I think I probably am a food addict.
Not sure what that means for the long haul, but it seems like I do much better when I don’t have trigger foods - sugar, white pasta, white rice, white potatoes, salty stuff, fried stuff, and maybe animal products.
I’m out of control and not liking me very much.
Monday, May 27, 2019
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Food addictions
I have read and heard a whole lot regarding food addictions. I have done a fair bit of abstaining, eating no sugar or refined flour for months, then having something and then eating everything. I have had seasons when I ate clean for 2 weeks or 1 week and then had a cheat/treat meal and then did it again.
I have heard experts say that it doesn’t work to be in my situation, because I cook and clean up for lots of eaters all day every day, and they eat things that I do not. Like cereal, bread, pizza, pasta. I cannot feed all my people the way I eat, though I am nudging them my direction. The abstinence people (who I hold in high regard) say, “if it’s in my house, it’s in my mouth”. If the food is present, I will eventually eat it.
I have mulled these ideas around over and over. [spoiler alert: this is an open ended internal conversation - I do not know the answer.] Am I an addict, similar to an alcoholic, that cannot have one drink/brownie/bite?
On the other hand, I feel it is possible that the idea of abstinence can be in itself detrimental - because any deviation from the plan becomes a once-in-a-lifetime rapidly closing window of opportunity to eat everything wonderful that I will never again taste. Binge card.
Food addiction is not the same as alcohol or drug addiction. I do not put anyone, myself included, in mortal danger when I overeat. I have never passed out from eating too much. Eating is legal. Eating does not put me in a drastically altered state of impaired judgement or awareness.
On the other hand, there are real and significant similarities. I make poor health choices when I eat sugar or bread or pasta. I have more self control when I don’t eat a bite of unhealthy food. I have been known to do ridiculous things for the sake of eating more junk. I can and do absolutely eat myself to the point of feeling quite uncomfortable on a regular basis. And I do real damage to my health and indirectly to the health of those watching when I overeat on a consistent basis.
The other thing I think about is this: I am not just a byproduct of evolutionary process. I have the Spirit that raised Christ from the dead dwelling in me. I have the fruit of the Spirit, which includes patience, peace, faith, and self control. I get to choose.
This I where I am with this today: I think I am much more successful in making healthy choices when I a) have not already had junk (mercies are new every morning, and I am better at using my self control muscle when I have been doing it) and b) I do so much better avoiding bad foods when I focus on eating what is good for me, foods that heal me, foods that fight cancer and diabetes and heart disease: all things green, especially cruciferous veggies, other veggies, beans (preferably made by me without salt), onions, cooked mushrooms, berries and other fruits, and a limited amount of nuts and seeds.
I’m avoiding animal products and processed foods because they are not my friends, they do not benefit me and they are often concentrated in flavor and hard to stop eating. Mostly when I have a treat, it is within those boundaries. But sometimes, I think I will have something off the plan. And then I will go right back to the plan. Because I can go off again some other time.
I have heard experts say that it doesn’t work to be in my situation, because I cook and clean up for lots of eaters all day every day, and they eat things that I do not. Like cereal, bread, pizza, pasta. I cannot feed all my people the way I eat, though I am nudging them my direction. The abstinence people (who I hold in high regard) say, “if it’s in my house, it’s in my mouth”. If the food is present, I will eventually eat it.
I have mulled these ideas around over and over. [spoiler alert: this is an open ended internal conversation - I do not know the answer.] Am I an addict, similar to an alcoholic, that cannot have one drink/brownie/bite?
On the other hand, I feel it is possible that the idea of abstinence can be in itself detrimental - because any deviation from the plan becomes a once-in-a-lifetime rapidly closing window of opportunity to eat everything wonderful that I will never again taste. Binge card.
Food addiction is not the same as alcohol or drug addiction. I do not put anyone, myself included, in mortal danger when I overeat. I have never passed out from eating too much. Eating is legal. Eating does not put me in a drastically altered state of impaired judgement or awareness.
On the other hand, there are real and significant similarities. I make poor health choices when I eat sugar or bread or pasta. I have more self control when I don’t eat a bite of unhealthy food. I have been known to do ridiculous things for the sake of eating more junk. I can and do absolutely eat myself to the point of feeling quite uncomfortable on a regular basis. And I do real damage to my health and indirectly to the health of those watching when I overeat on a consistent basis.
The other thing I think about is this: I am not just a byproduct of evolutionary process. I have the Spirit that raised Christ from the dead dwelling in me. I have the fruit of the Spirit, which includes patience, peace, faith, and self control. I get to choose.
This I where I am with this today: I think I am much more successful in making healthy choices when I a) have not already had junk (mercies are new every morning, and I am better at using my self control muscle when I have been doing it) and b) I do so much better avoiding bad foods when I focus on eating what is good for me, foods that heal me, foods that fight cancer and diabetes and heart disease: all things green, especially cruciferous veggies, other veggies, beans (preferably made by me without salt), onions, cooked mushrooms, berries and other fruits, and a limited amount of nuts and seeds.
I’m avoiding animal products and processed foods because they are not my friends, they do not benefit me and they are often concentrated in flavor and hard to stop eating. Mostly when I have a treat, it is within those boundaries. But sometimes, I think I will have something off the plan. And then I will go right back to the plan. Because I can go off again some other time.
Tuesday, April 09, 2019
Nutrition roulette
For him who has ears to hear ...you don’t have to read this, ok?
Russian roulette, the “game” where presumedly drunk people put one bullet in a revolver and spin the wheel and take a shot at themselves, is a stupid game. I doubt that anyone I know would ever play it. It’s ridiculous. Because NO ONE WANTS TO DIE.
But we eat like we do.
Now we all die. My husband’s grandmother passed away last week. She was 93, in her right mind, and not physically miserable. Oh sure, she was a little confused sometimes, and was in a nursing home, but she was still up and about, visiting and chatting with friends. Still using the bathroom. She lived a long and pretty healthy life. She got up to go to the bathroom Monday night, got back in bed, and died.
I think that’s what we want. To live a long time and be pretty healthy and active and then die at a ripe old age.
But we eat like we are invincible. Heart disease and strokes and diabetes are almost entirely preventable. And cancer is 70-90% not genetic. Some of that is environmental, and some of it we can’t actually do much about. But a whole lot of it we CAN.
We just want to live and have fun. No one wants to eat like me. I’m extreme. I get that. But having a stroke or heart attack or open heart surgery are also extreme. No one wants to do that either.
We live in this delusion that disease is random or genetic and can’t be helped and we just hope it isn’t us. But more and more, it IS us. Something like 37% of us will get cancer at some point. More than half will have heart disease, and the estimates are that half the population will have diabetes in 30 years. (Not quoting sources right now - this is more of a rant and a challenge to anyone who has ears to hear to find out for yourself)
If you are someone I love (or someone someone else loves), please consider changing your mindset from a subconscious game of nutrition roulette, hoping you won’t be one of the unlucky ones. Please do some research of your own, find out what your body needs (Hint: it is isn’t just to be thinner) and do that. Every little bit helps. Every salad, every green vegetable, every onion, every berry. Broccoli is better than drugs. Whatever you take in of animal products, make it less. Go for a walk.
Let’s unload our cultural dietary revolver. It’s not too late.
Russian roulette, the “game” where presumedly drunk people put one bullet in a revolver and spin the wheel and take a shot at themselves, is a stupid game. I doubt that anyone I know would ever play it. It’s ridiculous. Because NO ONE WANTS TO DIE.
But we eat like we do.
Now we all die. My husband’s grandmother passed away last week. She was 93, in her right mind, and not physically miserable. Oh sure, she was a little confused sometimes, and was in a nursing home, but she was still up and about, visiting and chatting with friends. Still using the bathroom. She lived a long and pretty healthy life. She got up to go to the bathroom Monday night, got back in bed, and died.
I think that’s what we want. To live a long time and be pretty healthy and active and then die at a ripe old age.
But we eat like we are invincible. Heart disease and strokes and diabetes are almost entirely preventable. And cancer is 70-90% not genetic. Some of that is environmental, and some of it we can’t actually do much about. But a whole lot of it we CAN.
We just want to live and have fun. No one wants to eat like me. I’m extreme. I get that. But having a stroke or heart attack or open heart surgery are also extreme. No one wants to do that either.
We live in this delusion that disease is random or genetic and can’t be helped and we just hope it isn’t us. But more and more, it IS us. Something like 37% of us will get cancer at some point. More than half will have heart disease, and the estimates are that half the population will have diabetes in 30 years. (Not quoting sources right now - this is more of a rant and a challenge to anyone who has ears to hear to find out for yourself)
If you are someone I love (or someone someone else loves), please consider changing your mindset from a subconscious game of nutrition roulette, hoping you won’t be one of the unlucky ones. Please do some research of your own, find out what your body needs (Hint: it is isn’t just to be thinner) and do that. Every little bit helps. Every salad, every green vegetable, every onion, every berry. Broccoli is better than drugs. Whatever you take in of animal products, make it less. Go for a walk.
Let’s unload our cultural dietary revolver. It’s not too late.
Friday, March 29, 2019
Calorie density
So, for anyone who has ears to hear, here is a piece of info that has helped me. I am convinced that the food God made for us and encouraged us to eat initially, in the garden, is what we should mostly eat now. Fruits and vegetables and grains and nuts and seeds. He didn’t tell them to kill and eat until after the flood.
And with the exception of nuts and seeds, those foods are not calorically dense. Last night I was wanting a little ‘something’. But I had eaten and was not hungry. I had chocolate on my mind. But then I noticed my cantaloupe. A half cantaloupe has like a hundred calories and is so satisfying, so filling. And it’s great for me. It has all kinds of disease fighting stuff in it, plus things they haven’t even discovered yet. And when they, the scientists, figure out the stuff, they’re like, wow, Mother Nature is amazing. (My autocorrect capitalized that for me). But I’m like, you mean God designed it perfectly to give health and healing to my body. He is so good.
There is a great YouTube video by a guy named Jeff Novick on calorie density. It is effective and funny not offensive or dogmatic or anything that would make people mad. I recommend. Blessings.
