A couple of incidents in the last two days have shown me that my eldest is just so impressionable, which has reinforced, in turn, my desire to homeschool and my understanding of that "inner sanctuary" Carmelite solitude that my family is moving towards.
I want to be clear: this doesn't mean that we will no longer go to social events, that we will no longer "have friends" or enjoy our Church family. On the contrary, we will be fellowshipping less frequently, but it will be quality fellowshipping. Rather than finding ourselves in situations we really don't want to be in, or situations we wish we could fellowship more instead of socializing,we will find ourselves actually more able to enjoy the times we can be with our friends. At least, that's how I hope it works out... we will see. I have a "social" problem-- I'm one of those kids who didn't enjoy their parents until she was a parent herself, because I was too busy with people my own age. As a teenager, I would lie awake in my bed wondering what I was missing "out there." Been working on it since coming to Christ.
One of the reasons I just spent half a day working on my blog is that I have come to realize that it serves this triple function. I've always kept this blog just to babble publicly about my thoughts, but recently God gave me a bit of wisdom about it.
First, He helped me to realize that I enjoy writing it-- I look forward to it-- because it's a way of continuing to use some of the gifts He has given me without having to take away from some of the tasks he puts in front of me. (Even as I type, the baby will not settle for her nap and I must stop and tend to her. Which I CAN do without any guilt.)Like facebook, it allows me to connect with friends far and wide without having to invest time I do not have to give. Best of all, it's a way of working on my book without the drudgery of "carving out time" I don't have away from the kids, housework, or my husband to do so. A quick blog here or there when I get the chance, and within a short time I've got a LOT of material to use. Lastly, it helps me to give answers to the emails I recieve asking valuable and interesting questions, which I always want to answer but cannot seem to find the time to do. This week while my inbox racks up close to 6000 emails I should reply to, I can knock out ten to twelve at a time with a carefully worded blog post. It's something worth investing into, and because it's just my thoughts--- I am free to interrupt myself when working on it to tend to whatever needs caring for. I think blogging regularly will smooth over the transition from being an externally-focused family to being an internally focused family. I pray that it will prevent any hurt feelings that might arise in our dear friends to explain our silence and our distance. I never thought that this kind of life was right for our family- I always wished we volunteered more and became more "active" at Church. And yet, the more kids we have the more sense it makes to keep them close, to watch them, to guide them, to give them every chance to succeed. It is truly a radical, counter-cultural idea.
I know what it's like to feel out of control with my family. I don't want to feel like that again.
At the mass on Monday, I recognized that my daughter was misbehaving because of her environment. She was surrounded by children who regularly go to mass and know how to behave in Church. On all sides of her were kids who were "doing the right thing."
But the minute that this one child, who might as well have been alone since her mother didn't seem to care what she was up to, began to distract her. Instead of choosing to imitate the numerous children around her who were carefully attending the mass, my dear daughter decided that she would imitate the poorly trained 18 month old who couldn't behave, just as she does at home, imitating my younger son's improper behavior instead of showing him the "better way." This gave me great pause- I realized I needed to teach her to teach others the right way to act, but then I realized also how fragile her character was and how much she wanted to emulate EVERYONE around her. I needed to be very careful who I kept around her.
Likewise, a dear friend came over yesterday for a visit. I was thrilled, having not seen her in quite a while and really enjoying her family's company.
Her son, who doesn't know my own house rules, felt that it would be a good time to take all of the folded clothes I had put in the baby's crib waiting to be put away and throw them into a toy bin which they emptied out. Now, my kids, after one incident in which they emptied their closets into said toy bin, know that in our house, this is a big, fat, no WAY. In fact, they know that if they do it again, trouble with a capital T is coming.
When I came into the room to see what had happened, I was surprised to find the room looking like a hurricane hit it. Now, my normal reaction would have been despair (oh no! a mess! I can't really handle messes!) so I was proud that my reaction instead went to meditating on the heart of my child, who had just willfully disobeyed and who I would have to contend with over the issue later.
So why hadn't my darling child informed this young man that what he was not to undo her mommy's (and her!) hard work? Because, apparently, in my child, there is a sense that it will be "more fun" to do what other kids are doing than to obey the rules. I know that feeling well-- I had it all my life. What I want, more than anything is to preserve her from her false sense of freedom, which caused me so much suffering in life. Now, I recognize that I will not be able to keep her from suffering, but I do think that I will be able to keep her actively involved in choosing to do right over and over, as I train her. This is what I had initially set out to do.
This particular child, like the little girl at mass, had no idea whatsoever that they were doing anything wrong. In fact, they probably thought they were doing something right. The only way they could have known is if my daughter were to inform them: "Hey guys, we aren't supposed to do this. Let's do something else instead."
Instead of socializing in another room, I should have been IN the room with them, tomato staking. Then I would have immediately been able to notice what they were about to do and teach her the lesson right off the bat. My parenting needed adjusting.
This realization put Peter and I into a thought hurricane. How were we going to deal with our children's behavior? We wanted to nip it in the bud, and the only way to do that was to stop and think very seriously about what we were going to do. What we've chosen might seem drastic, but I really think it's the right answer and so does he. Ironically, my mother, who we have NEVER asked for parenting advice, came up with the same solution over the phone when we explained the problem... so we took that as a sign from God. I know my Grandmother was also a proponent of this type of parenting-- the idea of remaining WITH your children, watching their every move, and being a part of everything they do. How else can we train them?
I guess I'm writing this to solidify our intentions-- because once it's "out there," so to speak, there's no turning back.
May God bless the journey!
"Perhaps this is one of the secrets of life-- to know 'Glory' when we see it..." --Charlotte M. Mason
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Seasons.
It seems these days that all my friends are re-evaluating their "role" and "place" in life-- what they should and shouldn't be doing, how much external activity they can handle, and where they really need to focus their attention. I expected it.
It's fall, and nesting is a part of that seasonal change- we have been outdoors in the glorious weather, and we begin to remember that inside our homes a comfortable, warm environment awaits us with a promise of happy family moments and calm evenings shared among friends. We get internal, and I think God designed it that way, because as soon as we realize we are good and happy with our families but that something is still missing, the incarnation comes to us at Christmas and we get that we need that "magic" touch from God to bring it all together. All too soon, it's Spring again and we are cleaning out our houses and letting "fresh air" in-- only to be enticed to step out into that air and forget the glories of what lies within the beating heart of our homes. It's a cycle, folks, and on and on it goes... but what's amazing to me is that I fall for it year after year after year.
Come Fall, EVERYONE wants to take a good, hard look at what they are doing with their time, and how they can realign their priorities.
This is a noble and honorable task, and one which I've tried to undertake many times myself, and which I haven't totally figured out. I actually suspect I never will-- that I will keep learning and growing in "what works" for our family and going from there. God's Word says we are as clay in His hands-- malleable-- not hard and unyielding. If having three kids three and under has taught me anything so far, it's that I MUST be open to whatever thing the wind of the Spirit would blow me towards-- I cannot remain resolved to do things "my way," and "on my schedule." I can try, but there WILL come a time when God asks me: "Have you consulted ME about how you should be spending this minute/hour/day?"
If anything, thats what my entire Carmelite walk has been about-- building a relationship with Him based on prayer and mortification, based in communicating every part of ME to Him, and in being willing to renounce every part of "me" and "my time." My memory, my will, my understanding, etc. etc etc.
So every which way I turn, my happy housewives are redirecting their days, tearing apart their control journals and starting over, and reformating their schedules. I'm one of them--I smell the change in the air.
In the last two months of my pregnancy movement became very challenging for me, resulting in two things: I could no longer take off on a whim and hang out with my other mommy friends. On the home front, my kids became like a pack of wild animals without constant direction from me- all they got for several months was whatever I could holler at them from the couch. Bad idea, albeit unavoidable.
This happened over a longish period of time... but it was compounded by my inability to move fast enough to correct them combined with my defeated, negative attitude about my role. Magazines and books spoon feed you that pregnancy is "all about you," and sisters, I was LIVING IN THE WORLD, reluctantly eating up every poisonous word.
This resulted in absolute LUNACY in my home. I was completely overwhelmed, and thought--what the heck is HAPPENING here? The more I tried to enjoy myself at home, the more I hated it.
For me, like for my friends, the answer lied in regrouping and resorting out my priorities. I needed to acknowledge that I had gone too far into socializing (albeit with Godly women!) and that I needed to refocus my energies at home.
Every woman finds at some point that she cannot both be attentive at home AND work, lead/teach bible studies, volunteer, etc. I've been there before, we all have.
And what I find is that come March or April, that determination to be a "keeper at HOME" will have vanished, and in it's place I will be finding solace in teaching twenty bible studies and endless coffee dates.
My case is no different: in this particular season of my life I have given up virtually every single "outside activity" and focused instead on building up my family and in particular on encouraging my husband to succeed at his own vocation. On days where I "feel" like giving, where I know that I am supposed to be doing this, the fruit is tremendous. On days where I resent it and start believing the whispers of promised "me-time" and what not, I am about as morbid and grumpy as they come. I don't even talk on the phone anymore. I mean, I don't even ANSWER my phone anymore. And I check my messages only twice a week. For some, this is uber annoying, but the results in the soothing of the chaotic environment of my home have been incredible. I am still able to communicate with people through emails and social networking sites, but not when I am sacrificing my mothering for another family. It has been so amazing!
