary. It never, ever lasts and it never, ever fills.
We all only get the same 24 hours. And we all have our own priorities. No matter what it looks like Apparent-Super-Mom is accomplishing, something that you ARE accomplishing is something she isn't. Neither of you is wrong. Neither of you is right. It's just a matter of our own beautiful priorities.
SO, in an effort to dispel the Apparent-Super-Mom myth, I want to confess some of the things I DON'T do. I hope that some others find comfort in knowing they aren't alone.
I don't clean. *gasp* I used to. I didn't do it because I wanted to. I did it because I thought I was supposed to. I don't like to clean. My husband likes for things to be uncluttered. And while we have to live with a certain level of chaos due to the nature of young children (because we choose for them to have freedom to play and be children and not mini-adults), I attempt to keep things in a semi-okay state in an effort to serve my husband. But there is a difference between uncluttered-clean and sanitary-clean. And sanitary-clean is where I've made some concessions, because my husband doesn't really care about sanitary-clean. I almost never dust. My blinds resemble furry rodents. I almost never sweep the rooms in the house besides the kitchen, and my philosophy about the kitchen floor is 'just don't look down'. And I certainly haven't mopped them. I don't vacuum upstairs. I don't clean the bathrooms nearly as often I should. But making the decision to bump cleaning to a lower priority on the totem pole, gives me more TIME to do other things. It's my choice. And other things are more important to ME than cleaning.
I keep one room in utter disarray. This isn't exactly something I set OUT to do, but it's just where things have arrived. I can keep the other rooms in the house uncluttered, but that means the piles and random junk are just placed into the one-room. It seems to morph back and forth between our dining room and the office. But at any one given point in time, one of them will be a wreck. It's a fact of life I'm made peace with. If you stop by my house unexpected, you'll find these rooms in utter chaos. And I'm okay with that. It's who I am.
I used to spend all my time after the kids went to bed working on photography related things. And that means, that I wasn't spending any time with my husband. I learned a whole lot about photography, and I did a better job of staying on top of working on the photos that I took. But my marriage suffered. Because a marriage, a relationship, is something that also REQUIRES time in order to survive. If you aren't investing TIME into a marriage, it WILL dwindle until it fails. Friends, I will urge you to not put your marriage on the lowdown of the totem pole of priorities like I once did. It's a mistake. And it isn't worth it.
I don't put off my own personal creative endeavors. I will work on my stuff while my children are still awake. While I wrote all of this, my children both played in the playroom with new toys they bought on the way home from preschool with birthday money. Without me. Because I was writing. And I badly needed to get all of this out of my head! And because the toys were new, that bought me a little more time that usual. So while they occasionally have to entertain themselves, I get some time for my own creative needs. And I think I'm a much better mommy the other hours of the day because of it. My kids don't nap. They both dropped naps completely well before 18 months, so it has been a long, long time since I've had dedicated on purpose non kid time unless I CHOOSE to do it. I don't ignore them all day long by any means, but they need to learn to occupy themselves, too.
And yet.
I hear so very often moms confessing that they wonder how on earth another mom does it. Gets it all done. So many amazing things. With so many little feet around. Where do they find the TIME?
Time. I find it is life's most precious commodity. For everything that is important to us -- it simply takes TIME.
And yet.
We all get the same 24 hours. Every last single one of us.
And we all get to choose how we spend those 24 hours. Apparent-Super-Mom doesn't have the super power to stop time and accomplish more than you do. We are all on an equal playing field. Granted, there are some who may be more efficient at some tasks than others. That's the beauty of living in a world full of beautiful individuals. But no one gets any more TIME than anyone else.
I confess. I've allowed Satan to enter my awareness. It wasn't intentional. I didn't set out to let it happen. But happen it did, nonetheless. Slight little whispers in my ear. I didn't recognize his ugly voice at first. The seeds of comparison. Ugly, ugly comparison.
I feel that comparison and expectations are the root of so very much conflict in our lives. And it seems that women tend to fall victim to the compulsion to compare themselves with others more easily and more frequently than our male counterparts.