And with the exception of nuts and seeds, those foods are not calorically dense. Last night I was wanting a little ‘something’. But I had eaten and was not hungry. I had chocolate on my mind. But then I noticed my cantaloupe. A half cantaloupe has like a hundred calories and is so satisfying, so filling. And it’s great for me. It has all kinds of disease fighting stuff in it, plus things they haven’t even discovered yet. And when they, the scientists, figure out the stuff, they’re like, wow, Mother Nature is amazing. (My autocorrect capitalized that for me). But I’m like, you mean God designed it perfectly to give health and healing to my body. He is so good.
There is a great YouTube video by a guy named Jeff Novick on calorie density. It is effective and funny not offensive or dogmatic or anything that would make people mad. I recommend. Blessings.
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Ears to hear
Jesus used that phrase. For him who has ears to hear, let him hear. I think it means, you don’t have to listen if you don’t want to. I have some things that I’ve been thinking about that I know people don’t necessarily want to hear. And I don’t want to make anybody mad. I really don’t. But I might just talk about them here, and you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. And I know there are lots of different people saying different things for different reasons. I’m not a scientist or a doctor. I’m a mom who has been reading stuff that I think is right. So, imma put it out there, and you don’t have to read it, ok? This is for him who has ears to hear.
What if the food we eat has the potential to either help our bodies fight diseases or to encourage the same diseases? Not like a light switch helps a light go on and off. More like how sun and rain helps a plant to grow.
But what if you learned and were convinced that, for example, processed meat (lunch meat, hot dogs, bacon, everything on a meat lovers’ pizza) causes cancer on the same level as smoking cigarettes or removing asbestos? Would you, if you believed that were true, eat less of it? Would you feed your children less of it?
What if you learned and were convinced that eating a mushroom everyday would help your body either not have or better fight breast or prostate cancer? Would you try to eat more mushrooms?
You probably already believe that eating vegetables is good for you. But what if there was actually convincing scientific evidence that there is a dose dependent benefit from eating broccoli or kale or any greens or onions or other vegetables? What if you believed brightly colored fruits helped your body repair its dna, or that eating beans prevents colon cancer? Would you try to eat more of those foods?
What if you were convinced that eating chicken, especially fried or grilled chicken (compared to boiled or baked), was bad for your heart AND encouraged cancer growth? What kind of information would it take to make you believe that drinking cow milk and eating cheese encourages breast and prostate cancer, epecially during childhood and adolescence?
If you believed any of those things might be true, would you try to read information that proved otherwise? Or would you seek truth, even if it might turn out to be truth you didn’t want to know?
I am on a journey of learning and trying to put into practice what I am convinced is true, and trying to re-educate my family. It is counter cultural. People make fun of people who eat like I often do. It is hard. The standard American diet is addictive, and I am an addict. And because my family, though getting healthier, is not as extreme as I am, I daily prepare and clean up food I try hard not to eat. And that is hard.
I’m not in a good groove right now. But I hope to be tomorrow. And the next day. And also the next day. In fact, I would like very much to wake up tomorrow and make choices that benefit my body completely, and keep on that way for the rest of my life.
I have dropped about 100 lbs from my top weight. I have also gained and lost about 10 lbs about 10 times over the past few months and am in pretty much the same place I’ve been for a while. Seems like I ought to do better than that, if I want to influence anyone else. But 100 lbs is pretty good, too. And I’ve kept it off pretty much. I’m wearing normal clothing from normal stores now. I look normal. Not thin or healthy, but normal.
So, here’s what I’m gonna do. Maybe. I’m going to go for it. And when I can, I will try to share something I’ve learned to challenge you to think about if you might want to make one little tiny change toward making your body a little better at fighting off the diseases we all hope we won’t get but mostly do when we are old enough. For him who has ears to hear.
What if the food we eat has the potential to either help our bodies fight diseases or to encourage the same diseases? Not like a light switch helps a light go on and off. More like how sun and rain helps a plant to grow.
But what if you learned and were convinced that, for example, processed meat (lunch meat, hot dogs, bacon, everything on a meat lovers’ pizza) causes cancer on the same level as smoking cigarettes or removing asbestos? Would you, if you believed that were true, eat less of it? Would you feed your children less of it?
What if you learned and were convinced that eating a mushroom everyday would help your body either not have or better fight breast or prostate cancer? Would you try to eat more mushrooms?
You probably already believe that eating vegetables is good for you. But what if there was actually convincing scientific evidence that there is a dose dependent benefit from eating broccoli or kale or any greens or onions or other vegetables? What if you believed brightly colored fruits helped your body repair its dna, or that eating beans prevents colon cancer? Would you try to eat more of those foods?
What if you were convinced that eating chicken, especially fried or grilled chicken (compared to boiled or baked), was bad for your heart AND encouraged cancer growth? What kind of information would it take to make you believe that drinking cow milk and eating cheese encourages breast and prostate cancer, epecially during childhood and adolescence?
If you believed any of those things might be true, would you try to read information that proved otherwise? Or would you seek truth, even if it might turn out to be truth you didn’t want to know?
I am on a journey of learning and trying to put into practice what I am convinced is true, and trying to re-educate my family. It is counter cultural. People make fun of people who eat like I often do. It is hard. The standard American diet is addictive, and I am an addict. And because my family, though getting healthier, is not as extreme as I am, I daily prepare and clean up food I try hard not to eat. And that is hard.
I’m not in a good groove right now. But I hope to be tomorrow. And the next day. And also the next day. In fact, I would like very much to wake up tomorrow and make choices that benefit my body completely, and keep on that way for the rest of my life.
I have dropped about 100 lbs from my top weight. I have also gained and lost about 10 lbs about 10 times over the past few months and am in pretty much the same place I’ve been for a while. Seems like I ought to do better than that, if I want to influence anyone else. But 100 lbs is pretty good, too. And I’ve kept it off pretty much. I’m wearing normal clothing from normal stores now. I look normal. Not thin or healthy, but normal.
So, here’s what I’m gonna do. Maybe. I’m going to go for it. And when I can, I will try to share something I’ve learned to challenge you to think about if you might want to make one little tiny change toward making your body a little better at fighting off the diseases we all hope we won’t get but mostly do when we are old enough. For him who has ears to hear.
Saturday, September 01, 2018
Our house selling adventure
Or, the last year, part 3
On a belated anniversary date tonight, my husband and I were talking about this time last year, what we were doing. Last year, we decided to get ready to move on June 8th. We didn’t really think it could happen, but like other crazy things we’ve done, we just said yes to the first step and assumed the Lord would open and close doors along the way. Step one, we say yes.
Step 2, we call a favorite neighbor and tell her, sadly, that we are leaving. Favorite neighbor grieves for the appropriate amount of time, and then asks if she can tell friends who might be interested. Within a week we had a tentative buyer. This ignited a series of ups and downs, part of which I was in Mexico for, contracts signed and lost, inspections, appraisals, repairs, and broken hearts. Which brings us to this time last year...
Step 3, (or whatever number) is the one in which we work like mad to get our house on the market with a realtor in hopes of selling it while the house-we-had-a-contract-on-and-lost was still on the market.
Reasons our house would be hard to sell: half a block from a liquor store complete with loiterers, next door to a concrete poured foundation of a house never finished/national wildlife refuge and tree sanctuary/mosquito breeding cesspool, 17 people live there and have been living there for 14 years, dinging up walls, accumulating stuff, making messes, etc. In addition, the values of houses in our part of the city were considerably less than they were when we bought it.
Reasons our house would sell: it was a great 118 year old house, well loved and recently rehabbed, huge, grand. But we just didn’t know how much it was really worth.
What we were looking for: an acre or more of land, not on septic, 3 or more bedrooms, 3 or more bathrooms, 3000 square feet or so, places to play outside, room for swing set and trampoline, bike riding, a dining room big enough for all of us to eat in, multiple places for people to be, and within 20 minutes of our local house of prayer.
The house we wanted sold the day after we painted the last wall in our beloved house the wretched color called agreeable gray. (My house walls had previously been greens and yellows and blues, one peach room, one red - colors!) It was too late. God set us up. We finished getting ready (1/2 our stuff in 2 storage units) and put it on the market. It sold in a week. For a great price. Still less than we paid for it, but enough that we could pay the realtor and still afford to buy another house.
Now, we just needed a place to live. But alas, there were no houses that fit us available. In fact, we started joking that we should market our services to people trying to sell their house. “If we get our hopes up about your house,” we would say, “we guarantee someone else will buy it.” We prayed, multiple times, God, if this isn’t for us, close the door. And He did. Over and over and over. We started to get cocky about it. We could not buy the wrong house. But we were running out of time and options. People don’t rent houses to families with 16 people (second son was away at college by this time).
Our realtors, a husband wife team we have since nominated for sainthood, began searching expired listings. Those are houses that were previously on the market but went off without being sold. They found 2 possibilities, one of which was owned by an old schoolmate. They called and asked them, do you still want to sell your house?
The rest is history. We have been amazed at God’s provision of all our needs and so many of our wants. We were blessed beyond measure. This, in a season of grief and even despair. God is faithful. He can be trusted. He is good. Oh, and the walls of our new house were already painted my colors, yellows, green, red, blue.
On a belated anniversary date tonight, my husband and I were talking about this time last year, what we were doing. Last year, we decided to get ready to move on June 8th. We didn’t really think it could happen, but like other crazy things we’ve done, we just said yes to the first step and assumed the Lord would open and close doors along the way. Step one, we say yes.
Step 2, we call a favorite neighbor and tell her, sadly, that we are leaving. Favorite neighbor grieves for the appropriate amount of time, and then asks if she can tell friends who might be interested. Within a week we had a tentative buyer. This ignited a series of ups and downs, part of which I was in Mexico for, contracts signed and lost, inspections, appraisals, repairs, and broken hearts. Which brings us to this time last year...
Step 3, (or whatever number) is the one in which we work like mad to get our house on the market with a realtor in hopes of selling it while the house-we-had-a-contract-on-and-lost was still on the market.
Reasons our house would be hard to sell: half a block from a liquor store complete with loiterers, next door to a concrete poured foundation of a house never finished/national wildlife refuge and tree sanctuary/mosquito breeding cesspool, 17 people live there and have been living there for 14 years, dinging up walls, accumulating stuff, making messes, etc. In addition, the values of houses in our part of the city were considerably less than they were when we bought it.
Reasons our house would sell: it was a great 118 year old house, well loved and recently rehabbed, huge, grand. But we just didn’t know how much it was really worth.
