“He knew that a hero shouldn’t fear death, but where was the glory in dying for his country and never knowing it.” I first came across Dean Hughes’s Soldier Boys as a student teacher when my… More
A dizzying blur of grey passes by the window as I quickly glance at my eleven-year-old daughter, who occupies the passenger seat on our trek over Monteagle. My children and I are heading to my brother’s for my nephew’s birthday party. A has her laptop perched in her lap, and the faint but determined clicking of keys fills the silence, capturing my attention. A pauses in her typing, and I know she’s critically eyeing her screen, brow raised in contemplation as she scrutinizes her latest sentence.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
“My newest short story.” She pauses for a second then continues, “You know, Mom, I’ve been reading a lot of books, and you know what makes them good?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “They’re full of details and descriptions. The reader can picture it all in her head. I’ve started adding detail to my stories. Listen…..It’s a stormy day. Marigold sits perched on the edge of her bed…..” Continue reading “How Getting Out of the Way Improved My Children’s Learning: The Education of a Homeschooling Mom”
I’m often greeted with mixed responses whenever I mention one particular practice in which my husband and I participate: fasting. “Why would you choose not to eat on purpose?” “I could never do that. I get angry when I’m hungry.” “You’re crazy.” These are just among the top of hundreds of responses I receive to the topic of fasting.
New Year’s Day is not my favorite holiday, if I’m honest. After spending a month preparing for and celebrating the coming of our Savior, we suddenly turn from reflecting on God’s great love and grace and indulging in cheesecake and dark chocolate to this day of self-reflection and self-examination, which for me, always turns into a day of self-loathing. New Year’s Day fills me with a sense of apprehension, this heightened awareness of my shortcomings and failures, a reminder of all those things left unaccomplished from the year before. It’s a day where I’m forced to call myself to the carpet and anxiously await the litany of failed expectations with which I’m certain to berate myself. Continue reading “Great Expectations”
A friend of mine recently lost her job and now faces an uncertain economic future. I have a friend who has decided to courageously fight and overcome an obstacle that has plagued her for years. Another friend has spent weeks in a hospital at her mom’s side, rotating shifts with exhausted family members, balancing the needs of her family with the needs of her mother, not knowing each time she leaves to care for her three children, if it will be the last time she sees her mom alive. My grandmother speaks wistfully of a desire to return to her home, leaving the assisted living facility where she now resides, knowing that her longing will most likely never be fulfilled. My cousin missed her daughter’s college graduation to rush to her father’s side as he fought for his life in a hospital. Today, a dear friend, who had just comforted neighbors who lost their son to suicide, learned that her best friend lost her young daughter in a drowning. I don’t know her friend, but because the experience of motherhood is universal, I wept for her loss because no friend cries alone, no family member cries alone, no mother cries alone.
The coach finishes his post-game pep talk then holds up the coveted game ball. He’s ready to announce tonight’s recipient. I glance at my son, his eyes wide in anticipation. I can almost hear his slow intake of breath, the butterflies of possibility fluttering in his stomach. I’ve been there on pageant stages, at cheerleader tryouts, the waiting to hear your name announced yet knowing deep down it probably isn’t going to happen. C closes his eyes hoping to hear his name. Tonight was his best game of the season, but he plays on a team of standouts, and their plays and displays outshone his. “Tonight’s game ball goes to….” I don’t remember whose name was called; I just know it wasn’t his.
Few things drive me to my knees faster than parenting. I think Satan likes to attack my parenting because it is where I feel most insecure. I’m accustomed to tackling challenges with ease, but parenting leaves me baffled. What works one day prompts disaster the next. Throw a strong-willed child into the mix and boom! Once again, I’m left in the wake picking up the shards of a broken morning.
This July is my fortieth birthday. Forty isn’t a little mile marker on the life highway, it’s one of those big flashing billboards reminding you not to text and drive on the interstate. You might notice it for a moment as you glance up from your smart phone…..the one that didn’t even exist twenty years ago. Forty is one of those birthdays that requires reflection: from where have I come and to where am I going? As I prepare to celebrate in a few months, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to go back and have a chat with my
twenty-year-old self, the one on the brink of jumping into life with both feet, a life full of unknowns but also brimming with promise. What would I say to that naive girl? What wisdom would the 40-year-old version of me impart to that ingenue? So, I decided to create a list of truths I’d like to share with that much-younger me:
I’m not sure how it began. I think it all started with the chaos of moving to a new home in a new city in the middle of a school year. However it commenced, it was clear: my children’s use of electronic devices had gotten out of control.
“Mom, can I play on my i-Pad while you unpack?”
“Mommy, I finished all of my school work; can I play X-box for a little while?”
For two months, I acquiesced because it allowed me to unpack one more box, organize one more closet, and buy one more minute of peace. Before I knew it, my children, particularly my son, were begging for electronic devices on car rides, at dinner, and even attempting to slide them under pillows in case they awoke in the middle of the night. Clearly, we had a problem. Their dependence on smart devices for constant entertainment had even taken a toll on their personalities. My son was moody and jittery when the iPad wasn’t in his hands. Fights ensued over whose turn it was to play X-box. They were rushing through assignments simply to get to tech time. When I finally decided enough was enough and attempted to set limits, I was met with mourning and gnashing of teeth, so I found myself continually giving in because that was easier than the hassle of dealing with the outburst over just saying, “No!”
This is the time of year where I usually reflect on my failed resolutions of the past 365 days, an uplifting berating of my many failings and shortcomings. Most resolutions never live to see me sneaking Valentine conversation hearts from my kids’ stashes. It’s been such a strange and atypical year, though, that I decided to reflect on what the past year has taught me about who I am, flaws and all. Continue reading “New Year Reflections”
I watch helplessly as my daughter rips the cushions from the couch and heaves them to the floor. “I’m not going, and there’s nothing you can do to make me.” She picks up a tray off the coffee table and stares threateningly into my eyes, daring me to move. “Put that down,” I say calmly in my firmest “I mean business” voice. “No!” she says and hurls it at the wall. Before I can respond, she grabs my arm and sinks her teeth into the muscle above my elbow. “Go. Go. Just go to your room and leave me be!” I shout. I sink into the one remaining cushion on the couch and allow the tears to flow. Continue reading “Because Sometimes You Need Help: Parenting a Strong-willed Child”