So how had I gotten so LOST? I think it's because, while my philosophy about parenting hadn't changed, my techniques had, unbeknownst to me. Part of it was that I was suffering from our latest move and all the "unknowns" that bothered me in our family life, causing me to react negatively to virtually everything, which then showed in my kids.
But the biggest part was influence. My children began to spend time in circles with kids who were parented differently, and I even began to take parenting advice from people who had a very different mentality about their God-given role. Not "wrong," mind you. Just different from the way I perceive my own task at hand. And different means that it wont accomplish EXACTLY the same goals, similar as they may be.
Fortunately I recognized the gravity of the situation right away, and as soon as I was postpartum and felt capable of walking, I started back up the LOOONNGGGG (and slippery!) slope to regain some authority and control in my house. As the Pearls would say, I found I was raising some spoiled brats.
Of course, none of my friends now would agree with me. The three things I hear most often are "they are just being kids," "they will grow out of it," and "you're doing a great job!" I think most of my friends think that I have impossibly high standards for my kids, and that they cannot, or will not live up to them.
For instance, they have seen me, time and again, recite my classic line: "No fits. We don't throw fits!" to a toddler (and even a three year old!) who is crumpled up in a whiny, crying ball of temper tantrum. I often hear at this time that I'm expecting too much-- that the child is probably hungry or tired or overstimulated, that they MUST find some way to express themselves lest they implode.
I often believe it myself, mentally adding to the list of excuses I have to cushion the unsettled feeling in my gut because my children simply will not obey. Then, invariably, I hit a breaking point- a day where my kids are so bad, or so embarrassing, that I basically just want to crawl into a hole and die.
I had one of those days on Monday, when I took my kids to the All Soul's Day mass said by the bishop and concelebrated by a TON of priests I respect, love, and pray for daily from around the Diocese. Right there in the communion line, in front of countless priests and parents of Traditional Catholic families with kids I heavily admire, and in particular, in front of my Bishop, my three year old daughter went insane. She tried to grab the Host from the Bishop's hand, and when he wouldnt give it to her, she put her hand on her hip and in her nastiest, sassiest voice, screeched: "I want one of those. Give it to me NOW!"
Now, I can joke that the girl is clearly just excited to recieve Jesus, but lets be honest: that was about as impolite, rude, and disobedient as it gets. I was MORTIFIED.
No one around me, mind you, is putting this pressure on me. But I have SEEN those kids, the ones who sit in the front row at Church and who, even at 18 months, not only sit still but participate with gratitude in the service. Those kids who use their allowance to buy something for someone else.
I have seen those kids in public and wondered at it all (but been reassured my mothers around me that AT HOME those kids misbehave, or that AT HOME they are beaten and tortured into military-like obedience, leaving no room for social aptitude, growth or creativity.)
What's worse, I have seen these children in the privacy of their own homes, and I have known their families well once upon a time. I KNOW these families DO exist, that they are joyful, industrious, godly centers of evangelization. Would that I knew the treasure I had before me then... I thought I knew it all then and observed without asking questions. I even went as far as to "teach" some of you from my observations. Ah, humility. How you hurt.
I KNOW these families exist. I want one like that-- where my children are a joy to me and not a burden, where my husband beams at his capable wife. I think if we had only one child, maybe two, it would be easy to have continued to fool myself into thinking it was all "just a phase" and that it would eventually pass... but actually, this third child has really revealed to me how necessary it is to have a game plan and stick to it come hell or high water.
I see the same things in my marriage. When I confide in a sister about my own personal challenges with my husband, I am nearly always met with a long list of reasons why I'm not alone! But if I venture into this territory with one of the moms of these wonderchildren, I am often dismayed that she doesn't experience these same troubles-- since she doesn't appear to want to discuss them or relate to them.
Does this mean I know /knew perfect people? Of course not. Those very children occasionally throw a tantrum to end all tantrums, and put up a decent fight. Those couples bicker and argue like the best of them once in a while. Those moms have certainly had their season of tears. But the difference is that they genuinely, truly, completely and openly ENJOY the process of being a family. It's not something to be survived, but something to rejoice in. That's what I want-- a day where I can embrace these sufferings and change my attitude about them, not believing them to be my "undoing," but my well-being. A day where I am left with a feeling that peace, and joy, and not utter chaos, reigns in my family.
I want to love, honor, respect and uphold my husband in ALL scenarios and not just publicly. I want to enjoy my children, and not just once or twice a day when they say something impossibly cute. And ultimately, I want to raise a brood of world-changers, ones who are so utterly evangelical simply by their presence and personality that they will affect everyone around them. I want to raise saints.
I kept looking for a book that helped me navigate this season of turning inward-- something that would give me a set of steadfast rules which, if followed, guaranteed success.
I found that in my struggles with my husband in the book Created to be His Helpmeet.
Without batting an eye, I can tell you that that book saved my marriage, and that if I followed it's advice more closely each day (Lord, help me!) our marriage would continue to be the best it's been.
But what about in my child-raising and homemaking? Where could I turn?
I have long admired the work of the Pearl family in To Train Up a Child, but something was lacking in it that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Recently, I discovered a new book, Raising Godly Tomatoes, which teaches the same types of principles, but does so in a more "apologetic" manner-- one which explains gently the reasons for acting and behaving a certain way with our kids. It also presents the concept of tomato- staking... keeping our children NEAR us.... in a way that I was finally able to grasp. All the same stuff as TTUAC, but just laid out in a very accessible kind of way for those of us who aren't amish and don't (yet!) homestead.
I was overjoyed to find the encouragement, but I think I instinctively KNOW all these things in my heart-- they are the reason I feel so unsettled about my motherhood much of the time. It's because I stopped believing that these families actually EXISTED. It's because I stopped believing some of those verses in Scripture on which I should be standing with rock-steady certainty. I relaxed my sense of purpose and the diligence with which I parented, all because I stopped "believing the dream," so to speak.
In the last few months, God has slowly been rebuilding that vision in my head as I've sought Him about it. and what's better, He's been giving me the wisdom to talk to my husband about His OWN vision for our family and to submit to those things which seem impossibly difficult to me. And in return, I have begun to see that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel... the ACTUAL blessing of doing things God's way, and not just the theoretical one. It took me three kids to even put a DENT in that selfishness I carry around with me daily.
Although my three year old is still as sassy as can be, and my two year old still throws fits that would curdle your earwax, I find that as I RELAXED into my mothering over the last two years of eased up external pressure, I was able to stop trying to control everything around me and just DO those things which sat in front of me. I needed to be brought SO low, in my parenting, that I was willing to do ANYTHING-- give up my life--- for my kids to come out OK.
This is why God allowed me to go through such a harrowing season. I almost had to shoot my own self in the foot in order to figure out I needed REAL healing underneath the skin.
The challenge, now, for me, is going to be to go my separate way from my dearest, most incredible friends who choose to switch up their 'focus' when spring comes blowing the winds of change. I see now that I need to be HOME, that HOME is where I am best used to fulfill my every purpose, that HOME is the best place for my kids to be, no matter how much I would have liked to fool myself to believe otherwise, and that it is through in my husband and my kids that my greatest suffering, and thus my greatest joy, will come.
I am always talking about the "good old days" and trying to live like wives and mommas did back when kids obeyed, didn't interrupt, and had the fear of God in them. But I never figured what it was that was so different: These kids had NO WHERE TO GO. These moms had no telephones, no women's ministry meetings, no play dates. There were no nurseries at Church.
All they had were families, and they raised them right.
It's fall, and nesting is a part of that seasonal change- we have been outdoors in the glorious weather, and we begin to remember that inside our homes a comfortable, warm environment awaits us with a promise of happy family moments and calm evenings shared among friends. We get internal, and I think God designed it that way, because as soon as we realize we are good and happy with our families but that something is still missing, the incarnation comes to us at Christmas and we get that we need that "magic" touch from God to bring it all together. All too soon, it's Spring again and we are cleaning out our houses and letting "fresh air" in-- only to be enticed to step out into that air and forget the glories of what lies within the beating heart of our homes. It's a cycle, folks, and on and on it goes... but what's amazing to me is that I fall for it year after year after year.
Come Fall, EVERYONE wants to take a good, hard look at what they are doing with their time, and how they can realign their priorities.
This is a noble and honorable task, and one which I've tried to undertake many times myself, and which I haven't totally figured out. I actually suspect I never will-- that I will keep learning and growing in "what works" for our family and going from there. God's Word says we are as clay in His hands-- malleable-- not hard and unyielding. If having three kids three and under has taught me anything so far, it's that I MUST be open to whatever thing the wind of the Spirit would blow me towards-- I cannot remain resolved to do things "my way," and "on my schedule." I can try, but there WILL come a time when God asks me: "Have you consulted ME about how you should be spending this minute/hour/day?"
If anything, thats what my entire Carmelite walk has been about-- building a relationship with Him based on prayer and mortification, based in communicating every part of ME to Him, and in being willing to renounce every part of "me" and "my time." My memory, my will, my understanding, etc. etc etc.
So every which way I turn, my happy housewives are redirecting their days, tearing apart their control journals and starting over, and reformating their schedules. I'm one of them--I smell the change in the air.