But like I said, I confess. I've indulged my brain's intrinsic desire for sarcastic remarks on facebook when I've read status updates from Apparent-Super-Mom. How she has showered, dressed, and beautifully make-upped herself after a hearty trip to the local gym where she both ran and lifted weights, bathed and dressed fourteen children with princess bows in all the little girls' hair, prepared a warm home-cooked breakfast that required no less than a forty-five minute prep time with all hormone free meat, free range eggs, and organically grown produce from her own garden, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, mended two pairs of pants, taught two kids to tie their shoes, done two loads of laundry AND put them away, cleaned a bathroom and mopped the kitchen floor, executed AND cleaned up a craft activity involving glue, glitter, paint, holiday confetti, and pipe cleaners, walked the dog and then gave him a bath, clipped his nails and brushed him, read the _Chronicles of Narnia_ aloud to the children and now the oldest ones are writing a report, in Latin, on the story, has reorganized the garage and has a new stash of things all loaded up and ready to deliver to GoodWill, painted the master bathroom a beautiful new shade of teal, did her personal Bible Study and had her quiet time, has dinner already cooking away in the crock pot AND she's linked you to the recipe she's using which you KNOW took at least an hour to prepare before even entering the pot, written an article to be published on a very popular blog, while every member of the household has had the most holly jolly of attitudes, and she even managed to shave her legs and pluck her eyebrows this morning when she showered. And allllllllllllll of this, she accomplished by 8am.
My gut reaction? Honestly?
Gag me.
[I would like to clarify that in no way do I mean to offend anyone who has posted something like this ever. I know I have myself. I also know that the person who posts something along these lines isn't doing it with the intention of making me feel bad about myself. I own that that issue is my own, all alone.]
I used to indulge those whispers and allow myself to come up with horribly witty and horribly nasty rude remarks that I never hit enter on. They were an attempt to defend myself against Satan's ugly stealth attack. Why can't you do all that? What have you accomplished today? This week? You had plans... expectations... for how this early childhood would go. Are you living up to those plans? Because you know she is. So why aren't you? What a disservice you are doing to your children, you selfish, selfish, incompetent girl.
And what follows this thought pattern? Shame. Always, always shame. Then comes resentment.
The shame and resentment push us further away from each other. Further away from community. Instead of a place where we can lean on each other, taking advantage of each other's individual strengths and weaknesses, the very things that make each of us beautiful in our own ways, we create a place of isolation. Because when in proximity to those people, shame and resentment are there and they prick at your heart just like briars that have overgrown a path tear at your flesh as you briskly walk by..
And Satan wins.
It's what he wants, after all. He wants us isolated and alone. Because we were created for relationship and connection. And he wants to destroy that. And he's really, really good at what he does.
But I hate it.
And I'm not going to keep indulging Satan. I used to beat myself up a LOT. I can give myself a GOOD stern talking-to. I was so frustrated at how much I couldn't do. What was WRONG with me? I just couldn't get it all done. I have so, so, so much that I yearn to do. So many creative adventures I yearn to take - crafting, writing, photography. So many things I yearn to do with my children. The perfect household that is always in perfect shape and organized and Pottery Barn certified. The perfect meals. The perfect marriage. Actually taking care of myself and exercising and fixing my hair and makeup and dressing nicely daily. Keeping up with the finances. Staying in budget. Maintaining relationships with family. Maintaining relationships with friends. Not superficial relationships, but real, true deep meaningful relationships. And having an abiding dependence on Christ to see me through each moment, each day. None of these things are bad things.
When I looked around me, however, it appeared that so very many did all of these things flawlessly. It appeared that so many around me have it alllll together. And reading about my friends on facebook, and seeing them in real life with the 'out in public' persona they present, only proved to buffer this theory further. And I wanted to retreat. And for a while, I did.
At some point, however, there were a few statements directed towards me about how someone viewed ME as one who had it all together.
One time and I just laughed it off. Whatever. But when it continued to happen, I really started to think. There were people who thought that I had it all together. Me. That I was accomplishing all these amazing things. How did I find time to x, y, and z?
How positively, absolutely absurd!!!
I'm not! I'm sooooooooooo not!
Back in March, my best friend Dana got to witness it all first hand. Although Dana has been one of my closest friends for a long time, there was still that pretense of being 'put together' that I used when with her. It wasn't necessarily something I put conscious thought to -- it's just how we interact with the people in our lives who don't live in our homes, in our culture. But one Friday afternoon back in March changed all that for Dana and me. I remember making the mental decision to go against the grain and leave the house in the state of utter disarray, in order to take the kids to Bear and Friends for some time at their favorite toy store. We were going to run some other errands after that. But dinner from the night before had yet to be cleaned up in the kitchen. It was a wreck. The kids had destroyed the playroom, and I mean that quite literally. We're talking every toy pulled off the shelves, every game pulled from the cabinets, every game piece strewn across every horizontal surface on the first floor. But I figured we would go ahead and have some time out, and then I'd tackle the project of cleaning up whenever we returned. It's what I felt like doing.
