Community (and the Improvement of my Mind by Extensive Reading)

This week I blew through the Mother-Daughter Book Club series by Heather Vogel Frederick. You may not have a thing for YA lit, but seriously, they were so cute. And I actually learned new things as well! Which was beyond fun for me. The Man mocked me endlessly for reading books about people reading books, but if you have a pre-teen to teenage girl, pick these up for them. I will for sure be reading these to Bee when she gets a bit older.

My favorite thing about these books (other than all the fantastic lit references and the adorable young love towards the end of the series--true confession) was the community that they detailed. The titular mother-daughter book club ends up becoming so much more than that, as the families grow together and support each other through moves, weddings, deaths, fights, lost jobs, and more (in fact, it got me thinking about this article on community in Gilmore Girls).

In book 5, as the girls are reading their way through the Betsy-Tacy books, they start talking about how they have a "Crowd", a group of people that they hang out with regularly. And in truth, most of them have all grown up in Concord and known each other since kindergarten so the Crowd was pretty easy to come by. They add a few newbies as the books progress, but the core group is together for years.

I found myself wondering what that would feel like.

I grew up as a Third Culture Kid, and the town where I lived was where everyone came to do language school. My sisters and I would make friends, and they would leave a year later. We had long term friends, but most of them were also long distance friends. Even in high school, the friends that we made graduated and left for college in the US, Korea, Australia, or Europe. There were seasons of my life where I had a Crowd, similar to the girls in the MDBC, but they were short lived.

I'm now a military wife. We make friends, and then we move. Some of the friendships last, and some die the natural death of inevitable separation. Some would argue that this enables community without cliquishness and stagnation. It can also be a great way to get out of relationships that just aren't very fun any more (you can decide for yourself if that's a good thing or a bad--I lean towards the latter).

I'm not sure exactly where I stand on the spectrum of short term/long term community. I do know that I walked away from the MDBC books feeling a tad nostalgic for my old high school Crowd (however short lived it was) as well as for the various friends who have been community for us with each move. I also started praying more for my own children and the friends they will have.

Admittedly, some of this was already on my mind because we keep collecting extra boys in our house. They play legos together and watch baseball and tolerate the twins...and I've been having flash forwards to the teenage years when our couch is covered in sweaty boys yelling at the TV and Bee ends up with a crush on one of Little's friends. I'm not ready for that yet.

So yeah, community. And mother-daughter book clubs. Giving me more to think about. What do you find are the benefits of long v short term community? Was there a time in your life that lent itself more handily to running with a Crowd? Do you find it easy to collect community by organized means (book clubs, church attendance, sports teams, etc.) or do you think it needs to happen organically?

:: Pictured above and read in the last couple weeks: Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout (not my favorite--I found it depressing though well written; it still made me want to move to Maine), The Truth According to Us by Annie Barrows (beautifully written with fantastic characters, a good mystery, and some great history), Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell (entertaining but typical of Rowell's secular world view), and Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson (a must read, especially with your pre-teen to teenagers when studying the Civil Rights movement). No pictures of the MDBC books because our library only had books 1 and 6, and I had to buy all the rest on Kindle--seriously, the Man is a saint for supporting my book habit. There's a peek at book 1, the original Mother-Daughter Book Club (already returned to the library) in Bedtime Reading. ::

The Beatles, the Bible, and Discharging Bowels

There are a lot of great stories in the Bible (and a couple really creepy ones--let's be honest), but one of my all time favorites is found in the book of Judges, chapter 3 to be precise. It's the story of Ehud, and if you're having trouble pronouncing that correctly, just sing this with me to the tune of "Hey, Jude":

Eh, Hude...
Don't be so shy,
Take your left hand
And go and stab that guy...

I realize it's not precise, but you get the picture. Also, there is no "y" sound at the end of the "eh". Just so you can rest assured that you are saying it perfectly. I don't want it to keep you up at night.

At any rate, here's the story. Succinctly, and if you want the longer version, you know where to find it (Judges 3!). Israel rebelled against God. God delivered them over to the Moabites. Israel repents and cries out for mercy. God sends Ehud, whose defining characteristic is that he is left handed.

Ehud, strapping his sword on his right side, goes to deliver Israel's tribute to the king of Moab, a morbidly obese man named Eglon. Ehud tells Eglon that he has a secret message for him (sneaky, right?), and when Eglon sends all of his attendants out of the room, Ehud whips out his hidden sword and stabs him in the gut. He stabs him so deeply that his sword disappears into Eglon's fat and Eglon expires after literally pooping his pants. Ehud then escapes out the window while Eglon's thoughtful attendants wait outside the room for an embarrassingly long time, assuming that Eglon is busy using a chamber pot. Ehud then rallies the Israelites, and they soundly defeat the Moabites leading to an 80 year peace.