In the last two months of my pregnancy movement became very challenging for me, resulting in two things: I could no longer take off on a whim and hang out with my other mommy friends. On the home front, my kids became like a pack of wild animals without constant direction from me- all they got for several months was whatever I could holler at them from the couch. Bad idea, albeit unavoidable.
This happened over a longish period of time... but it was compounded by my inability to move fast enough to correct them combined with my defeated, negative attitude about my role. Magazines and books spoon feed you that pregnancy is "all about you," and sisters, I was LIVING IN THE WORLD, reluctantly eating up every poisonous word.
This resulted in absolute LUNACY in my home. I was completely overwhelmed, and thought--what the heck is HAPPENING here? The more I tried to enjoy myself at home, the more I hated it.
For me, like for my friends, the answer lied in regrouping and resorting out my priorities. I needed to acknowledge that I had gone too far into socializing (albeit with Godly women!) and that I needed to refocus my energies at home.
Every woman finds at some point that she cannot both be attentive at home AND work, lead/teach bible studies, volunteer, etc. I've been there before, we all have.
And what I find is that come March or April, that determination to be a "keeper at HOME" will have vanished, and in it's place I will be finding solace in teaching twenty bible studies and endless coffee dates.
My case is no different: in this particular season of my life I have given up virtually every single "outside activity" and focused instead on building up my family and in particular on encouraging my husband to succeed at his own vocation. On days where I "feel" like giving, where I know that I am supposed to be doing this, the fruit is tremendous. On days where I resent it and start believing the whispers of promised "me-time" and what not, I am about as morbid and grumpy as they come. I don't even talk on the phone anymore. I mean, I don't even ANSWER my phone anymore. And I check my messages only twice a week. For some, this is uber annoying, but the results in the soothing of the chaotic environment of my home have been incredible. I am still able to communicate with people through emails and social networking sites, but not when I am sacrificing my mothering for another family. It has been so amazing!
So how had I gotten so LOST? I think it's because, while my philosophy about parenting hadn't changed, my techniques had, unbeknownst to me. Part of it was that I was suffering from our latest move and all the "unknowns" that bothered me in our family life, causing me to react negatively to virtually everything, which then showed in my kids.
But the biggest part was influence. My children began to spend time in circles with kids who were parented differently, and I even began to take parenting advice from people who had a very different mentality about their God-given role. Not "wrong," mind you. Just different from the way I perceive my own task at hand. And different means that it wont accomplish EXACTLY the same goals, similar as they may be.
Fortunately I recognized the gravity of the situation right away, and as soon as I was postpartum and felt capable of walking, I started back up the LOOONNGGGG (and slippery!) slope to regain some authority and control in my house. As the Pearls would say, I found I was raising some spoiled brats.
Of course, none of my friends now would agree with me. The three things I hear most often are "they are just being kids," "they will grow out of it," and "you're doing a great job!" I think most of my friends think that I have impossibly high standards for my kids, and that they cannot, or will not live up to them.
For instance, they have seen me, time and again, recite my classic line: "No fits. We don't throw fits!" to a toddler (and even a three year old!) who is crumpled up in a whiny, crying ball of temper tantrum. I often hear at this time that I'm expecting too much-- that the child is probably hungry or tired or overstimulated, that they MUST find some way to express themselves lest they implode.
I often believe it myself, mentally adding to the list of excuses I have to cushion the unsettled feeling in my gut because my children simply will not obey. Then, invariably, I hit a breaking point- a day where my kids are so bad, or so embarrassing, that I basically just want to crawl into a hole and die.
I had one of those days on Monday, when I took my kids to the All Soul's Day mass said by the bishop and concelebrated by a TON of priests I respect, love, and pray for daily from around the Diocese. Right there in the communion line, in front of countless priests and parents of Traditional Catholic families with kids I heavily admire, and in particular, in front of my Bishop, my three year old daughter went insane. She tried to grab the Host from the Bishop's hand, and when he wouldnt give it to her, she put her hand on her hip and in her nastiest, sassiest voice, screeched: "I want one of those. Give it to me NOW!"
Now, I can joke that the girl is clearly just excited to recieve Jesus, but lets be honest: that was about as impolite, rude, and disobedient as it gets. I was MORTIFIED.
No one around me, mind you, is putting this pressure on me. But I have SEEN those kids, the ones who sit in the front row at Church and who, even at 18 months, not only sit still but participate with gratitude in the service. Those kids who use their allowance to buy something for someone else.
I have seen those kids in public and wondered at it all (but been reassured my mothers around me that AT HOME those kids misbehave, or that AT HOME they are beaten and tortured into military-like obedience, leaving no room for social aptitude, growth or creativity.)
What's worse, I have seen these children in the privacy of their own homes, and I have known their families well once upon a time. I KNOW these families DO exist, that they are joyful, industrious, godly centers of evangelization. Would that I knew the treasure I had before me then... I thought I knew it all then and observed without asking questions. I even went as far as to "teach" some of you from my observations. Ah, humility. How you hurt.
I KNOW these families exist. I want one like that-- where my children are a joy to me and not a burden, where my husband beams at his capable wife. I think if we had only one child, maybe two, it would be easy to have continued to fool myself into thinking it was all "just a phase" and that it would eventually pass... but actually, this third child has really revealed to me how necessary it is to have a game plan and stick to it come hell or high water.
I see the same things in my marriage. When I confide in a sister about my own personal challenges with my husband, I am nearly always met with a long list of reasons why I'm not alone! But if I venture into this territory with one of the moms of these wonderchildren, I am often dismayed that she doesn't experience these same troubles-- since she doesn't appear to want to discuss them or relate to them.
Does this mean I know /knew perfect people? Of course not. Those very children occasionally throw a tantrum to end all tantrums, and put up a decent fight. Those couples bicker and argue like the best of them once in a while. Those moms have certainly had their season of tears. But the difference is that they genuinely, truly, completely and openly ENJOY the process of being a family. It's not something to be survived, but something to rejoice in. That's what I want-- a day where I can embrace these sufferings and change my attitude about them, not believing them to be my "undoing," but my well-being. A day where I am left with a feeling that peace, and joy, and not utter chaos, reigns in my family.
I want to love, honor, respect and uphold my husband in ALL scenarios and not just publicly. I want to enjoy my children, and not just once or twice a day when they say something impossibly cute. And ultimately, I want to raise a brood of world-changers, ones who are so utterly evangelical simply by their presence and personality that they will affect everyone around them. I want to raise saints.
I kept looking for a book that helped me navigate this season of turning inward-- something that would give me a set of steadfast rules which, if followed, guaranteed success.
I found that in my struggles with my husband in the book Created to be His Helpmeet.
Without batting an eye, I can tell you that that book saved my marriage, and that if I followed it's advice more closely each day (Lord, help me!) our marriage would continue to be the best it's been.
But what about in my child-raising and homemaking? Where could I turn?
I have long admired the work of the Pearl family in To Train Up a Child, but something was lacking in it that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Recently, I discovered a new book, Raising Godly Tomatoes, which teaches the same types of principles, but does so in a more "apologetic" manner-- one which explains gently the reasons for acting and behaving a certain way with our kids. It also presents the concept of tomato- staking... keeping our children NEAR us.... in a way that I was finally able to grasp. All the same stuff as TTUAC, but just laid out in a very accessible kind of way for those of us who aren't amish and don't (yet!) homestead.
I was overjoyed to find the encouragement, but I think I instinctively KNOW all these things in my heart-- they are the reason I feel so unsettled about my motherhood much of the time. It's because I stopped believing that these families actually EXISTED. It's because I stopped believing some of those verses in Scripture on which I should be standing with rock-steady certainty. I relaxed my sense of purpose and the diligence with which I parented, all because I stopped "believing the dream," so to speak.
In the last few months, God has slowly been rebuilding that vision in my head as I've sought Him about it. and what's better, He's been giving me the wisdom to talk to my husband about His OWN vision for our family and to submit to those things which seem impossibly difficult to me. And in return, I have begun to see that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel... the ACTUAL blessing of doing things God's way, and not just the theoretical one. It took me three kids to even put a DENT in that selfishness I carry around with me daily.
Although my three year old is still as sassy as can be, and my two year old still throws fits that would curdle your earwax, I find that as I RELAXED into my mothering over the last two years of eased up external pressure, I was able to stop trying to control everything around me and just DO those things which sat in front of me. I needed to be brought SO low, in my parenting, that I was willing to do ANYTHING-- give up my life--- for my kids to come out OK.
This is why God allowed me to go through such a harrowing season. I almost had to shoot my own self in the foot in order to figure out I needed REAL healing underneath the skin.
The challenge, now, for me, is going to be to go my separate way from my dearest, most incredible friends who choose to switch up their 'focus' when spring comes blowing the winds of change. I see now that I need to be HOME, that HOME is where I am best used to fulfill my every purpose, that HOME is the best place for my kids to be, no matter how much I would have liked to fool myself to believe otherwise, and that it is through in my husband and my kids that my greatest suffering, and thus my greatest joy, will come.
I am always talking about the "good old days" and trying to live like wives and mommas did back when kids obeyed, didn't interrupt, and had the fear of God in them. But I never figured what it was that was so different: These kids had NO WHERE TO GO. These moms had no telephones, no women's ministry meetings, no play dates. There were no nurseries at Church.