What we were looking for: an acre or more of land, not on septic, 3 or more bedrooms, 3 or more bathrooms, 3000 square feet or so, places to play outside, room for swing set and trampoline, bike riding, a dining room big enough for all of us to eat in, multiple places for people to be, and within 20 minutes of our local house of prayer.
The house we wanted sold the day after we painted the last wall in our beloved house the wretched color called agreeable gray. (My house walls had previously been greens and yellows and blues, one peach room, one red - colors!) It was too late. God set us up. We finished getting ready (1/2 our stuff in 2 storage units) and put it on the market. It sold in a week. For a great price. Still less than we paid for it, but enough that we could pay the realtor and still afford to buy another house.
Now, we just needed a place to live. But alas, there were no houses that fit us available. In fact, we started joking that we should market our services to people trying to sell their house. “If we get our hopes up about your house,” we would say, “we guarantee someone else will buy it.” We prayed, multiple times, God, if this isn’t for us, close the door. And He did. Over and over and over. We started to get cocky about it. We could not buy the wrong house. But we were running out of time and options. People don’t rent houses to families with 16 people (second son was away at college by this time).
Our realtors, a husband wife team we have since nominated for sainthood, began searching expired listings. Those are houses that were previously on the market but went off without being sold. They found 2 possibilities, one of which was owned by an old schoolmate. They called and asked them, do you still want to sell your house?
The rest is history. We have been amazed at God’s provision of all our needs and so many of our wants. We were blessed beyond measure. This, in a season of grief and even despair. God is faithful. He can be trusted. He is good. Oh, and the walls of our new house were already painted my colors, yellows, green, red, blue.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Disney Trip for Large Families
Once upon a time, I heard what I thought might have been the worst idea anyone had ever had: my mother and father in law wanted to take us to Disney World. (I wrote this post and let it sit for a long time, just now finishing - sorry)
You might think I am exaggerating. I'm not. I was a nervous wreck. The potential for disaster seemed epic. I scoured the entire world wide web for pointers on how to pull it off. But alas! All the sites purporting to give advice on how to take a large family to Disney were written for families with, you know, 4 kids. No one had much to say that would really help me.
So...here it is. The definitive work on how to take a mega family to Disney. At last.
(not really a how to, more like how not to)
Lodgings:
We live more-than-a-day's-drive from Disney. What we did for the journey to and from the land of happiness was get 3 hotel rooms, put the 5 oldest kids in the room nearest one of our rooms, and split the small people and parents between the other two rooms. The hotel rooms came with breakfast and we ate all their food, at first sending out small hunting parties, but eventually descending on the dining room and filling it completely. My sister-in-law travels for a living and had a bajillion hotel points that we happily consumed for all our lodging, which I highly recommend. If that were not an option, we simply would not have made the trip. When we were near Disney, we stayed in lovely 2-bedroom villas, with a full kitchen (I'll talk more about that later) and a washer and dryer!!! So 4 kids stayed with Grandma and Grandpa, 4 with Aunt-with-many-hotel-points-which-I-highly-recommend and her husband, and the other 5 with us, including 2 in packnplays.
Food:
We only ate out once, courtesy of Aunt-with-points, and the rest of the food was either brought or bought. We found an Aldi not too far from Disney and did some shopping there, but the hours were not conducive to our cram-it-all-in schedule, so we sadly did more shopping at Walmart than preferred, and made more frequent smaller trips there, continually hoping to make it to Aldi. A dream is a wish your heart makes, right? Lesson learned: Plan into the itinerary a half day for Dad to buy all the groceries.
I cooked for all the people (that was the deal - Grandparents bought the Disney tickets, Aunt-with-points provided hotels, I made food). I initially understood that I would provide our food, but it became apparent that I was actually providing all food - it worked out. For breakfast and supper, we ate at our Villas, avoiding cereal because the table seated 4 or something. Some days I sent the food to the other rooms, encouraging people to eat where they were. Other days we just all sat everywhere.
At Disney, a beautiful friend had told me about having mini meals and eating them in line. This works best when everyone is in the same line at the same time, but it was still good counsel. So I packed foods that could be handed out to children in a line. Frozen cups of regular yogurt, bagel sandwiches with salami and cream cheese, cheese and crackers (cut the cheese before you go) (I didn't), fruit, carrots, tortillas and hummus, stuff like that. Our extra big stroller purchased specifically for the trip was used half for food and half for exhausted children. We also put food on kids' backs in drawstring bags, that can be wadded up small when empty.
Activities:
I'll be honest. I don't think we nailed this part. The fast pass idea is not meant for big families. Nothing is. I suppose professional Disney Goers could probably make it work. But for a party of 19, trying to negotiate around the park away from crowds, planning where to be when, based on our Fast Pass reservations, was not practical. A ship this size does not turn on a dime. Some of our Fast Pass reservations did not actually speed up the process. If you go, do get a map and an expert and make Fast Pass reservations according to where you want to be when, WAY BEFORE YOU GO. Months before.
Also not completely helpful is the thing where one parent rides with kids and then the other parent rides. So the idea is that everybody waits in line, Parent A rides with Child Who Is Big Enough For The Ride while Parent B takes care of The Baby. Then Parent B rides with Child Who Is Big. But when there are 10 kids big enough to ride and 3 who are not big/mature enough, it translates to Mom gets the shaft. Mom and Grandma took small people on ride meant for them, then Mom rides a few select rides with one lucky child while ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE WAIT. Yes, I pretty much walked right on, but it is a long walk, and they were still waiting.
In addition to the two days at Disney with the fam, we also paid the extra to go to Epcot (which I remembered fondly from when I was a youth) and the movie studios part of Disney - Universal something. When we went to Epcot, and finally made it to the nations part, there was a wine and food tasting event. Millions (ok, thousands) of adults with beverages. Insanity. Lesson learned: check for events and plan around if possible. Universal is mostly cool if you have seen the movies represented. We loved the Star Wars Jedi fighting lessons.
We also planned a beach day and a pool/chillax at the Villa day. Good plans. Naps in beds and air conditioning.
The sum of it for me was that, if I was willing to lay down my life, serve, prefer the people I love, only ride a few rides - it was a really good time. Way, way, way better than I was prepared for.
Best part: I didn't mention before that we do matching shirts when we do outings. It's a safety thing. Way easier to count children that way, easier for them to find and stay with the group, and helps strangers know who to point the stray child back to. Our shirts on one day were from a family reunion, a picture of my father in law's motorcycle with the words Billy's Gang. All day, everyone who worked at the park was asking, "Who's Billy?" And we would point to my father in law. He was smiling all day. And at the end of the day, as we left the park, there was a line of Disney staff, waving, smiling, applauding my father in law. It was worth it all.
You might think I am exaggerating. I'm not. I was a nervous wreck. The potential for disaster seemed epic. I scoured the entire world wide web for pointers on how to pull it off. But alas! All the sites purporting to give advice on how to take a large family to Disney were written for families with, you know, 4 kids. No one had much to say that would really help me.
So...here it is. The definitive work on how to take a mega family to Disney. At last.
(not really a how to, more like how not to)
Lodgings:
We live more-than-a-day's-drive from Disney. What we did for the journey to and from the land of happiness was get 3 hotel rooms, put the 5 oldest kids in the room nearest one of our rooms, and split the small people and parents between the other two rooms. The hotel rooms came with breakfast and we ate all their food, at first sending out small hunting parties, but eventually descending on the dining room and filling it completely. My sister-in-law travels for a living and had a bajillion hotel points that we happily consumed for all our lodging, which I highly recommend. If that were not an option, we simply would not have made the trip. When we were near Disney, we stayed in lovely 2-bedroom villas, with a full kitchen (I'll talk more about that later) and a washer and dryer!!! So 4 kids stayed with Grandma and Grandpa, 4 with Aunt-with-many-hotel-points-which-I-highly-recommend and her husband, and the other 5 with us, including 2 in packnplays.
Food:
We only ate out once, courtesy of Aunt-with-points, and the rest of the food was either brought or bought. We found an Aldi not too far from Disney and did some shopping there, but the hours were not conducive to our cram-it-all-in schedule, so we sadly did more shopping at Walmart than preferred, and made more frequent smaller trips there, continually hoping to make it to Aldi. A dream is a wish your heart makes, right? Lesson learned: Plan into the itinerary a half day for Dad to buy all the groceries.
I cooked for all the people (that was the deal - Grandparents bought the Disney tickets, Aunt-with-points provided hotels, I made food). I initially understood that I would provide our food, but it became apparent that I was actually providing all food - it worked out. For breakfast and supper, we ate at our Villas, avoiding cereal because the table seated 4 or something. Some days I sent the food to the other rooms, encouraging people to eat where they were. Other days we just all sat everywhere.
At Disney, a beautiful friend had told me about having mini meals and eating them in line. This works best when everyone is in the same line at the same time, but it was still good counsel. So I packed foods that could be handed out to children in a line. Frozen cups of regular yogurt, bagel sandwiches with salami and cream cheese, cheese and crackers (cut the cheese before you go) (I didn't), fruit, carrots, tortillas and hummus, stuff like that. Our extra big stroller purchased specifically for the trip was used half for food and half for exhausted children. We also put food on kids' backs in drawstring bags, that can be wadded up small when empty.
Activities:
I'll be honest. I don't think we nailed this part. The fast pass idea is not meant for big families. Nothing is. I suppose professional Disney Goers could probably make it work. But for a party of 19, trying to negotiate around the park away from crowds, planning where to be when, based on our Fast Pass reservations, was not practical. A ship this size does not turn on a dime. Some of our Fast Pass reservations did not actually speed up the process. If you go, do get a map and an expert and make Fast Pass reservations according to where you want to be when, WAY BEFORE YOU GO. Months before.
Also not completely helpful is the thing where one parent rides with kids and then the other parent rides. So the idea is that everybody waits in line, Parent A rides with Child Who Is Big Enough For The Ride while Parent B takes care of The Baby. Then Parent B rides with Child Who Is Big. But when there are 10 kids big enough to ride and 3 who are not big/mature enough, it translates to Mom gets the shaft. Mom and Grandma took small people on ride meant for them, then Mom rides a few select rides with one lucky child while ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE WAIT. Yes, I pretty much walked right on, but it is a long walk, and they were still waiting.