And that would have been a most lovely of plans, if that had been what happened. But Shawn took a fatal swing of his machete in the woods and was brought to the ground and rendered nearly immobile with a spasm in his back. He managed to crawl from the far end of our woods back to the house, find his phone, and call me. He asked me not to panic and then told me that he couldn't move. At all. We rushed home. I could tell something was bad wrong. Long story short, after many hours with various paramedic and chiropractor and doctor type services, we head to the ER. Shawn is barely conscious.
And it is at this point that I call Dana. I beg her to come to the ER and get the kids. It's 5:30pm and Shawn is barely conscious and we have no idea how long we will be there. Finally get ahold of her and she and Scottie readily agree, drop everything and come to our aid. Relief. The kids will be well taken care of. And then it hit me. Panic. Sheer Panic.
Oh. My. God. They will see the house.
They will see the kitchen and how I left it. On purpose.
They will see the playroom and how I let the kids leave it. On purpose.
They will see the bathroom and how I haven't cleaned it in, oh, how long does it take for that black moldy stuff to grow in the toilet? On purpose.
They'll see the kitchen floor. And the playroom floor. And the hallway floor.
They'll see the kids' bedrooms and the state I let them leave those in.
They'll see it all. All of me, in my realness. No pretense. No hiding. Nothing. And how I'm soooooo not put together. Not at all like the persona I've tried so hard to project for visitors to our home. And that crushing reality was.... crushing. I knew it was a turning point for us. Because she knew the real me now.
But you know what? I'm SO glad that happened. It was been the most freeing thing for me to experience. She knows me. The real me who doesn't clean or care or whatever -- and she accepts me and loves me anyway. And I don't have to pretend about anything with her anymore.
Somewhere along the way, all of this materialized and connected in my brain... the concepts of TIME and how we all get the same amount, no more, no less. I knew that the reason I accomplished x was because I just plain didn't DO y. Didn't even bother to try. It's just that the world doesn't get see that I didn't do y.
It's so very easy to wear a mask. I didn't knowingly don my mask for the world. I've always been very adamant about authenticity. But I was still donning the mask. I wanted people to think I had it all together, just like I did with Dana. So the mask that I showed the world included the parts I wanted them to see, but not the ugly parts that I didn't. None of my failures. Failures as a mom. Failures as a woman. None of my chosen omissions. Really, what is the motivation to post on facebook or to say in person, all the amazing things you do? What is the underlying motivation behind all of this? What is it that the person who does these things is seeking?
I believe it is affirmation. We want someone to notice us. We all have this desire. We want someone to come along and say "Good job!!" We yearn for accolades. We want to be well thought of. We want to be the best at something. We want to be sought after.
Once I realized that I, myself, was contributing to this Shame-Resentment Comparison cycle, I wanted to put a stop to it. I don't want anyone to ever look at me and wonder why they can't live up to my standard, do what I do. Because for every thing I do manage to get done, there's another thing I don't. I have tried to announce some of the things that are lower down on my priority list and that I CHOOSE not to do. I want to be real and true. I want to encourage other moms out there - not tear them down. Ever. And besides all of that, I know the source I should be leaning on to find my self worth. The source of those accolades. I know I need to seek God for those things. Finding it in others is always, always temporary. It never, ever lasts and it never, ever fills.
We all only get the same 24 hours. And we all have our own priorities. No matter what it looks like Apparent-Super-Mom is accomplishing, something that you ARE accomplishing is something she isn't. Neither of you is wrong. Neither of you is right. It's just a matter of our own beautiful priorities.
SO, in an effort to dispel the Apparent-Super-Mom myth, I want to confess some of the things I DON'T do. I hope that some others find comfort in knowing they aren't alone.
I don't clean. *gasp* I used to. I didn't do it because I wanted to. I did it because I thought I was supposed to. I don't like to clean. My husband likes for things to be uncluttered. And while we have to live with a certain level of chaos due to the nature of young children (because we choose for them to have freedom to play and be children and not mini-adults), I attempt to keep things in a semi-okay state in an effort to serve my husband. But there is a difference between uncluttered-clean and sanitary-clean. And sanitary-clean is where I've made some concessions, because my husband doesn't really care about sanitary-clean. I almost never dust. My blinds resemble furry rodents. I almost never sweep the rooms in the house besides the kitchen, and my philosophy about the kitchen floor is 'just don't look down'. And I certainly haven't mopped them. I don't vacuum upstairs. I don't clean the bathrooms nearly as often I should. But making the decision to bump cleaning to a lower priority on the totem pole, gives me more TIME to do other things. It's my choice. And other things are more important to ME than cleaning.