All they had were families, and they raised them right.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Details and specifics
Me: "Annika, don't touch the baby's face with your hands. You just sneezed. Your hands have germs on them."
Her: "Okay, mommy."
A minute goes by.
Her: "Mommy?"
Me: "Yes?"
Her: "Well, can I touch her elbow?"
Ugh
Was going to write a really long blog with lots of interesting stuff, but this baby will not go to sleep. Oh well, story of my life.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Full of the funnies
Annika is full of funnies this morning.
She asked me why I was making breakfast instead of Grandpa, and I told her that her Grandpa was at the doctor's.
"Why? He doesn't feel good?"
"He's getting a blood test done."
"Oh. Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Is he going to get a lollipop?"
Ha!
Later on, I was making breakfast in the kitchen and had the baby moniter turned up loud to drown out the sizzling bacon. I heard Annika go in and talk quietly to the baby, so I went down the hall to investigate. When I went in, she was decidedly sad.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Ulla doesn't want my food."
I made a panicked face and said: "What food, sweetheart? What food were you trying to give her?"
"My milk! She doesn't want any."
She was trying to nurse the baby! Hahaha.
She asked me why I was making breakfast instead of Grandpa, and I told her that her Grandpa was at the doctor's.
"Why? He doesn't feel good?"
"He's getting a blood test done."
"Oh. Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Is he going to get a lollipop?"
Ha!
Later on, I was making breakfast in the kitchen and had the baby moniter turned up loud to drown out the sizzling bacon. I heard Annika go in and talk quietly to the baby, so I went down the hall to investigate. When I went in, she was decidedly sad.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Ulla doesn't want my food."
I made a panicked face and said: "What food, sweetheart? What food were you trying to give her?"
"My milk! She doesn't want any."
She was trying to nurse the baby! Hahaha.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Cleaning
Annika and Ishod were playing outside while I made lunch. I peeked out every few minutes to check on them. They were running from a pile of sticks to a tree and back with glee. When lunch was ready, I let them in, took their shoes off, washed their hands, and sat them down at the table.
"Mama, that was sooooo fun!" Exclaimed Annika.
"So what were you doing out there?" I asked.
"Kleeeeeeeeg!" Shouted Ishod.
"What?"
"We were cleaning the trees, mamma. They were soooo dirty!"
Buaaaahaaahaaaaaa...truly my child.
"Mama, that was sooooo fun!" Exclaimed Annika.
"So what were you doing out there?" I asked.
"Kleeeeeeeeg!" Shouted Ishod.
"What?"
"We were cleaning the trees, mamma. They were soooo dirty!"
Buaaaahaaahaaaaaa...truly my child.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Rice crispy
Annika to her rice crispy cereal: "What are you telling me? That you're happy I'm eating you?? Oh, you're welcome! I'm so happy too."
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Night and Day
Upon looking outside in the morning:
"It's not moony outside anymore, momma! It's sunny!"
"It's not moony outside anymore, momma! It's sunny!"
Things I learned from watching my mamoune live
Things I learned from watching my Mamoune live.
I miss my grandmother so much. Around the holidays, it gets hard for me to deal with not being around my family. I can remember cutting into a foie gras she had sent me a few Christmases ago and just crying into it because it reminded me so much of her.
I've had a lot of time, these last ten days, to reflect on what type of family culture I want to be building here, and I know that I learned so much from watching her. So, without further ado, I give you:
Things I learned from watching my mamoune live.
Begin the day with a good cup of coffee and your husband, no matter what the day will hold. Better yet, serve it and share it in bed.
Get dressed, washed, and done up before you do anything else. Don't have holes in your clothes. Take care of your body. Brush your hair. Wear perfume.
Make breakfast for the whole family accessible and fun, make it a meal.
Honor your husband. Devote yourself to him and treat him with kindness and respect, even when things get rough.... and ESPECIALLY when he is being rough. ;) Uphold the household rules he sets. He will, in turn, treasure you.
Pray your rosary. Every single day.
Read your bible. Every single day.
Go to church often and pay close attention, because it will prepare you for what life holds.
Celebrate life, at every occasion. Bring friends. Make large families. If you don't have large families, you better get lots of friends.
Take your housework seriously. Run your household with thoughtfulness and care. Roll up your sleeves and get in there. I can think of many occasions where, even though the maid was there, my grandmother was scrubbing alongside her, showing her how to get it right.
Retain your dignity in every situation. Never forget who you are and where you came from.
Use your good china. Know when to put out the good wine.
Enjoy all good things, but do everything with moderation.
Make babies, train them up as toddlers, teach them to be thoughtful adults. When you can't contain them and if they stray from you and God, pray for them ceaselessly.
Make feasts festive...decorate, cook for days, and celebrate. This is culture building.
Know that there is "a time to work," and "a time to rest."
Uphold your husband in all things. Realize that you represent him always. When he needs you, drop everything to be available to him.
There are four square meals a day: Breakfast, lunch, teatime, and dinner. One does not snack in between, and even if we are alone that day it's worth cooking something up.
Never eat alone if you can avoid it. If you must eat alone, eat at the table anyways. And don't let being alone keep you from a nice glass of wine. Even an egg can make a pretty, balanced meal if you pair it with the right thing.
Managing a household takes all of your gifts. Know what your gifts are.
Hospitality is the best gift. Invite people over often, and make them feel simultaneously like royalty and family when they do visit.
Freshen up before dinner.
Take a nap every day. Drink espresso after lunch.
It is your responsibility to uphold and care for your church. Teach your family to love to give of themselves at the Parish.
Eat right, watch your figure, get a tan.
Train and discipline your children. Expect good behavior from them, and extract it with military precision if need be. Keep your patience, and enjoy them in the process.
Know the difference between right and wrong.
Dress up to enter the House of the Lord.
Make Him a home in your own home, too.
Laugh often, and work hard to control your tongue when you disapprove of something. When you fail, acknowledge it.
Study your family history and honor those that have gone before. Keep your heritage in mind and remember that you are building legacy.
Teach your children the faith, not just with words and pictures, but with sights, sounds, and experiences. Recognize teachable moments. Begin and end each family event with prayer.
Work is life, and life is work. Do your work as unto the Lord. It takes skill and wisdom to build your house up. Know how to sew, knit, cook, clean, manage, organize, create, fix, garden, teach, and learn.
Keep learning, never stop learning. She was a senior citizen when she started taking gymnastics classes, flute classes, and English classes.
If and when you become "alone," if and when you lose your health, if and when everything changes around you--- if you have lived well you will still have your faith, and that will be all you need. My most poignant memory of my grandmother is from just a few years ago. I was visiting and shocked by how different she was after her stroke-- communication with her was so challenging and she could not really speak. And yet, from the confines of her room every morning, I heard resounding through the halls the words of the Holy Rosary, perfectly pronounced and perfectly voiced. She couldn't even talk, but the woman could pray. Now THAT is a grandmother worth honoring.
I miss my grandmother so much. Around the holidays, it gets hard for me to deal with not being around my family. I can remember cutting into a foie gras she had sent me a few Christmases ago and just crying into it because it reminded me so much of her.
I've had a lot of time, these last ten days, to reflect on what type of family culture I want to be building here, and I know that I learned so much from watching her. So, without further ado, I give you:
Things I learned from watching my mamoune live.
Begin the day with a good cup of coffee and your husband, no matter what the day will hold. Better yet, serve it and share it in bed.
Get dressed, washed, and done up before you do anything else. Don't have holes in your clothes. Take care of your body. Brush your hair. Wear perfume.
Make breakfast for the whole family accessible and fun, make it a meal.
Honor your husband. Devote yourself to him and treat him with kindness and respect, even when things get rough.... and ESPECIALLY when he is being rough. ;) Uphold the household rules he sets. He will, in turn, treasure you.
Pray your rosary. Every single day.
Read your bible. Every single day.
Go to church often and pay close attention, because it will prepare you for what life holds.
Celebrate life, at every occasion. Bring friends. Make large families. If you don't have large families, you better get lots of friends.
Take your housework seriously. Run your household with thoughtfulness and care. Roll up your sleeves and get in there. I can think of many occasions where, even though the maid was there, my grandmother was scrubbing alongside her, showing her how to get it right.
Retain your dignity in every situation. Never forget who you are and where you came from.
Use your good china. Know when to put out the good wine.
Enjoy all good things, but do everything with moderation.
Make babies, train them up as toddlers, teach them to be thoughtful adults. When you can't contain them and if they stray from you and God, pray for them ceaselessly.
Make feasts festive...decorate, cook for days, and celebrate. This is culture building.
Know that there is "a time to work," and "a time to rest."
Uphold your husband in all things. Realize that you represent him always. When he needs you, drop everything to be available to him.
There are four square meals a day: Breakfast, lunch, teatime, and dinner. One does not snack in between, and even if we are alone that day it's worth cooking something up.
Never eat alone if you can avoid it. If you must eat alone, eat at the table anyways. And don't let being alone keep you from a nice glass of wine. Even an egg can make a pretty, balanced meal if you pair it with the right thing.
Managing a household takes all of your gifts. Know what your gifts are.