In addition to the two days at Disney with the fam, we also paid the extra to go to Epcot (which I remembered fondly from when I was a youth) and the movie studios part of Disney - Universal something. When we went to Epcot, and finally made it to the nations part, there was a wine and food tasting event. Millions (ok, thousands) of adults with beverages. Insanity. Lesson learned: check for events and plan around if possible. Universal is mostly cool if you have seen the movies represented. We loved the Star Wars Jedi fighting lessons.
We also planned a beach day and a pool/chillax at the Villa day. Good plans. Naps in beds and air conditioning.
The sum of it for me was that, if I was willing to lay down my life, serve, prefer the people I love, only ride a few rides - it was a really good time. Way, way, way better than I was prepared for.
Best part: I didn't mention before that we do matching shirts when we do outings. It's a safety thing. Way easier to count children that way, easier for them to find and stay with the group, and helps strangers know who to point the stray child back to. Our shirts on one day were from a family reunion, a picture of my father in law's motorcycle with the words Billy's Gang. All day, everyone who worked at the park was asking, "Who's Billy?" And we would point to my father in law. He was smiling all day. And at the end of the day, as we left the park, there was a line of Disney staff, waving, smiling, applauding my father in law. It was worth it all.
Do kidney stones hurt more than labor?
(last year part 2)(leaving the hood)
While I was still physically and emotionally recovering from my miscarriage and d&c, I started having pain in my right "waist", as I call it. You know the place where your hand sits when you put your hands on your waist? Thumb in back, fingers in front? That's where it hurt. And that's kidney stone pain.
And my answer to whether kidney stones hurt worse than labor is yes. I feel that I cannot adequately describe kidney stone pain without cussing. It is Jesus-take-me-now pain.
I have had kidney stones pass before. And I have known for years that I have kidney stones hanging out in my kidneys, some too big to pass. But as long as I stay hydrated, they don't move and therefore, don't hurt.
But during the time I was in the hospital, waiting to see whether I needed a d&c, I was required to not have any food or drink, in case I needed surgery. And that was probably my undoing.
Since I hadn't had trouble for years, I didn't have a urologist. It took a few days to get in to one, and then to schedule a lithotripsy procedure, needed because this stone was 11 millimeters, too big to pass.
On the morning my husband and I left for the hospital, we discovered that the back of our garage, behind the big 15 packer van, was full of tiny black glass shards, and that one of the back windows was gone.
Hmmm, we said.
We spent the day (while waiting for prep and anesthesia, etc) pondering whether Chevy van windows ever just explode and shatter, was it really hot enough in the garage ... but when we came home, we looked around a little more and found tiny holes in the garage door. Bullet holes.
We have lived in the hood for 14 years. North city. The only white people on our block. We lived there through the Michael Brown shooting and response. Those have been our people. And we were theirs. One lady from our hood, Lena, used to come over and eat leftover pizza some mornings, with syrup. When someone asked her why she always came over to 'those white peoples' house', she paid us the compliment of a lifetime. "They not white. They niggas like us." *love*
Our time there was not without mishap. A bench stolen. Garage broken into multiple times. Ladder, bike, mower, broken weed wacker. Friend's car taken for a joy ride, but then abandoned, in our yard, still in gear, moving toward the house. (I ran, several months pregnant, jumped in and stopped the car - one of my more super moments)
We were blessed to have wonderful neighbors. Really great, loving, beautiful people. We also encountered folks with significant issues: druggies, homeless, a prostitute or 2, and a neighborhood drunk named Big Mike (not actually a big man), who called me Mom and said my husband and I were his best friends. He frequently came over needing a ride up the block to his house. Let's be clear - those are not problems unique to a certain skin color. But in our part of town, we had more than our share of those issues.
Still, we felt called to be there and honestly didn't ever see ourselves leaving. Even after one of my neighborhood girls was brutally murdered within site of our door, I didn't think we would ever move away.
Until the gunshots in the garage, my van window shot out, one of the bullets found in my baby's car seat. And we felt like God said, get ready to move.
While I was still physically and emotionally recovering from my miscarriage and d&c, I started having pain in my right "waist", as I call it. You know the place where your hand sits when you put your hands on your waist? Thumb in back, fingers in front? That's where it hurt. And that's kidney stone pain.
And my answer to whether kidney stones hurt worse than labor is yes. I feel that I cannot adequately describe kidney stone pain without cussing. It is Jesus-take-me-now pain.
I have had kidney stones pass before. And I have known for years that I have kidney stones hanging out in my kidneys, some too big to pass. But as long as I stay hydrated, they don't move and therefore, don't hurt.
But during the time I was in the hospital, waiting to see whether I needed a d&c, I was required to not have any food or drink, in case I needed surgery. And that was probably my undoing.
Since I hadn't had trouble for years, I didn't have a urologist. It took a few days to get in to one, and then to schedule a lithotripsy procedure, needed because this stone was 11 millimeters, too big to pass.
On the morning my husband and I left for the hospital, we discovered that the back of our garage, behind the big 15 packer van, was full of tiny black glass shards, and that one of the back windows was gone.
Hmmm, we said.
We spent the day (while waiting for prep and anesthesia, etc) pondering whether Chevy van windows ever just explode and shatter, was it really hot enough in the garage ... but when we came home, we looked around a little more and found tiny holes in the garage door. Bullet holes.
We have lived in the hood for 14 years. North city. The only white people on our block. We lived there through the Michael Brown shooting and response. Those have been our people. And we were theirs. One lady from our hood, Lena, used to come over and eat leftover pizza some mornings, with syrup. When someone asked her why she always came over to 'those white peoples' house', she paid us the compliment of a lifetime. "They not white. They niggas like us." *love*
Our time there was not without mishap. A bench stolen. Garage broken into multiple times. Ladder, bike, mower, broken weed wacker. Friend's car taken for a joy ride, but then abandoned, in our yard, still in gear, moving toward the house. (I ran, several months pregnant, jumped in and stopped the car - one of my more super moments)
We were blessed to have wonderful neighbors. Really great, loving, beautiful people. We also encountered folks with significant issues: druggies, homeless, a prostitute or 2, and a neighborhood drunk named Big Mike (not actually a big man), who called me Mom and said my husband and I were his best friends. He frequently came over needing a ride up the block to his house. Let's be clear - those are not problems unique to a certain skin color. But in our part of town, we had more than our share of those issues.
Still, we felt called to be there and honestly didn't ever see ourselves leaving. Even after one of my neighborhood girls was brutally murdered within site of our door, I didn't think we would ever move away.
Until the gunshots in the garage, my van window shot out, one of the bullets found in my baby's car seat. And we felt like God said, get ready to move.
Sunday, August 26, 2018
The Last Year, part 1
I think I could write a book about the last year. Year and a half actually. It started May 20, 2017, or a couple days earlier. On Monday of that week I had a doctor appointment and saw the beating heart of my 16th child. On Thursday, it wasn’t beating anymore. I named the baby Samuel Elias. I had felt the Lord say ‘This one belongs to me.’
Friday night we attended my second son’s graduation rehearsal. I remember smirking about going through the whole thing when we were going to hear it all the next day. Little did I know.
*** TMI warning ***
I’m sure I was spotting before we left the house. By the time my husband and I sat down in our appointed parent row, after carefully arranging our dozen pre-graduating offspring among the graduated kids and all our friends and relations, I was in trouble and I knew it. As the graduates solemnly processed down the aisle, I crawled across several other proud parents, thankful that the bench I had been sitting on was already red. I got to the bathroom and spent the graduation on the toilet trying to figure out how to manage crossing the stage with my husband and giving our son his diploma, and feverishly texting my female peops to try to get someone to come rinse out my skirt and bring me a diaper.
The diaper plus a stack of paper towels and a forgiving skirt got me through the ceremony and to the hospital, or at least to the hospital parking lot. The day ended with an emergency d&c.
There was grief, to be sure, but also the nearness of God and the empathy of so many friends who had walked that road before.
Friday night we attended my second son’s graduation rehearsal. I remember smirking about going through the whole thing when we were going to hear it all the next day. Little did I know.
*** TMI warning ***
I’m sure I was spotting before we left the house. By the time my husband and I sat down in our appointed parent row, after carefully arranging our dozen pre-graduating offspring among the graduated kids and all our friends and relations, I was in trouble and I knew it. As the graduates solemnly processed down the aisle, I crawled across several other proud parents, thankful that the bench I had been sitting on was already red. I got to the bathroom and spent the graduation on the toilet trying to figure out how to manage crossing the stage with my husband and giving our son his diploma, and feverishly texting my female peops to try to get someone to come rinse out my skirt and bring me a diaper.
The diaper plus a stack of paper towels and a forgiving skirt got me through the ceremony and to the hospital, or at least to the hospital parking lot. The day ended with an emergency d&c.
There was grief, to be sure, but also the nearness of God and the empathy of so many friends who had walked that road before.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
My sister has cancer
Apparently, my sister has incredibly lumpy breasts.
It's not something we've talked about much over the years. She is six years my younger. She was 12 when I went to college, 16 when I got married, in college when I became a mom. My 6th kid was 6 months old when she had her first nicu baby (3 of her 4 daughters spent significant time in the hospital). I remember sitting behind a curtain in the hospital with her, pumping together, she - so her tiny girl could have mama milk in spite of her cleft lip and palate, so important as she recovered from major surgery on her miniature heart; me - so my normal, healthy, fat chunk boy could still have my milk when I flew home.
Even then, I'm pretty sure we didn't discuss her fibrous boobs.
But here we are, a dozen years later, and one pesky lump out of her extensive lump collection is turning our worlds upside down.
For me it has been a week or so of being pretty sure it was cancer but not completely sure, and now we are sure that it is but don't know much else. How big? How many? How fast? How aggressive? Spreading? Lymph nodes? What does it mean? Surgery yes, but how much? Genetic? Hormonal? Will she lose her boobs? Will I lose my sister?
These are the questions that have been hogging most of my conscious thought. Answers will come as tests are completed and results are read. Today I will tell my middle kids. I will tell them not to be afraid. There may be a time for weeping. And I will weep now for her grief, for the agony of the process, for the surgery, the chemo, the suspense, the loss of the illusion that all is well (true story, she lost that illusion long ago).