I keep one room in utter disarray. This isn't exactly something I set OUT to do, but it's just where things have arrived. I can keep the other rooms in the house uncluttered, but that means the piles and random junk are just placed into the one-room. It seems to morph back and forth between our dining room and the office. But at any one given point in time, one of them will be a wreck. It's a fact of life I'm made peace with. If you stop by my house unexpected, you'll find these rooms in utter chaos. And I'm okay with that. It's who I am.
I used to spend all my time after the kids went to bed working on photography related things. And that means, that I wasn't spending any time with my husband. I learned a whole lot about photography, and I did a better job of staying on top of working on the photos that I took. But my marriage suffered. Because a marriage, a relationship, is something that also REQUIRES time in order to survive. If you aren't investing TIME into a marriage, it WILL dwindle until it fails. Friends, I will urge you to not put your marriage on the lowdown of the totem pole of priorities like I once did. It's a mistake. And it isn't worth it.
I don't put off my own personal creative endeavors. I will work on my stuff while my children are still awake. While I wrote all of this, my children both played in the playroom with new toys they bought on the way home from preschool with birthday money. Without me. Because I was writing. And I badly needed to get all of this out of my head! And because the toys were new, that bought me a little more time that usual. So while they occasionally have to entertain themselves, I get some time for my own creative needs. And I think I'm a much better mommy the other hours of the day because of it. My kids don't nap. They both dropped naps completely well before 18 months, so it has been a long, long time since I've had dedicated on purpose non kid time unless I CHOOSE to do it. I don't ignore them all day long by any means, but they need to learn to occupy themselves, too.
I hope to continue this trend of confessing things I choose NOT to do, in order to accomplish the things I do. And I urge you to confess, too, what you DON'T do. Because there is no such thing as a Super-Mommy. Let's help and encourage each other. Not try to boost ourselves up in order to push others down.
(and notice I didn't find a perfect photo for this post. The together me wants to have a perfect one, but I don't have it. And I'm choosing to post without it. Because I don't have it all together. Ever.)
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october leaves on a sunday afternoon
Before he was even born, Shawn insisted that we needed a real yard for Little Buddy to play and be a boy in. I thought he was ridiculous. It would be a long, long time before he'd really need a yard. (I loved that house. no rush to leave it). So while pregnant, we searched and searched for a house to buy with all our requirements AND a yard, all to no avail. When Little Buddy was two months old, I heard that some acquaintances were going to put their house on the market. I'd always loved that house. It seemed to have so much of what we wanted. Perfection central location. And a fantabulous yard.
We are now about four and a half years into living in that house. And I'll admit it. I was wrong.
No, he didn't really use the yard much that first summer (although I did burn a trench in the top square of our driveway circling it incessantly with LB in the stroller in an effort to occupy him and keep him from crying). But ever since, it has been childhood utopia as far as we can tell.
We have trees. Lots and lots of old, old established trees. I love that. And with all those trees comes a boy necessity: sticks. Lots and lots of sticks. We have wide open mostly flat space as well. Woods. Dirt. Rocks. The trees provide amazing awesome shade in the summer, so that we can use our back yard year round even on those hot, humid days. But we do pay for all of that come October and November.
Leaf season.
The leaves have begun to fall. It has been more fun every year so far with the kids. Every year they get more and more into the leaf piles. The Little Lady will randomly ask for Daddy to come home from work, so he can make another leaf pile.
Sunday before last was a nice warm day with glorious light and I couldn't help but document it.
And then I could have cried last night as I worked on prepping these images. I accidentally used the websized versions in creating the collages. Oh well. They probably won't look as great, but I don't have time to recreate all of that. Ugg.
We are now about four and a half years into living in that house. And I'll admit it. I was wrong.
No, he didn't really use the yard much that first summer (although I did burn a trench in the top square of our driveway circling it incessantly with LB in the stroller in an effort to occupy him and keep him from crying). But ever since, it has been childhood utopia as far as we can tell.
We have trees. Lots and lots of old, old established trees. I love that. And with all those trees comes a boy necessity: sticks. Lots and lots of sticks. We have wide open mostly flat space as well. Woods. Dirt. Rocks. The trees provide amazing awesome shade in the summer, so that we can use our back yard year round even on those hot, humid days. But we do pay for all of that come October and November.
Leaf season.
The leaves have begun to fall. It has been more fun every year so far with the kids. Every year they get more and more into the leaf piles. The Little Lady will randomly ask for Daddy to come home from work, so he can make another leaf pile.
Sunday before last was a nice warm day with glorious light and I couldn't help but document it.
And then I could have cried last night as I worked on prepping these images. I accidentally used the websized versions in creating the collages. Oh well. They probably won't look as great, but I don't have time to recreate all of that. Ugg.
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