Hospitality is the best gift. Invite people over often, and make them feel simultaneously like royalty and family when they do visit.
Freshen up before dinner.
Take a nap every day. Drink espresso after lunch.
It is your responsibility to uphold and care for your church. Teach your family to love to give of themselves at the Parish.
Eat right, watch your figure, get a tan.
Train and discipline your children. Expect good behavior from them, and extract it with military precision if need be. Keep your patience, and enjoy them in the process.
Know the difference between right and wrong.
Dress up to enter the House of the Lord.
Make Him a home in your own home, too.
Laugh often, and work hard to control your tongue when you disapprove of something. When you fail, acknowledge it.
Study your family history and honor those that have gone before. Keep your heritage in mind and remember that you are building legacy.
Teach your children the faith, not just with words and pictures, but with sights, sounds, and experiences. Recognize teachable moments. Begin and end each family event with prayer.
Work is life, and life is work. Do your work as unto the Lord. It takes skill and wisdom to build your house up. Know how to sew, knit, cook, clean, manage, organize, create, fix, garden, teach, and learn.
Keep learning, never stop learning. She was a senior citizen when she started taking gymnastics classes, flute classes, and English classes.
If and when you become "alone," if and when you lose your health, if and when everything changes around you--- if you have lived well you will still have your faith, and that will be all you need. My most poignant memory of my grandmother is from just a few years ago. I was visiting and shocked by how different she was after her stroke-- communication with her was so challenging and she could not really speak. And yet, from the confines of her room every morning, I heard resounding through the halls the words of the Holy Rosary, perfectly pronounced and perfectly voiced. She couldn't even talk, but the woman could pray. Now THAT is a grandmother worth honoring.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Labor day
Labor
So, first, let me get the long awaited labor story out. Having had two weeks to fully reflect on the experience, I feel ready to share it with the world and know that it will not be a tale based only on the emotional experience but also a story crafted by drawing on my doula training.
I was nervous, going in. For weeks and weeks while I waited to hit 37, I was inwardly quaking.
First because this has been the single most difficult and painful pregnancy I have had thusfar, and second because, like always, this had been a high risk pregnancy, which makes for high risk deliveries. At the same time, I was excited-- I knew that I was becoming an "old pro" so to speak, and I couldn't WAIT to finally meet her. The bassinet by the bedside seemed so empty and the tiny cloth diapers all lined up in the closet were begging to be used.
37 weeks came and went, and I despaired. My body felt like there was just NO WAY she could keep remaining in there and allow me to survive. I suffered from terrible sciatica that left me unable to walk, heartburn like nothing else, and a variety of other pregnancy problems that are embarrassing and threatening to say the least. My kids went nuts without me to keep them in line. I was definitely ready and I assumed that, like my other two, she would appear at 37.
38 went by, and then 39, and I began to despair. My emotions completely took over as I tried to remind myself that I "couldn't stay pregnant forever... at some point, she was going to HAVE to come out." When I hit 40 weeks, I cried. Most of the day.
Three days later, having rehearsed every possible labor scenario in my head every time I had three consecutive contractions, I felt... funny. It was evening, and I had just finished watching our nightly House episode. Around 11 pm, I felt something happen down there and thought-- OH! I rushed to the bathroom and decided my bag of waters was leaking, as it had with Ishod. Remembering that my active Labor had been 78 hours with Annika and over 36 with Ishod, and fully prepared with my Bradley course and with my doula training, I was in NO rush to get admitted to the hospital just to be stuck flat on my back and poked with an IV and a Catheter.
I informed Wayne that my bag of waters was leaking and I was going to try and get some sleep before the contractions started. I had been having contractions regularly until then, so I felt prepared to handle them with ease and was psyched up.
At six am, though, when I felt the first contractions, I realized with what I would describe as horror that I had forgotten just how BAD labor pains really are. Needless to say, it had begun.
I spent the morning getting the kids ready to take off, checking and rechecking my hospital bag, and excitedly facebooking. Finally, at around 9:30 am, my friend Jen came to take the kids and told me to walk the cul de sac and labor peacefully at home for as long as possible. So pleased that God had given me such an amazing gift as to allow me to labor "on my own" for a while, I went in the house to get started. Sadly, my husband and Father in Law, neither of whom know the first thing about the childbirth experience other than "my wife gets pregnant, a baby comes out," met me at every contraction with resounding, bellowing cries that I needed to "go to the hospital right away." After two hours ,I caved in, mostly because they were annoying me so much I didn't think I was going to be able to handle laboring at home after all.. I absolutely could not relax.
The OBGYN and midwife said that I should come to the office, where the staff greeted us and placed us first in line to be seen.
"You're so CALM!" said one receptionist. Wayne and I laughed.
The midwife checked me, and said that my bag of waters had not actually broken but was, as I suspected, leaking. She said I was about 4 cm and that she would go ahead and admit me so that I could labor in peace in a hospital room with a hep lock and walking rights, orders to be checked every hour, and a smile. Our priest came and annointed me as I was checking in to the hospital, and they bypassed triage and put me straight in the room.
My sister in law, Jessica, rapidly showed up at the hospital while Wayne and his brother went and got some lunch. She was AMAZING.
She had had a doula and learned a lot of techniques to help speed up the labor and move it along, and like me, she is a person who is uncannily aware of her own body and able to pinpoint certain aspects of the mind/body/spirit connection that so many people often miss.
I was thrilled to have her, particularly because she knew techniques which I had never had the opportunity to use because, as you probably know, I have always been bed-ridden during my labors in the past. I felt so happy and proud as we prepared to walk the halls. She was also very calm and very encouraging, which helped me to get "excited" about what was happening instead of dreading it.
We walked for one hour, with her coaching me through contractions. I walked, sat on the toilet, and walked some more. We squatted and knelt like crazy people... and the more we moved, the more insane the contractions got. Every time I felt unable to continue, she reminded me: "This is good! This means it's WORKING. This means baby is coming." etc etc.
It hardly seemed like any time had passed at all when I found myself bent over in deep concentrated agony, suddenly realizing with a panic in my throat that I wasn't sure that I COULD handle the coming contraction-- the pain was getting so much stronger and I felt I had lost control since they were coming virtually every minute. At that point, a nurse or doctor who happened to be passing noticed that I was extremely distressed, and recommended we go back to get checked. In my head, I thought-- this must be that "third sign" we are looking for in the Bradley Method--- it's at this point that I should have arrived at the Hospital. We went back to the room and the nurse checked me in. In an hour of walking, I had gone from 4 to 8 and was right around Transition. No wonder I felt so out of control! I had wanted a completely natural childbirth, and here it was. Jessica kept reassuring me that this was all "good," and yet I had begun to feel afraid and was slipping in my concentration into panic mode.
Wayne arrived at this point, and I was so thankful to see his gorgeous face. Jessica gave him some tips to help him help me-- telling him to persist in reminding me that it was vital that I stay calm, centered, focused and relaxed. I kept trying to remember what I had learned in my Bradley book- that I needed to achieve DEEP relaxation in order to make it through each contraction. By nine centimeters, I was sleeping for the minute before each contraction, a deep, profound, relaxed sleep, and then awakening to the beginnings of the next pain cycle. But by the time I reached the crest of the wave of the contraction, I would begin to panic, recognizing that they were longer and longer and that I felt such tremendous pressure, particularly in my backside, that I would not survive the pain and just burst all over the LDR bed. It was at this point that a nurse came in to tell me that if I wanted anesthesia, I had to act quickly because they were very busy.
Jess was leaving, and Wayne was praying over me, and I KNEW in that instant that I wanted it-- I had lost control of myself and felt that I would literally die if I experienced one more contraction. I said yes, and proceeded to beg for the anesthesiologist to appear. I remember nothing about this period except looking deep into Wayne's eyes and begging him to "help me." He was powerless to do so.
By the time the anesthesiologist arrived, he was irritated with me. I was nine cm, and there was, quite honestly, no reason for him to be giving me an epidural. Looking back, I'm surprised he agreed. And even more surprised-- and frustrated-- that the Nurse asked me at that time! I'm quite certain that had no one MENTIONED anesthesia to me, I would have simply progressed and birthed the baby completely naturally on my own. That panic was simply a part of the process.
However, the nurse and doctor, in a really pissy mood, harshly reprimanded me in this way:
"Now, you have ONE chance to get this epidural. If you move AT ALL, you will not get it, and you might get very, seriously hurt. We are not going to stop when you have a contraction. You are going to have to be still. Do you understand?" I nodded, although I felt completely incapable of controlling myself through another contraction. I didn't care, I just wanted the pain to stop.
I leaned over a pillow into the nurse's lap, and he began the procedure. No sooner had we begun than I felt a contraction coming on. Amazingly enough, knowing that I had to "just get through" this contraction, go deep within myself and find calm.... this idea alone completely calmed me. In fact, I hadn't had such a calm contraction since that morning at 6 am. It was followed rapidly by two others before he was done, and instantly I knew that the key to labor was, is, and ever will be your frame of mind when in the midst of it. I was SO disappointed that I now had an epidural.
Resigned to just finish up slowly (I still hadn't realized just how far along in the process I was yet) I lay back and began to work with the contractions, expecting, at any moment, to feel relief. Of course, by then, I was nearing ten cm, and amazingly enough, the epidural didn't take. I still felt every contraction, every muscle, every pang. I still felt panicked, but also began to internalize the lesson I had just learned with my epidural, that my brain was the key to this whole experience.