But I am not going to grieve things I fear. I'm not going to borrow tomorrow's trouble. Today has trouble of its own.
That's all my brain talking. At the same time, my heart has an ache that doesn't go away. Suspense isn't something I handle well. There is a big something I don't know. And that is its own kind of hard.
So if you pray, please pray. And if you know me and I behave strangely, forget things, start blubbing in a conversation about laundry detergent, text furiously during a class about improving your students' essay writing, please forgive me, handle with care. Know that some portion of my already distracted heart is very, very busy, loving my sister.
It's not something we've talked about much over the years. She is six years my younger. She was 12 when I went to college, 16 when I got married, in college when I became a mom. My 6th kid was 6 months old when she had her first nicu baby (3 of her 4 daughters spent significant time in the hospital). I remember sitting behind a curtain in the hospital with her, pumping together, she - so her tiny girl could have mama milk in spite of her cleft lip and palate, so important as she recovered from major surgery on her miniature heart; me - so my normal, healthy, fat chunk boy could still have my milk when I flew home.
Even then, I'm pretty sure we didn't discuss her fibrous boobs.
But here we are, a dozen years later, and one pesky lump out of her extensive lump collection is turning our worlds upside down.
For me it has been a week or so of being pretty sure it was cancer but not completely sure, and now we are sure that it is but don't know much else. How big? How many? How fast? How aggressive? Spreading? Lymph nodes? What does it mean? Surgery yes, but how much? Genetic? Hormonal? Will she lose her boobs? Will I lose my sister?
These are the questions that have been hogging most of my conscious thought. Answers will come as tests are completed and results are read. Today I will tell my middle kids. I will tell them not to be afraid. There may be a time for weeping. And I will weep now for her grief, for the agony of the process, for the surgery, the chemo, the suspense, the loss of the illusion that all is well (true story, she lost that illusion long ago).
But I am not going to grieve things I fear. I'm not going to borrow tomorrow's trouble. Today has trouble of its own.
That's all my brain talking. At the same time, my heart has an ache that doesn't go away. Suspense isn't something I handle well. There is a big something I don't know. And that is its own kind of hard.
So if you pray, please pray. And if you know me and I behave strangely, forget things, start blubbing in a conversation about laundry detergent, text furiously during a class about improving your students' essay writing, please forgive me, handle with care. Know that some portion of my already distracted heart is very, very busy, loving my sister.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
The value of life
There has been much discussion of late about which lives matter, black lives, blue lives, unborn lives... This is not that conversation. (Although this truth very much applies to it.)
There is a fallacy in the way we esteem the value of a life. For example, to a couple who has struggled to conceive, the thousands of dollars it costs to adopt or to conceive with medical help are absolutely worth every penny. For those who conceive with little effort, or even in spite of efforts NOT to conceive, there is such a thing as a "pregnancy scare". One couple will spend all they have and more to get what another couple dreads and fears.
I haven't watched the movie, but my understanding of the plot of Saving Private Ryan, which involves a group of men risking/giving their lives to save the last of a mother's sons, is somewhat true to life. The last son's life was made more valuable because the other sons had died.
A woman may abort her baby at different stages of pregnancy in different parts of the world. Yet, if the same parent would sustain the pregnancy, give birth to the baby, raise it for a year or three, and in a relatively brief moment of failure leave it in a hot or cold car, or allow it to get away from her, she or he would be crucified on social media for it. We fiercely defend the right to deliberately end the life of an unwanted (preborn) child but cruelly withhold grace from the woman/man who desperately wanted to keep her/his (slightly older) child but failed to do so.
Why such a disparity? Is it just supply and demand? Does it lie in our ability to empathize?
We are mistaken. The life of a human (or other creature I suppose) is not truly valued by what it is worth to its parents or peers or medical staff or the friendly neighborhood Facebook troll.
In my house there are many creative people. They create a lot. The person who gets to say if a creation is 'important' or not, where it goes, how long it stays in our house, is the one who made it.
I am 45 years old. My oldest is 20, my youngest is just learning to sit on her own. There are 13 more between them. I happen to think they are all exquisite.
I am asked fairly often if my littlest is the last. The truth is, I don't know. People do get pregnant as old as I am sometimes.
Do I want to be pregnant again? Not necessarily. Do I want to labor again? Not especially. Do I hope to breastfeed and hold a tiny baby again? Yeah, I suppose. I love all of those things. And, I can take or leave all those things. I have done my share of being excited, taken more than my share of pregnancy tests, experienced the anticipating, swelling feet and abdomen, laboring, delivering, nursing. God knows I've changed my share of diapers.
It isn't the experience of having a baby that makes me want to have more babies. It is the life. If God chooses not to give me any more humans, or gives them but then takes them away, I will trust Him. He is good. But if He were to trust me with more lives, I will always call that good. Because he put the price tag of 'worth-the-life-of-my-only-son' on each one, and also 'bearer-of-the-image-of-God', and because he calls them very good and a blessing and a heritage and a reward, I will continue to agree with the Creator's assessment of His creation.
Am I done having children? I don't know. Maybe. But I am not done saying yes. I am pleased to say yes.
There is more risk for an older mom, they say. More risk than a mom who goes through years of in vitro fertilization? More risk than a mom with previous miscarriages? More risk than a mom with an incompetent cervix? No. Just more risk than someone else thinks is worth it. But I think each baby, each human, each life is worth all the risk in the world and all the money in the world and all the stars in the heaven.
They are valuable, precious in His sight, no matter what anyone else ever says or thinks. No matter what they achieve. If everyone knows their name. If no one knows their name. Each of my sons and daughters. Each of your sons and daughters. You. Me. We are the Joy set before Him that caused Jesus to endure the cross. Before we were formed in the womb, we were known and loved by Him. That is the value of life.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Giving birth to grownups
As it turns out, the Middles and Littles take energy, but it's the Bigs that use up my brain. With the Hormones on a missions trip, my brain has more free time than it knows what to do with. I've been on Facebook more today than I have in a month. Normally I click on links and save them up in my browser to read or give up on later. Today I read them all.
Not that I didn't care for the humans. We watered flowers, ate and cleaned up, changed diapers, took naps, got the mail, played outside, pushed each other around in a big cardboard box. It's been a good day. But small people simply do not have the crises that the Hormones do. I don't know what to do with myself. I only have a dozen kids here, ages 12 & under.
I've decided that giving birth at adults is way harder, takes way longer, and hurts way more than giving birth to babies. And for the first time ever, my husband and I wonder why we had so many kids. What were we thinking? Can we do this?
Testing. College. Decisions. Learning to really go to God when the humans in your life fall so far short. Having hard conversations about what is happening in the real world.
For example, I had to have a conversation with my kids about the Duggar situation. It went like this: being in that family, arguably the most perfectly sheltered environment in the world, did not keep sin away from Josh Duggar. Because sin doesn't just get us from the outside. It's in us. Our littlest guy eating Cheerios in the high chair is a sinner. There are no innocent people.
Second, being in our family isn't enough. You have to know Jesus and have a relationship with Him yourself and maintain it and work on it on your own. Do not take it for granted that being in this family means you are a Christian. It is up to you.
But this week is easy. This week I just have to make 4 yr olds apologize to each other and make 10 yr olds put their dishes in the sink and decide if riding down the stairs on a piece of cardboard is a good idea. Piece of cake.
Not that I didn't care for the humans. We watered flowers, ate and cleaned up, changed diapers, took naps, got the mail, played outside, pushed each other around in a big cardboard box. It's been a good day. But small people simply do not have the crises that the Hormones do. I don't know what to do with myself. I only have a dozen kids here, ages 12 & under.
I've decided that giving birth at adults is way harder, takes way longer, and hurts way more than giving birth to babies. And for the first time ever, my husband and I wonder why we had so many kids. What were we thinking? Can we do this?
Testing. College. Decisions. Learning to really go to God when the humans in your life fall so far short. Having hard conversations about what is happening in the real world.
For example, I had to have a conversation with my kids about the Duggar situation. It went like this: being in that family, arguably the most perfectly sheltered environment in the world, did not keep sin away from Josh Duggar. Because sin doesn't just get us from the outside. It's in us. Our littlest guy eating Cheerios in the high chair is a sinner. There are no innocent people.
Second, being in our family isn't enough. You have to know Jesus and have a relationship with Him yourself and maintain it and work on it on your own. Do not take it for granted that being in this family means you are a Christian. It is up to you.
But this week is easy. This week I just have to make 4 yr olds apologize to each other and make 10 yr olds put their dishes in the sink and decide if riding down the stairs on a piece of cardboard is a good idea. Piece of cake.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Zaccheus and me
I just got home from a Hearts At Home conference. It was my third. I think the first time I went I was maybe pregnant with my 9th, the second time I had 10, but that was the year Michelle Dugger spoke, so there was a larger turnout from the big family demographic. Here's why that matters.
Each year they have a little tradition of telling the statistics of who is there at the conference, how old we are, what states are represented, and how many kids we have. They start by saying something like "91 of you have no children...250 of you have 1 child ... X of you have 2, and so on. And I sit there in my little seat, listening to people make noises as the number of children goes up.
This time I was really covert because my sisters and I were spread out, we had come in late, flapping our yaps, no doubt. I was tucked in the front corner of the auditorium. And the lady said, "3 of you have 10 children (applause) and ONE woman here has FOURTEEN children!" Loud cheering. For me. One of 5000+ women. But no one knew it was me. Had I stood up and jumped up and down, I still wouldn't have been seen or heard. I was a short person in a dark corner of a crowded room. Kind of like Zaccheus, maybe.
And I was a little disappointed. Why? It was my moment to feel special. My moment to be special. But I felt like an idiot. What was the matter with me?
It bothered me off and on for hours. I finally talked to the Lord about it. A couple times. I repented for my pride, my desire for glory (which is rightfully His), my hunger for attention and the praise of men. Still kicking myself.
This is what He told me:
You are not special because you have 14 kids. You are special because you are mine. Your children don't define you. They are blessings to you, but your worth would be the same if you had no children at all.
I am hidden in Him. I belong to Him. What He does with me is His business, not mine. If he keeps me tucked under His wing or takes me out for a spin around town, I'm good. As for me, the nearness of my God is my good.
Each year they have a little tradition of telling the statistics of who is there at the conference, how old we are, what states are represented, and how many kids we have. They start by saying something like "91 of you have no children...250 of you have 1 child ... X of you have 2, and so on. And I sit there in my little seat, listening to people make noises as the number of children goes up.
This time I was really covert because my sisters and I were spread out, we had come in late, flapping our yaps, no doubt. I was tucked in the front corner of the auditorium. And the lady said, "3 of you have 10 children (applause) and ONE woman here has FOURTEEN children!" Loud cheering. For me. One of 5000+ women. But no one knew it was me. Had I stood up and jumped up and down, I still wouldn't have been seen or heard. I was a short person in a dark corner of a crowded room. Kind of like Zaccheus, maybe.
And I was a little disappointed. Why? It was my moment to feel special. My moment to be special. But I felt like an idiot. What was the matter with me?
It bothered me off and on for hours. I finally talked to the Lord about it. A couple times. I repented for my pride, my desire for glory (which is rightfully His), my hunger for attention and the praise of men. Still kicking myself.
This is what He told me:
You are not special because you have 14 kids. You are special because you are mine. Your children don't define you. They are blessings to you, but your worth would be the same if you had no children at all.
I am hidden in Him. I belong to Him. What He does with me is His business, not mine. If he keeps me tucked under His wing or takes me out for a spin around town, I'm good. As for me, the nearness of my God is my good.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Sex talk
Why am I writing about sex?
Well, there's this book out there that I haven't read that's becoming a movie I won't see that everybody is talking and writing and boycotting about. I likely would never have even heard of 50 Shades of Gray but for the dozens of posts on social media about why I shouldn't read the book or see the movie.
I'm not actually writing about the book/movie, because I won't see or read it. I'm writing about sex, good sex, healthy, married sex, because there are some things I think need to be said about it that aren't usually said, maybe never. But someone needs to, and I guess it might as well be me.
Kids, if you're not old enough to take me out and buy me a beer, you should probably have your mom read this first, ok?!
One of the several articles I read about NOT seeing the aforementioned movie cited some survey that showed religious married women about my age are the most satisfied with their sex lives, so I'm writing, maybe not as an expert, but as a satisfied middle aged married woman. ;) With a lot of children.
So here are some words that aren't usually used to describe good sex that ought to be.
1. CLEAN. Good sex is clean. Now, it isn't clean in the sense of cleanliness. It's a mess. I have often thought, while spending intimate time with my husband, 'I can't believe people do this in cars'.
But it is clean in the way it is expressed and the way it makes you feel. Sex isn't dirty or nasty or trashy. It's clean. It's pure. And, just like the comedians who are able to do their act without lude words or subject matter and still be really funny (see also, Brian Reegan and Jim Gaffigan), the idea that you have to be (or pretend to be) bad for sex to be good is a lie.
2. HEALING. Sex heals. It helps us remember that we are one. That Bible verse that says love covers a multitude of sins, it's true. I'm not saying we don't still have to work things through or deal with problems. We do. Sex just helps put them into perspective. It is going to be ok.
3. RESTORING. It's like hitting the reset button on the computer. And it isn't necessarily always something you do because you're in the mood for it. It is something you do because it is wonderful.
I love to swim. I always love to swim. I am always glad I got in the pool, I never regret making the effort, once I am there. But, I do not always want to swim. I do not always feel like getting in the pool. Sometimes I don't want to swim until I am swimming. Sometimes I get in the pool because I know that I will like it and it is good for me, and then, after I'm in, then I'm always glad I did.
4. SAFE. I don't mean what is normally called safe sex. Sex is not safe because someone has some kind of pregnancy prevention system going on or something in place to try to stop the transmission of diseases. Sex is safe because it is ours alone to share. It is sacred. It is a promise and a renewal of that promise that there is no one else. It says I belong to you and I trust you completely and I am not holding anything back from you. It is a gift freely given. I feel safe when we have sex. (I also often muse, 'I cannot believe people do this with people they aren't married to, or worse, people they hardly know')
5. PRODUCTIVE. I won't belabor this here, but the natural intended state of sex was that making babies goes with intimacy. As a culture we separate it and try to control that part of it as best we can, but, like it or not, God put those two really wonderful things together. He thought it was a great idea. He didn't have to do it that way, but He did.
Sex is an amazing part of God's creation. Unique to humans (compared to all other creatures) in that He designed it for us, both husband and wife, to enjoy. It is such an amazing biological event. He chose to make procreating for humans a delightful, exciting, therapeutic, connective, spiritual experience.
6. WORSHIPFUL. It is true. I often just am in awe of God when I get to enjoy my husband. I thank Him (though not usually out loud, but why not?) for this gift He has given me, this man, this marriage, this sweet way we get to love each other. It started with God. Why not praise Him for it?
Well, there's this book out there that I haven't read that's becoming a movie I won't see that everybody is talking and writing and boycotting about. I likely would never have even heard of 50 Shades of Gray but for the dozens of posts on social media about why I shouldn't read the book or see the movie.
I'm not actually writing about the book/movie, because I won't see or read it. I'm writing about sex, good sex, healthy, married sex, because there are some things I think need to be said about it that aren't usually said, maybe never. But someone needs to, and I guess it might as well be me.
Kids, if you're not old enough to take me out and buy me a beer, you should probably have your mom read this first, ok?!
One of the several articles I read about NOT seeing the aforementioned movie cited some survey that showed religious married women about my age are the most satisfied with their sex lives, so I'm writing, maybe not as an expert, but as a satisfied middle aged married woman. ;) With a lot of children.
So here are some words that aren't usually used to describe good sex that ought to be.
1. CLEAN. Good sex is clean. Now, it isn't clean in the sense of cleanliness. It's a mess. I have often thought, while spending intimate time with my husband, 'I can't believe people do this in cars'.
But it is clean in the way it is expressed and the way it makes you feel. Sex isn't dirty or nasty or trashy. It's clean. It's pure. And, just like the comedians who are able to do their act without lude words or subject matter and still be really funny (see also, Brian Reegan and Jim Gaffigan), the idea that you have to be (or pretend to be) bad for sex to be good is a lie.
2. HEALING. Sex heals. It helps us remember that we are one. That Bible verse that says love covers a multitude of sins, it's true. I'm not saying we don't still have to work things through or deal with problems. We do. Sex just helps put them into perspective. It is going to be ok.
3. RESTORING. It's like hitting the reset button on the computer. And it isn't necessarily always something you do because you're in the mood for it. It is something you do because it is wonderful.
I love to swim. I always love to swim. I am always glad I got in the pool, I never regret making the effort, once I am there. But, I do not always want to swim. I do not always feel like getting in the pool. Sometimes I don't want to swim until I am swimming. Sometimes I get in the pool because I know that I will like it and it is good for me, and then, after I'm in, then I'm always glad I did.
4. SAFE. I don't mean what is normally called safe sex. Sex is not safe because someone has some kind of pregnancy prevention system going on or something in place to try to stop the transmission of diseases. Sex is safe because it is ours alone to share. It is sacred. It is a promise and a renewal of that promise that there is no one else. It says I belong to you and I trust you completely and I am not holding anything back from you. It is a gift freely given. I feel safe when we have sex. (I also often muse, 'I cannot believe people do this with people they aren't married to, or worse, people they hardly know')
5. PRODUCTIVE. I won't belabor this here, but the natural intended state of sex was that making babies goes with intimacy. As a culture we separate it and try to control that part of it as best we can, but, like it or not, God put those two really wonderful things together. He thought it was a great idea. He didn't have to do it that way, but He did.
Sex is an amazing part of God's creation. Unique to humans (compared to all other creatures) in that He designed it for us, both husband and wife, to enjoy. It is such an amazing biological event. He chose to make procreating for humans a delightful, exciting, therapeutic, connective, spiritual experience.
6. WORSHIPFUL. It is true. I often just am in awe of God when I get to enjoy my husband. I thank Him (though not usually out loud, but why not?) for this gift He has given me, this man, this marriage, this sweet way we get to love each other. It started with God. Why not praise Him for it?
Monday, December 22, 2014
What Christmas Means to Me
I am a horrible, obnoxious, vicious critic of Christmas songs. I deliver up a full helping of snarky comments all day long, all season long. There are the stupid meaningless songs, the dysfunctional relationship/recent break up/stalker songs, the "winter" songs, the bad theology religious songs (Do you hear what I hear?), the Beach Boys attempt at comparing Santa's sleigh to a hot rod, my kids' favorite which they call '6-pack at a liquor store', and it just goes on and on. I've written blogs about particular songs and lists of songs. This is not one of those posts. It's just inspired by one of those Christmas songs, but I'm not going to critique it. Just quote it.
Fires burning low, lots of mistletoe
Lots of snow and ice everywhere we go
Choirs singing carols right outside my door
All these things and more, that's what Christmas means to me my Lord
Here is what Christmas means to me, why I love to celebrate it.
A long time ago, God made a man and a woman. He gave them only one rule. Eat from any tree but this one. They disobeyed, and everything began to die. But even as God told them to leave and described some of the consequences of their actions, He said, I'm gonna fix this.
Thousands of years of sin, judgement, repentance and forgiveness later, in a moment of unfathomable and extraordinary grace and mercy, God placed the glory and majesty and splendor of Himself in the humble womb of a nondescript unmarried young woman. The glory of Mary is that she said yes. The glory of God is that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only Begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. He showed us the Father. He became acquainted with grief. He learned obedience through suffering. He fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, and in the same earthly breath, was Himself the propitiation for our sin.
Unbelievable, and yet gloriously believable.
All in a moment, in a gestational moment. All of creation, pregnant with desire and expectation, waiting for that one pregnancy and delivery of the Deliverer. Is it not magnificent? Is it not extraordinary? I am not diminishing the Cross or the Resurrection. But the culmination of everything before was that moment. The Word become Flesh. We beheld His Glory. The Glory of the Only One begotten of the Father. Full of grace. Full of truth. At the same time. Not in competition, not torn, not confused. Grace and truth. Mercy and justice, simultaneously born to us here together. Stunningly, exquisitely, universe shatteringly beautiful.
You can see where "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" sorta falls just a tad short, right?
Fires burning low, lots of mistletoe
Lots of snow and ice everywhere we go
Choirs singing carols right outside my door
All these things and more, that's what Christmas means to me my Lord
Here is what Christmas means to me, why I love to celebrate it.