By this time, my other labor helpers had arrived-- Annie, Cherry and eventually, Jen.
I don't remember much from this period except how soothing it was to be surrounded by people who loved the Lord, particularly since my nurse wasn't very verbal if she was, in fact, a Christian at all. At one point, Cherry led us in a song. I had felt, up until then, that God had simply abandoned me. The pain was so severe that I thought I would just die-- in fact, I wished that I would rather than keep feeling it! I couldn't imagine that a God who loved me would allow me to experience such incredible, devastating pain. And yet-- as soon as her sweet voice began to rise towards heaven-- I FELT Him, in a tangible, knock-you-flat sort of way. I started crying, and I KNEW that Labor was teaching me about sanctification, and that it was OK, and that He was there.
My other favorite moment came when I hit around 10 and began REALLY wanting to push. They asked me to wait because my midwife wasn't responding to her pages, so I panted, groaned, and held her in as best I could, all the while telling everyone I could find in the room in a desperate voice how much I wanted to push and how great the pressure was, particularly in my backside. Cherry began to lay hands on me and pray in tongues, which instantly soothed my fears and reminded me to call on the Holy Spirit, who desired nothing more in that moment than to fill me with His joy. At the same time, on the other side of my bed, Annie was pulling out her bible (because I had asked her to read me Psalm 91 out loud.) She held up a faded holy card, putting it right in my face, and said lovingly: "Here's a picture of the Pope."
I reveled in that moment, and will probably never forget it-- how good our God is that He gave me every part of Him that is important to me to comfort me during my darkest hour.
Somehow, finally, they allowed me to start pushing, and (to my surprise, although I could not stop to think about how I felt about this)they allowed everyone to stay in the room! So there I was, pushing, with my husband AND my friends around. :P
It was actually quite perfect.. they had been so sweet and taken time out of very busy schedules to pray me through this experience, and God allowed them to see the fruits of their labor and be present at the actual birth, to see not just the hard stuff, but the glorious stuff as well. I am so thankful for that!
Since the epidural didn't take, it took only a couple pushes for me to get her out, and I was amazed at how easy the pushing seemed when contrasted with the sharp pains of the contractions. It actually felt kind of good. She emerged a beautiful, dark haired, dark skinned baby at 4:09 pm after only 10 hours of labor! This time around I tore pretty well but didn't require stitches. (hooray!)
In the end, I had an unnaturally natural childbirth, which is one step closer to the type of birth I hope to have if there ever is a next time. I discussed it at length with my OBGYN and he made some great points that I had picked up on right away with some reflection. We both felt that it was the walking that put me out of control. Instead of coping with the contractions, and slowly easing into them, I intensified them and did everything I could to move the baby down. Since this pregnacy had been so risky and painful and since the last four weeks of it had entailed mostly me being in excruciating pain, I needed to approach my labor experience in a gentle manner, and not as a warrior on a mission. While the exercises and walking I did with Jess were VERY effective (and I mean VERY!) they may have pushed my body too far too fast, which is how I reached the state that I can only describe as "out of control" so quickly. For someone like me, who has had three births in three years and who is not so young anymore, labor needs to be approached carefully and quietly, with very little "pushing" to get my body to do what it's doing. This means my labors might be longer, but ultimately, it means that my recoveries will be shorter-- this particular recovery has been harder than any previous one and my postpartum stuff particularly intense... some of it, sadly, permanent.
One thing that I lacked during pain management was a RHYTHM... I completely forgot about the three R's of labor (Ritual, Rhythm, Relaxation) and focused solely on "trying to relax," even though the Ritual and the Rhythm are what get you there in the first place.
I also was so moved by two aspects of the experience: First, how much it meant to my husband to be a part of the labor AND birth, not just the birth. I always assumed that he was the type who would be happier in the waiting room with a pack of cigarettes, but turns out he was GREATLY concerned with being with me and helping me, which I found totally amazing. Likewise, I became aware during this labor of the necessity of having wise, praying women around-- ones who KNOW exactly what you are going through and who can do it with you.
All in all, I am, again, completely moved and overwhelmed by the spiritual nature of the hard work of labor, and God's wisdom in giving it to us women. I thank each of the very special women who, both physically and spiritually, prayed me through the difficulties of Childbirth, and especially my incredible husband, without whom I would never know the sweetness of birth or the beautiful faces of our children.
So, first, let me get the long awaited labor story out. Having had two weeks to fully reflect on the experience, I feel ready to share it with the world and know that it will not be a tale based only on the emotional experience but also a story crafted by drawing on my doula training.
I was nervous, going in. For weeks and weeks while I waited to hit 37, I was inwardly quaking.
First because this has been the single most difficult and painful pregnancy I have had thusfar, and second because, like always, this had been a high risk pregnancy, which makes for high risk deliveries. At the same time, I was excited-- I knew that I was becoming an "old pro" so to speak, and I couldn't WAIT to finally meet her. The bassinet by the bedside seemed so empty and the tiny cloth diapers all lined up in the closet were begging to be used.
37 weeks came and went, and I despaired. My body felt like there was just NO WAY she could keep remaining in there and allow me to survive. I suffered from terrible sciatica that left me unable to walk, heartburn like nothing else, and a variety of other pregnancy problems that are embarrassing and threatening to say the least. My kids went nuts without me to keep them in line. I was definitely ready and I assumed that, like my other two, she would appear at 37.
38 went by, and then 39, and I began to despair. My emotions completely took over as I tried to remind myself that I "couldn't stay pregnant forever... at some point, she was going to HAVE to come out." When I hit 40 weeks, I cried. Most of the day.
Three days later, having rehearsed every possible labor scenario in my head every time I had three consecutive contractions, I felt... funny. It was evening, and I had just finished watching our nightly House episode. Around 11 pm, I felt something happen down there and thought-- OH! I rushed to the bathroom and decided my bag of waters was leaking, as it had with Ishod. Remembering that my active Labor had been 78 hours with Annika and over 36 with Ishod, and fully prepared with my Bradley course and with my doula training, I was in NO rush to get admitted to the hospital just to be stuck flat on my back and poked with an IV and a Catheter.
I informed Wayne that my bag of waters was leaking and I was going to try and get some sleep before the contractions started. I had been having contractions regularly until then, so I felt prepared to handle them with ease and was psyched up.
At six am, though, when I felt the first contractions, I realized with what I would describe as horror that I had forgotten just how BAD labor pains really are. Needless to say, it had begun.
I spent the morning getting the kids ready to take off, checking and rechecking my hospital bag, and excitedly facebooking. Finally, at around 9:30 am, my friend Jen came to take the kids and told me to walk the cul de sac and labor peacefully at home for as long as possible. So pleased that God had given me such an amazing gift as to allow me to labor "on my own" for a while, I went in the house to get started. Sadly, my husband and Father in Law, neither of whom know the first thing about the childbirth experience other than "my wife gets pregnant, a baby comes out," met me at every contraction with resounding, bellowing cries that I needed to "go to the hospital right away." After two hours ,I caved in, mostly because they were annoying me so much I didn't think I was going to be able to handle laboring at home after all.. I absolutely could not relax.
The OBGYN and midwife said that I should come to the office, where the staff greeted us and placed us first in line to be seen.
"You're so CALM!" said one receptionist. Wayne and I laughed.
The midwife checked me, and said that my bag of waters had not actually broken but was, as I suspected, leaking. She said I was about 4 cm and that she would go ahead and admit me so that I could labor in peace in a hospital room with a hep lock and walking rights, orders to be checked every hour, and a smile. Our priest came and annointed me as I was checking in to the hospital, and they bypassed triage and put me straight in the room.
My sister in law, Jessica, rapidly showed up at the hospital while Wayne and his brother went and got some lunch. She was AMAZING.
She had had a doula and learned a lot of techniques to help speed up the labor and move it along, and like me, she is a person who is uncannily aware of her own body and able to pinpoint certain aspects of the mind/body/spirit connection that so many people often miss.
I was thrilled to have her, particularly because she knew techniques which I had never had the opportunity to use because, as you probably know, I have always been bed-ridden during my labors in the past. I felt so happy and proud as we prepared to walk the halls. She was also very calm and very encouraging, which helped me to get "excited" about what was happening instead of dreading it.
We walked for one hour, with her coaching me through contractions. I walked, sat on the toilet, and walked some more. We squatted and knelt like crazy people... and the more we moved, the more insane the contractions got. Every time I felt unable to continue, she reminded me: "This is good! This means it's WORKING. This means baby is coming." etc etc.
It hardly seemed like any time had passed at all when I found myself bent over in deep concentrated agony, suddenly realizing with a panic in my throat that I wasn't sure that I COULD handle the coming contraction-- the pain was getting so much stronger and I felt I had lost control since they were coming virtually every minute. At that point, a nurse or doctor who happened to be passing noticed that I was extremely distressed, and recommended we go back to get checked. In my head, I thought-- this must be that "third sign" we are looking for in the Bradley Method--- it's at this point that I should have arrived at the Hospital. We went back to the room and the nurse checked me in. In an hour of walking, I had gone from 4 to 8 and was right around Transition. No wonder I felt so out of control! I had wanted a completely natural childbirth, and here it was. Jessica kept reassuring me that this was all "good," and yet I had begun to feel afraid and was slipping in my concentration into panic mode.