A long time ago, God made a man and a woman. He gave them only one rule. Eat from any tree but this one. They disobeyed, and everything began to die. But even as God told them to leave and described some of the consequences of their actions, He said, I'm gonna fix this.
Thousands of years of sin, judgement, repentance and forgiveness later, in a moment of unfathomable and extraordinary grace and mercy, God placed the glory and majesty and splendor of Himself in the humble womb of a nondescript unmarried young woman. The glory of Mary is that she said yes. The glory of God is that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only Begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. He showed us the Father. He became acquainted with grief. He learned obedience through suffering. He fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, and in the same earthly breath, was Himself the propitiation for our sin.
Unbelievable, and yet gloriously believable.
All in a moment, in a gestational moment. All of creation, pregnant with desire and expectation, waiting for that one pregnancy and delivery of the Deliverer. Is it not magnificent? Is it not extraordinary? I am not diminishing the Cross or the Resurrection. But the culmination of everything before was that moment. The Word become Flesh. We beheld His Glory. The Glory of the Only One begotten of the Father. Full of grace. Full of truth. At the same time. Not in competition, not torn, not confused. Grace and truth. Mercy and justice, simultaneously born to us here together. Stunningly, exquisitely, universe shatteringly beautiful.
You can see where "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" sorta falls just a tad short, right?
Friday, December 19, 2014
What I tell my kids about Santa
When I think about writing a book, which I do sometimes, I think I will have a chapter, or a part of each chapter, or a whole book called "Conversations with my children," which would be all the things I say to my kids about sex or friendships or racism or when someone is unkind to you or Santa Claus. So here is that one:
Santa is real. He is a real person who lived a very long time ago. He loved Jesus and is in heaven with Jesus right now. When he was alive on earth, one way he showed how much he loved Jesus was by helping people and giving to people who were poor and needy. He was so great at it, people said he was a saint, a person who is holy like Jesus. That's why he's called Santa Claus. Saint-ni Claus or Saint Nicholas.
He was such a great guy, people still talk about him, dress up like him, make up stories about him. But he was real. And if he was here today, he would probably say that all the stories about him are silly and that we shouldn't focus on him, we should focus on Jesus.
On Christmas eve, we leave cookies and milk for Santa, a carrot or two for the reindeer, and stockings hang from our, um, kitchen cabinet knobs. And on Christmas morning, our children find candy and gifts and a letter to each from Santa, telling them how great they are, how loved they are, how pleased their parents are with them, and how loving Jesus is the most important thing in the whole world. In mom or dad's handwriting. Love, Santa.
Santa is real. He is a real person who lived a very long time ago. He loved Jesus and is in heaven with Jesus right now. When he was alive on earth, one way he showed how much he loved Jesus was by helping people and giving to people who were poor and needy. He was so great at it, people said he was a saint, a person who is holy like Jesus. That's why he's called Santa Claus. Saint-ni Claus or Saint Nicholas.
He was such a great guy, people still talk about him, dress up like him, make up stories about him. But he was real. And if he was here today, he would probably say that all the stories about him are silly and that we shouldn't focus on him, we should focus on Jesus.
On Christmas eve, we leave cookies and milk for Santa, a carrot or two for the reindeer, and stockings hang from our, um, kitchen cabinet knobs. And on Christmas morning, our children find candy and gifts and a letter to each from Santa, telling them how great they are, how loved they are, how pleased their parents are with them, and how loving Jesus is the most important thing in the whole world. In mom or dad's handwriting. Love, Santa.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Consider the cost
I used to love an old song by Steve Camp, I think, "the gospel according to Jesus". It had all the hard sayings of Jesus in it: consider the cost of building a tower, it's a narrow way that you must come for to do the will of the Father is to follow the Son, to love Him more than father or mother, to love Him more than even your own flesh. To give all that you are for all that He is."
Today I failed to consider the cost. I enjoyed a moments pleasure but I am paying for it now.
Several of my kids (who says that?) went to dance class today, leaving only 6. 2 were studying silently, 4 slept peacefully, I did laundry like the wind, or like the wind would do laundry if a woodchuck could chuck wood. It was bliss. I listened to a podcast, I tell you. It was like I was single or something.
But now. Now it is approaching 11:00. P. m. And 3 of the four who napped are awake. Wide awake. Chatting. Climbing out of bed. Throwing toys. Writing doctoral dissertations.
Regret. I am filled with it. If only I'd thought. If only I'd known. Sure, it was great to fold 4 baskets of clean clothes. But was it worth it?
Consider the cost my friends. Sure, 2 hours of uninterrupted laundry folding might sound like a dream come true, but not if you find yourself stationed on a step strategically positioned equidistant from all three bedroom doors, hours after you wanted to go to sleep, like a guy decked out in duck dynasty duds at the end of bow season, just waiting for something to pop it's head out.
Say, "La vee!" Friends. That's just the way it goes.
Today I failed to consider the cost. I enjoyed a moments pleasure but I am paying for it now.
Several of my kids (who says that?) went to dance class today, leaving only 6. 2 were studying silently, 4 slept peacefully, I did laundry like the wind, or like the wind would do laundry if a woodchuck could chuck wood. It was bliss. I listened to a podcast, I tell you. It was like I was single or something.
But now. Now it is approaching 11:00. P. m. And 3 of the four who napped are awake. Wide awake. Chatting. Climbing out of bed. Throwing toys. Writing doctoral dissertations.
Regret. I am filled with it. If only I'd thought. If only I'd known. Sure, it was great to fold 4 baskets of clean clothes. But was it worth it?
Consider the cost my friends. Sure, 2 hours of uninterrupted laundry folding might sound like a dream come true, but not if you find yourself stationed on a step strategically positioned equidistant from all three bedroom doors, hours after you wanted to go to sleep, like a guy decked out in duck dynasty duds at the end of bow season, just waiting for something to pop it's head out.
Say, "La vee!" Friends. That's just the way it goes.
Thursday, August 07, 2014
Why don't blog very much right now
I do not blog very much right now for several reasons, and these are in no particular order.
1. I have a baby who is trying to get 8 teeth in, all at the same time. When he is not doing that, he is on the floor (which we DO vacuum sometimes) consuming large quantities of dog hair (from the dog we DO brush sometimes) He also breast feeds and is learning to eat baby food, which is a complicated process that involves the repeated smearing on and scraping off the face and neck of the baby a simple nearly liquid food substance, and in the process, combining it with the baby's saliva, thereby doubling the original quantity of baby food, rendering the task of finishing the food impossible.
2. I have an almost 2 year old and two 3 year olds who are bent on my and their imminent destruction. Most recently, the 3 year old female cut off significant portions of her previously gorgeous hair. (I may have told this story here already, but I was so traumatized by the event, it will require multiple tellings for me to fully recover.) While I was cutting the rest of the hair to match, she shoved a tiny game piece up her nose, lodging it where it could barely be seen. My eldest son removed it by plugging the other nostril and blowing in her mouth. Hard.
The 3 year old male insists on 'peeing a tree' and the 2 year old insists on carrying food and drink throughout the house.
3. I am training my middle children to be kind, work hard, and treat me and each other with respect... In exchange for turns playing games on the computer. Then I have to break up the fights that ensue as they jockey for the best seats for watching each others' brains melt.
4. My oldest children require a great deal of my attention and every ounce of Christlike-ness and biblical wisdom that I have, and the application of every scripture and life lesson I've ever learned to get through each day.
5. I am struggling to honor God with my body, to feed it well and move it around and lean on Him for the things I tend to go to food for. This is a difficult and constant battle, one I would assume everyone is tired of. I know I am.
6. I am trying and failing miserably at honoring my husband's most basic and appropriate request, simply that we clean up after each meal. Like normal people.
7. Our family is attempting to begin a set together at our local house of prayer. Weekly. Every week. Together. Yeah. Well that is the goal.
8. It is the beginning of August and I am not ready to start school. Not. Ready.
9. It has taken me most of a day to write this, and I am on vacation. My train of thought is not that long. If it takes all day to finish a thought, chances are, it will never be done being thunk.
10. And, the final reason I don't blog very much is that I just don't think I have anything worth saying right now. I'm frankly not very impressed with myself, and I don't know why anybody would want to read what I have to write. Granted, I started this blog for me more than anybody else. But even then, I get tired of saying the same things, get tired of sucking the same ways.
I have things that are really important that I need to do that aren't getting done. So, if you like my blog, and you wish I wrote more, here's what you need to do. Pray to Jesus to help me not suck so bad, so I can blog more often. It sounds like this: "Dear Jesus, please help the amazing super mom be amazing and/or super today. Help her to eat food that her body needs and not eat stuff that will kill her. Help her make time to read her bible and worship You and talk to You today. Help her find joy in doing the things that are hard or seem futile or impossible. Give her wisdom about the coming school year and how to raise teenagers and grace to not throttle preschoolers. Help her Lord. Please. And help her write more blogs for me. Amen."
Something like that.
1. I have a baby who is trying to get 8 teeth in, all at the same time. When he is not doing that, he is on the floor (which we DO vacuum sometimes) consuming large quantities of dog hair (from the dog we DO brush sometimes) He also breast feeds and is learning to eat baby food, which is a complicated process that involves the repeated smearing on and scraping off the face and neck of the baby a simple nearly liquid food substance, and in the process, combining it with the baby's saliva, thereby doubling the original quantity of baby food, rendering the task of finishing the food impossible.
2. I have an almost 2 year old and two 3 year olds who are bent on my and their imminent destruction. Most recently, the 3 year old female cut off significant portions of her previously gorgeous hair. (I may have told this story here already, but I was so traumatized by the event, it will require multiple tellings for me to fully recover.) While I was cutting the rest of the hair to match, she shoved a tiny game piece up her nose, lodging it where it could barely be seen. My eldest son removed it by plugging the other nostril and blowing in her mouth. Hard.
The 3 year old male insists on 'peeing a tree' and the 2 year old insists on carrying food and drink throughout the house.
3. I am training my middle children to be kind, work hard, and treat me and each other with respect... In exchange for turns playing games on the computer. Then I have to break up the fights that ensue as they jockey for the best seats for watching each others' brains melt.
4. My oldest children require a great deal of my attention and every ounce of Christlike-ness and biblical wisdom that I have, and the application of every scripture and life lesson I've ever learned to get through each day.