Wayne arrived at this point, and I was so thankful to see his gorgeous face. Jessica gave him some tips to help him help me-- telling him to persist in reminding me that it was vital that I stay calm, centered, focused and relaxed. I kept trying to remember what I had learned in my Bradley book- that I needed to achieve DEEP relaxation in order to make it through each contraction. By nine centimeters, I was sleeping for the minute before each contraction, a deep, profound, relaxed sleep, and then awakening to the beginnings of the next pain cycle. But by the time I reached the crest of the wave of the contraction, I would begin to panic, recognizing that they were longer and longer and that I felt such tremendous pressure, particularly in my backside, that I would not survive the pain and just burst all over the LDR bed. It was at this point that a nurse came in to tell me that if I wanted anesthesia, I had to act quickly because they were very busy.
Jess was leaving, and Wayne was praying over me, and I KNEW in that instant that I wanted it-- I had lost control of myself and felt that I would literally die if I experienced one more contraction. I said yes, and proceeded to beg for the anesthesiologist to appear. I remember nothing about this period except looking deep into Wayne's eyes and begging him to "help me." He was powerless to do so.
By the time the anesthesiologist arrived, he was irritated with me. I was nine cm, and there was, quite honestly, no reason for him to be giving me an epidural. Looking back, I'm surprised he agreed. And even more surprised-- and frustrated-- that the Nurse asked me at that time! I'm quite certain that had no one MENTIONED anesthesia to me, I would have simply progressed and birthed the baby completely naturally on my own. That panic was simply a part of the process.
However, the nurse and doctor, in a really pissy mood, harshly reprimanded me in this way:
"Now, you have ONE chance to get this epidural. If you move AT ALL, you will not get it, and you might get very, seriously hurt. We are not going to stop when you have a contraction. You are going to have to be still. Do you understand?" I nodded, although I felt completely incapable of controlling myself through another contraction. I didn't care, I just wanted the pain to stop.
I leaned over a pillow into the nurse's lap, and he began the procedure. No sooner had we begun than I felt a contraction coming on. Amazingly enough, knowing that I had to "just get through" this contraction, go deep within myself and find calm.... this idea alone completely calmed me. In fact, I hadn't had such a calm contraction since that morning at 6 am. It was followed rapidly by two others before he was done, and instantly I knew that the key to labor was, is, and ever will be your frame of mind when in the midst of it. I was SO disappointed that I now had an epidural.
Resigned to just finish up slowly (I still hadn't realized just how far along in the process I was yet) I lay back and began to work with the contractions, expecting, at any moment, to feel relief. Of course, by then, I was nearing ten cm, and amazingly enough, the epidural didn't take. I still felt every contraction, every muscle, every pang. I still felt panicked, but also began to internalize the lesson I had just learned with my epidural, that my brain was the key to this whole experience.
By this time, my other labor helpers had arrived-- Annie, Cherry and eventually, Jen.
I don't remember much from this period except how soothing it was to be surrounded by people who loved the Lord, particularly since my nurse wasn't very verbal if she was, in fact, a Christian at all. At one point, Cherry led us in a song. I had felt, up until then, that God had simply abandoned me. The pain was so severe that I thought I would just die-- in fact, I wished that I would rather than keep feeling it! I couldn't imagine that a God who loved me would allow me to experience such incredible, devastating pain. And yet-- as soon as her sweet voice began to rise towards heaven-- I FELT Him, in a tangible, knock-you-flat sort of way. I started crying, and I KNEW that Labor was teaching me about sanctification, and that it was OK, and that He was there.
My other favorite moment came when I hit around 10 and began REALLY wanting to push. They asked me to wait because my midwife wasn't responding to her pages, so I panted, groaned, and held her in as best I could, all the while telling everyone I could find in the room in a desperate voice how much I wanted to push and how great the pressure was, particularly in my backside. Cherry began to lay hands on me and pray in tongues, which instantly soothed my fears and reminded me to call on the Holy Spirit, who desired nothing more in that moment than to fill me with His joy. At the same time, on the other side of my bed, Annie was pulling out her bible (because I had asked her to read me Psalm 91 out loud.) She held up a faded holy card, putting it right in my face, and said lovingly: "Here's a picture of the Pope."
I reveled in that moment, and will probably never forget it-- how good our God is that He gave me every part of Him that is important to me to comfort me during my darkest hour.
Somehow, finally, they allowed me to start pushing, and (to my surprise, although I could not stop to think about how I felt about this)they allowed everyone to stay in the room! So there I was, pushing, with my husband AND my friends around. :P
It was actually quite perfect.. they had been so sweet and taken time out of very busy schedules to pray me through this experience, and God allowed them to see the fruits of their labor and be present at the actual birth, to see not just the hard stuff, but the glorious stuff as well. I am so thankful for that!
Since the epidural didn't take, it took only a couple pushes for me to get her out, and I was amazed at how easy the pushing seemed when contrasted with the sharp pains of the contractions. It actually felt kind of good. She emerged a beautiful, dark haired, dark skinned baby at 4:09 pm after only 10 hours of labor! This time around I tore pretty well but didn't require stitches. (hooray!)
In the end, I had an unnaturally natural childbirth, which is one step closer to the type of birth I hope to have if there ever is a next time. I discussed it at length with my OBGYN and he made some great points that I had picked up on right away with some reflection. We both felt that it was the walking that put me out of control. Instead of coping with the contractions, and slowly easing into them, I intensified them and did everything I could to move the baby down. Since this pregnacy had been so risky and painful and since the last four weeks of it had entailed mostly me being in excruciating pain, I needed to approach my labor experience in a gentle manner, and not as a warrior on a mission. While the exercises and walking I did with Jess were VERY effective (and I mean VERY!) they may have pushed my body too far too fast, which is how I reached the state that I can only describe as "out of control" so quickly. For someone like me, who has had three births in three years and who is not so young anymore, labor needs to be approached carefully and quietly, with very little "pushing" to get my body to do what it's doing. This means my labors might be longer, but ultimately, it means that my recoveries will be shorter-- this particular recovery has been harder than any previous one and my postpartum stuff particularly intense... some of it, sadly, permanent.
One thing that I lacked during pain management was a RHYTHM... I completely forgot about the three R's of labor (Ritual, Rhythm, Relaxation) and focused solely on "trying to relax," even though the Ritual and the Rhythm are what get you there in the first place.
I also was so moved by two aspects of the experience: First, how much it meant to my husband to be a part of the labor AND birth, not just the birth. I always assumed that he was the type who would be happier in the waiting room with a pack of cigarettes, but turns out he was GREATLY concerned with being with me and helping me, which I found totally amazing. Likewise, I became aware during this labor of the necessity of having wise, praying women around-- ones who KNOW exactly what you are going through and who can do it with you.
All in all, I am, again, completely moved and overwhelmed by the spiritual nature of the hard work of labor, and God's wisdom in giving it to us women. I thank each of the very special women who, both physically and spiritually, prayed me through the difficulties of Childbirth, and especially my incredible husband, without whom I would never know the sweetness of birth or the beautiful faces of our children.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
When to speak and when to be silent.
Have had an interesting week. We are in the process of moving and I'm nesting pretty bad and only a few weeks away from having this baby, so I'm pretty tired, hormonal and overwhelmed. In fact, can't remember the last time I was this tired. But I'm realizing the importance of staying positive, remaining optimistic even in rather dire and irritating circumstances, and giving myself space to just relax and not get bent out of shape when things seem absolutely impossible. In the end, God's will be done.
I wrote a letter to the Parish liturgist at the beginning of the week about some of the things which can be construed as liturgical abuses and some of the things which result from just plain sloppiness that seem to be a norm in our parish, which is something I had never done before. I don't like to "Stir the pot" in my public life and I am not one to think that I'll change much by talking about stuff. In it, I tried to lay a foundation for the message I was bringing by giving my testimony-- explaining why, for this protestant-turned-Catholic, it was crucial that we not lose sight of tradition and our Holy foundations, that we not turn away from the three things which make us different from protestants... Unity, Authority, and the Sacraments.
I haven't gotten a response from him yet, but I did CC the Pastor. I then typed it up on facebook and tagged some friends who I knew would be interested, which turned out to cause a HUGE ruckus because there were so many of the Parish's members who shared a friends list with my friends and who, as a result, read my note and were outraged. I say "outraged" because in true liberal manner they didn't hesitate to open their mouths and tell me what they thought about the issues raised in my private letter, as if I had asked, and continued by insinuating all kinds of wierd things about me.... like I was disrespectful (of who? God? by requesting that we be less sloppy about mass? of priests? By requesting that we give them the honor due their position?)
Anyways, what a hullaballoo, and now I see that all sorts of people are "talking" about it in the Parish setting. So here's the thing. This is the first church we've been at where we didn't feel compelled to try to "climb the social ranks" and impress anybody. We have a priest, we don't need to impress him, and thusfar in our Catholic experience, our priests have been like family to us.
Outside of the men in black, we have a circle of intimate friends whom we share our life with-- people who GET what being a Catholic is all about and who diligently strive to receive all that God has to give on a daily basis. Outside of that, we have focused our ministry as a family and learned to exert whatever energy we have left on that, leaving not much room for Church potlucks and fundraisers. That's not our scene, never has been, and quite honestly, it's refreshing that, for the first time in our lives, it doesn't have to be. The authority in our Church comes not from the social elite but from the Vatican, and thus we are in good, safe, and wise hands. I am fine with the fact that people are bent out of shape, and I"m fine with the fact that I said what I thought. I do believe I spoke the truth in love, and when I later second guessed myself and went Church-document hunting to see if I had said anything inappropriate, I discovered that my CLAIMS, as far as what constitutes liturgical abuse, were perfectly accurate according to the Vatican.
But all the drama has caused me to stop and think. I know that my letter will not change a thing as far as the liturgist's heart and mind goes. I also know that he is FULLY aware of the direction he takes in the choices he makes, and that he makes these choices with a purpose in mind-- the exaltation of the laity and the squashing of the clergy, thus removing those three pesky things I mentioned above which keep us Catholic and not protestant: Unity, Authority, and the Sacraments.
This has made me all the more determined to pray for priests and to respond to the needs of our priests in every way that I can. And I find that the more I'm willing to do that, the more opportunities God sends my way (and my husband and children's way) to minister to priests, who need it!
I was given one such opportunity today when a visiting priest and I had the opportunity to grab lunch. We had wanted to get together because he had studied in Rome as a seminarian and specialized in Carmelite Spirituality, which gave us an instant bond, and he was, as he said "trying to get it from his head to his heart." Boy, do I relate to that. But in the process of our lunchtime conversation, I ended up being on the receiving end of some of the most profound spiritual direction I have ever received.
With regards to this particular letter, he simply reminded me ever so gently that at the end of the day ALL I HAVE IS PEACE. I could not let anyone steal that from me.
It is only by-- as I always say-- being the change we want to see that anything gets done. He reminded me of the need to recognize that change is a SLOW process- sometimes taking entire decades, and that there is much healing and reconciliation required always to mend rifts where Satan has had success.
He also brought up the many Carmelite saints who recommended that even if we suffer a terrible injustice, we should bear it-- as Christ said, turning the other cheek-- because who knew what injustice we had caused in another? Thus he brought me back over and over to the central point which so many people often miss: God calls us to find UNION with Him, and does not require perfection for that union. In other words, I can respond to His great love for me without first being completely spotless, and it is in that response that I will change. And as I change, I affect those around me who also start to respond to that Love which is for them.
It was so good to be reminded of these things, and good to remember the wisdom of St John of the Cross who says how great it is to be still, and silent, and not to worry about what others are saying and doing but only to listen for the voice of God always. Thus we cultivate that inner peace that comes only from the soul who has learned to trust God because it feels God's tangible love and is overwhelmed by it's strength and honesty.
So in your own comings and goings, perhaps there is some area in which God has called you to silently bear an injustice or frustration which He SEES and will respond to, but which He asks you to stop in the midst of and receive His love, which accomplishes all things. I know that in my own life, I'm seeing time and again where I need to stop, sit, and shut my mouth. And pray.
I shared with him something which I rarely say to people-- that I am often afraid of simply disappearing. I say this because as a secular person in the world and even as a protestant, the measure of my success was the impact that I had and the visibility of said impact. How much was I published? Which prestigious papers had I worked at? How BIG was my ministry? How famous?
The Catholic way is so different. Father reminded me today that, in a particularly Carmelite fashion, we must become "little nothings."
It teaches us to grow smaller and smaller--- As scripture says, I must decrease so He can increase-- and to allow ourselves to hide in His wings. There, resting, we find so much love that we realize we have not vanished but actually become One with the breath of life that flows through everything. And this-- THIS-- is Union and perfection. Nothing less.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, as the Carmelites say. I know where to find perfect love!
I wrote a letter to the Parish liturgist at the beginning of the week about some of the things which can be construed as liturgical abuses and some of the things which result from just plain sloppiness that seem to be a norm in our parish, which is something I had never done before. I don't like to "Stir the pot" in my public life and I am not one to think that I'll change much by talking about stuff. In it, I tried to lay a foundation for the message I was bringing by giving my testimony-- explaining why, for this protestant-turned-Catholic, it was crucial that we not lose sight of tradition and our Holy foundations, that we not turn away from the three things which make us different from protestants... Unity, Authority, and the Sacraments.
I haven't gotten a response from him yet, but I did CC the Pastor. I then typed it up on facebook and tagged some friends who I knew would be interested, which turned out to cause a HUGE ruckus because there were so many of the Parish's members who shared a friends list with my friends and who, as a result, read my note and were outraged. I say "outraged" because in true liberal manner they didn't hesitate to open their mouths and tell me what they thought about the issues raised in my private letter, as if I had asked, and continued by insinuating all kinds of wierd things about me.... like I was disrespectful (of who? God? by requesting that we be less sloppy about mass? of priests? By requesting that we give them the honor due their position?)
Anyways, what a hullaballoo, and now I see that all sorts of people are "talking" about it in the Parish setting. So here's the thing. This is the first church we've been at where we didn't feel compelled to try to "climb the social ranks" and impress anybody. We have a priest, we don't need to impress him, and thusfar in our Catholic experience, our priests have been like family to us.
Outside of the men in black, we have a circle of intimate friends whom we share our life with-- people who GET what being a Catholic is all about and who diligently strive to receive all that God has to give on a daily basis. Outside of that, we have focused our ministry as a family and learned to exert whatever energy we have left on that, leaving not much room for Church potlucks and fundraisers. That's not our scene, never has been, and quite honestly, it's refreshing that, for the first time in our lives, it doesn't have to be. The authority in our Church comes not from the social elite but from the Vatican, and thus we are in good, safe, and wise hands. I am fine with the fact that people are bent out of shape, and I"m fine with the fact that I said what I thought. I do believe I spoke the truth in love, and when I later second guessed myself and went Church-document hunting to see if I had said anything inappropriate, I discovered that my CLAIMS, as far as what constitutes liturgical abuse, were perfectly accurate according to the Vatican.
But all the drama has caused me to stop and think. I know that my letter will not change a thing as far as the liturgist's heart and mind goes. I also know that he is FULLY aware of the direction he takes in the choices he makes, and that he makes these choices with a purpose in mind-- the exaltation of the laity and the squashing of the clergy, thus removing those three pesky things I mentioned above which keep us Catholic and not protestant: Unity, Authority, and the Sacraments.
This has made me all the more determined to pray for priests and to respond to the needs of our priests in every way that I can. And I find that the more I'm willing to do that, the more opportunities God sends my way (and my husband and children's way) to minister to priests, who need it!
I was given one such opportunity today when a visiting priest and I had the opportunity to grab lunch. We had wanted to get together because he had studied in Rome as a seminarian and specialized in Carmelite Spirituality, which gave us an instant bond, and he was, as he said "trying to get it from his head to his heart." Boy, do I relate to that. But in the process of our lunchtime conversation, I ended up being on the receiving end of some of the most profound spiritual direction I have ever received.
With regards to this particular letter, he simply reminded me ever so gently that at the end of the day ALL I HAVE IS PEACE. I could not let anyone steal that from me.
It is only by-- as I always say-- being the change we want to see that anything gets done. He reminded me of the need to recognize that change is a SLOW process- sometimes taking entire decades, and that there is much healing and reconciliation required always to mend rifts where Satan has had success.
He also brought up the many Carmelite saints who recommended that even if we suffer a terrible injustice, we should bear it-- as Christ said, turning the other cheek-- because who knew what injustice we had caused in another? Thus he brought me back over and over to the central point which so many people often miss: God calls us to find UNION with Him, and does not require perfection for that union. In other words, I can respond to His great love for me without first being completely spotless, and it is in that response that I will change. And as I change, I affect those around me who also start to respond to that Love which is for them.
It was so good to be reminded of these things, and good to remember the wisdom of St John of the Cross who says how great it is to be still, and silent, and not to worry about what others are saying and doing but only to listen for the voice of God always. Thus we cultivate that inner peace that comes only from the soul who has learned to trust God because it feels God's tangible love and is overwhelmed by it's strength and honesty.
So in your own comings and goings, perhaps there is some area in which God has called you to silently bear an injustice or frustration which He SEES and will respond to, but which He asks you to stop in the midst of and receive His love, which accomplishes all things. I know that in my own life, I'm seeing time and again where I need to stop, sit, and shut my mouth. And pray.
I shared with him something which I rarely say to people-- that I am often afraid of simply disappearing. I say this because as a secular person in the world and even as a protestant, the measure of my success was the impact that I had and the visibility of said impact. How much was I published? Which prestigious papers had I worked at? How BIG was my ministry? How famous?
The Catholic way is so different. Father reminded me today that, in a particularly Carmelite fashion, we must become "little nothings."
It teaches us to grow smaller and smaller--- As scripture says, I must decrease so He can increase-- and to allow ourselves to hide in His wings. There, resting, we find so much love that we realize we have not vanished but actually become One with the breath of life that flows through everything. And this-- THIS-- is Union and perfection. Nothing less.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, as the Carmelites say. I know where to find perfect love!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