5. I am struggling to honor God with my body, to feed it well and move it around and lean on Him for the things I tend to go to food for. This is a difficult and constant battle, one I would assume everyone is tired of. I know I am.
6. I am trying and failing miserably at honoring my husband's most basic and appropriate request, simply that we clean up after each meal. Like normal people.
7. Our family is attempting to begin a set together at our local house of prayer. Weekly. Every week. Together. Yeah. Well that is the goal.
8. It is the beginning of August and I am not ready to start school. Not. Ready.
9. It has taken me most of a day to write this, and I am on vacation. My train of thought is not that long. If it takes all day to finish a thought, chances are, it will never be done being thunk.
10. And, the final reason I don't blog very much is that I just don't think I have anything worth saying right now. I'm frankly not very impressed with myself, and I don't know why anybody would want to read what I have to write. Granted, I started this blog for me more than anybody else. But even then, I get tired of saying the same things, get tired of sucking the same ways.
I have things that are really important that I need to do that aren't getting done. So, if you like my blog, and you wish I wrote more, here's what you need to do. Pray to Jesus to help me not suck so bad, so I can blog more often. It sounds like this: "Dear Jesus, please help the amazing super mom be amazing and/or super today. Help her to eat food that her body needs and not eat stuff that will kill her. Help her make time to read her bible and worship You and talk to You today. Help her find joy in doing the things that are hard or seem futile or impossible. Give her wisdom about the coming school year and how to raise teenagers and grace to not throttle preschoolers. Help her Lord. Please. And help her write more blogs for me. Amen."
Something like that.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Supermom takes a sick day
We got home from a Memorial Day camping trip (which I'm sure is worthy of a blog post of its own) to a relatively clean house. At least the sink was clean. I'm sure of this because we have ants and I have issues with ants, so I wanted the "ant area" to be as clean as possible, except for the poison I left in hopes of killing the little suckers (which I now suspect is acting as a homing beacon for all the ants of my neighborhood). Anyway, the sink was clean.
But the clean sink did little to compensate for the 2 van loads of crap we brought in and laid, well, everywhere. Our kitchen island (9'x3') was covered in a 2 ft layer of camping gear and food waiting to be put away, not to mention the floor of two rooms. We managed to get the sleeping bags and pillows and dirty laundry to the appropriate places, ate supper without really cleaning it up, bathed or showered all the humans, and fell into bed (did I mention it was tent camping?).
I was feeling old and fat and pathetic after the camping. Air mattress. But I was thinking I just needed a night in my own bed. It would have also helped if a certain baby would sleep past 5:30 some morning. He didn't. I started yesterday feeling horrible, tried to work towards conquering the mess, and maybe around 10 took my temperature. What'd'ya know, I had an actual fever. So I spent most of the day lying on a couch or bed or in the bathtub watching full episodes of Cupcake Wars on Youtube.
I've decided that the definition of when I am sick is when I feel lousy enough to not care at all how much of a bind I am putting my husband in by making him take care of the needy masses when he had work to do and needed to go to bed early because he had a midnight meeting to attend (not a cult, a production release - he's a computer geek and they do important stuff at night so it doesn't take down the system, or something like that). Didn't care. I was sick.
Meanwhile . . .
I got up this morning feeling much better. I actually got dressed. Dealt with the babies, diapers, cereal. But, alas, the kitchen sink. Both sinks full and several inches above sink level full of all the dishes of yesterday. Could we have used all those dishes yesterday? Wash clothes down in the sink and one hanging over the edge (with an entire colony of ants hiding under it - I said I don't like ants, right?!) I would have thought I was gone a weekend or longer. It was impressive. I kept telling myself, it was only a day, it was only a day. A washcloth couldn't have gone rancid in a day.
Ok, most of what I'm feeling is overwhelmed by all of the dirty clothes and camping gear and general whiny pathetic-ness of post road trip depression. But oh what a difference a clean ant-free sink makes to a girl's ability to cope.
But the clean sink did little to compensate for the 2 van loads of crap we brought in and laid, well, everywhere. Our kitchen island (9'x3') was covered in a 2 ft layer of camping gear and food waiting to be put away, not to mention the floor of two rooms. We managed to get the sleeping bags and pillows and dirty laundry to the appropriate places, ate supper without really cleaning it up, bathed or showered all the humans, and fell into bed (did I mention it was tent camping?).
I was feeling old and fat and pathetic after the camping. Air mattress. But I was thinking I just needed a night in my own bed. It would have also helped if a certain baby would sleep past 5:30 some morning. He didn't. I started yesterday feeling horrible, tried to work towards conquering the mess, and maybe around 10 took my temperature. What'd'ya know, I had an actual fever. So I spent most of the day lying on a couch or bed or in the bathtub watching full episodes of Cupcake Wars on Youtube.
I've decided that the definition of when I am sick is when I feel lousy enough to not care at all how much of a bind I am putting my husband in by making him take care of the needy masses when he had work to do and needed to go to bed early because he had a midnight meeting to attend (not a cult, a production release - he's a computer geek and they do important stuff at night so it doesn't take down the system, or something like that). Didn't care. I was sick.
Meanwhile . . .
I got up this morning feeling much better. I actually got dressed. Dealt with the babies, diapers, cereal. But, alas, the kitchen sink. Both sinks full and several inches above sink level full of all the dishes of yesterday. Could we have used all those dishes yesterday? Wash clothes down in the sink and one hanging over the edge (with an entire colony of ants hiding under it - I said I don't like ants, right?!) I would have thought I was gone a weekend or longer. It was impressive. I kept telling myself, it was only a day, it was only a day. A washcloth couldn't have gone rancid in a day.
Ok, most of what I'm feeling is overwhelmed by all of the dirty clothes and camping gear and general whiny pathetic-ness of post road trip depression. But oh what a difference a clean ant-free sink makes to a girl's ability to cope.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Weight loss for moms of toddlers
I'm beginning to think that such a thing does not exist. Unless you just don't mind wasting food. I do. I mind throwing away an entire bowl of raisin bran with freshly poured milk because someone noticed there were miniwheats or cheerios. I mind the 1.5 inch margin of crust with nutella or pbj that had to be abandoned because it wasn't the middle of the sandwich and there was a ball somewhere. I also am vulnerable to half eaten bits of chocolate laying on the table, the first several gulps of root beer because the more I drink, the less they spill, and the cake left behind after the frosting got licked off.
In addition to these temptations, there is also the issue of what they do when I try to do something healthy like walk on the treadmill. I'm on the treadmill, they need to go potty, but they don't "how". Or I'm on the treadmill, and they are pretending the back of the treadmill is a jungle gym. Or I'm on the treadmill and she's sitting on his head and he can't breathe.
These are all hypothetical situations, of course.
Then there are birthdays and holidays. From mid February to Mother's Day, we have either a birthday or holiday nearly every two weeks, just long enough to not set up a pattern of healthy eating long enough to be able to stick to it through a Challenging Event Involving Delicious Food, like Easter, Valentine's Day, a birthday or Mother's Day.
Tonight I went out with a friend for dinner and made a pretty healthy choice, drank water, was on track. I came home and loaded the dishwasher. There were 3.5 toasted raviolis on a plate. I'm not going to let those things just die. My husband worked long hours earning the money to pay for those suckers. My daughter labored for minutes to cook them. There are children starving in Africa for crying out loud. And, yeah, I could have put them in a baggy in the fridge. In fact I did put them in a baggy. Then I got them back out. And I ate them all!
I'm not really trying to excuse my weakness for my kids' food. I know better. Some days I have the will power to be the mom I want to be, to set a good example, to suck down the spinach smoothie at breakfast and go through the effort to make the completely comfortless salad for lunch. Other days, most days, I don't. Some days I reach all the way in and find a trace of the faithfulness of my Maker that He put in me, and I get on the stupid piece of crap treadmill and walk nowhere for 20 or 30 minutes. Some days I don't. Usually because I'm doing something fun like reading really entertaining literature called my kids papers on communism or taking a child to the amusement park we know as the pediatrician's office. Or maybe even because I got to go get the heck drilled out of another molar and have several (ugh) impressions made so they can give me a new expensive tooth to replace the other one I used to have before they drilled the heck out of it.
It just isn't the easiest thing to change. That's all. I'm not good at it sometimes. And right now is one of those times. Not giving up. Fessing up. That's all.
In addition to these temptations, there is also the issue of what they do when I try to do something healthy like walk on the treadmill. I'm on the treadmill, they need to go potty, but they don't "how". Or I'm on the treadmill, and they are pretending the back of the treadmill is a jungle gym. Or I'm on the treadmill and she's sitting on his head and he can't breathe.
These are all hypothetical situations, of course.
Then there are birthdays and holidays. From mid February to Mother's Day, we have either a birthday or holiday nearly every two weeks, just long enough to not set up a pattern of healthy eating long enough to be able to stick to it through a Challenging Event Involving Delicious Food, like Easter, Valentine's Day, a birthday or Mother's Day.
Tonight I went out with a friend for dinner and made a pretty healthy choice, drank water, was on track. I came home and loaded the dishwasher. There were 3.5 toasted raviolis on a plate. I'm not going to let those things just die. My husband worked long hours earning the money to pay for those suckers. My daughter labored for minutes to cook them. There are children starving in Africa for crying out loud. And, yeah, I could have put them in a baggy in the fridge. In fact I did put them in a baggy. Then I got them back out. And I ate them all!
I'm not really trying to excuse my weakness for my kids' food. I know better. Some days I have the will power to be the mom I want to be, to set a good example, to suck down the spinach smoothie at breakfast and go through the effort to make the completely comfortless salad for lunch. Other days, most days, I don't. Some days I reach all the way in and find a trace of the faithfulness of my Maker that He put in me, and I get on the stupid piece of crap treadmill and walk nowhere for 20 or 30 minutes. Some days I don't. Usually because I'm doing something fun like reading really entertaining literature called my kids papers on communism or taking a child to the amusement park we know as the pediatrician's office. Or maybe even because I got to go get the heck drilled out of another molar and have several (ugh) impressions made so they can give me a new expensive tooth to replace the other one I used to have before they drilled the heck out of it.
It just isn't the easiest thing to change. That's all. I'm not good at it sometimes. And right now is one of those times. Not giving up. Fessing up. That's all.
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