Now, you could say that this is my favorite Bible story (one of my favorites...) because I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy, and that would be at least partially correct. But the other reason is that I love how it shows that our perceived weaknesses or oddities (in Ehud's case, being left handed--which isn't a big deal now but probably was then) are often what God uses to advance his purposes.

Ehud is a very colorful, very vivid example of how God uses the things that we think make us "less" to change the world. It is rarely our strengths that come into play because then pride is a very small step away. Instead, God uses the weak, the ugly, and the frowned upon to bring about beauty.

If only we could be brave enough, vulnerable enough, to put our weaknesses to good use for His purposes...

The one on the far right would've made a great Ehud.
He could've hidden the sword in his hair, though, instead of strapping it to his thigh.
This was pre-haircut.
Sadly, the Man never approved Ehud from our name list.
It was not for lack of trying on my part.

The Vanquishing of the Hair

This was the week of the haircut.

Finally, the Man and I agreed that Bruiser's hair had crossed the line: we either said goodbye forever to his eyes and ears (and neck) or headed into man bun territory...or did the dreaded choppy chop. Bruiser was adamantly against a trim of any kind, but grudgingly agreed to allow me the use of my scissors (but no clippers!). He did not, however, agree to sit still, so he ended up looking a good deal like Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber.

Pre-haircut dream boat. And sister.

It was late, and I gave up and put him in bed, assuring myself that it would look better in the morning. But when we couldn't get through breakfast without bursting into peals of hysterical laughter, we pulled out the clippers.

Bruiser was dismayed, but he rallied when he realized that the clippers sounded like a bumblebee. Bumblebees are fun (until they sting you). Unfortunately, even bumblebees couldn't stop him from getting his hair tugged accidentally. Then: meltdown. You don't need to know anything other than our next door neighbor stuck her head out to make sure no one was dying.

At any rate, it feels like we have an all new kid. In fact, I did a double take when I picked him up from child care after church because, seriously, I barely recognize him without his formerly flowing locks.

Naturally, this has made me think of Samson...which puts the Man and me in the position of Delilah? Sadly, we do not seem to have stolen the strength of Bruiser's vocal cords, which still produce ear splittingly awful shrieks for a whole array of moods.

Thinking about Samson, however, reminded me of my favorite Bible story, which I have been asked to divulge.  I'm not going to write about it now because I just told you that fabulous story about Bruiser's haircut, and I don't want to overwhelm you with awesome.

Instead, I'll leave you with a fantastic picture of Mohawk Tiny and wish you a happy Monday with many less traumatic haircuts to come!

In Which the Allergies Runneth Over

It has been the week of allergies. I am still in denial because I don't have allergies, but now that I'm on an allergy medication as well as two different eye drops, I think I should acknowledge the truth and move on.

Let me just say: to all of you courageous people who have played off the line, "It's just allergies", I salute you. Because I believed you--and allergies are the worst.

I really dislike not being able to see out of one eye because it's burning like the fires of Mordor (nerd reference for the win) and won't stop leaking tears down my face. It makes driving annoying and reading near impossible. While I don't mind the Man chauffeuring me around every where and thankfully have most of the twins' books memorized so I can "read" with my eyes closed, I can't recite The Wind in the Willows verbatim to the boys and would really like to know how my own novel ends.

Perhaps it's made even worse by the fact that for five minute periods I feel better and am thoroughly enjoy feeling better only to find myself streaming tears again and hiding from sunshine like a vampire. Allergies, man, they're hard.

At the very least, the Man and I have now officially crossed Texas off of our Retirement Potentials list (because I won't reward Texas pollen with my presence), which only leaves 49 states and the rest of the world to decide between. I may have allergies, but I'm still winning.

That's my foot on the right.
I'm surviving allergy season by napping on any flat surface available while the
kids joyously trash the house. It's working well for us,
and the teddies and babies are enjoying a surplus of clean diapers.

One Moment

My sister told me on the phone today that there was a moment this week when she and her kids were coming home, their hands full of wildflowers they had picked, her eldest son racing down the hill on his scooter, when she just wanted to slow down and grab hold of the memory with both hands so that she wouldn't forget how perfect it was.

Isn't it interesting how those moments happen in the middle of the mundane, and if we're not careful, we miss them?

Last day of first grade...or kindergarten...we aren't quite sure.

There's something about them--the quality of the light, the way the air holds its breath, the stillness between seconds--and we try to take a picture with our minds so that we can hold onto the moment, remember its every detail, replicate it in our mind even years from now.

We won't be able to. Memory is fickle, and we know that. And the very fact that these perfect moments happen in the middle of our every day makes them that much harder to grasp.

This kid...

It's one moment, maybe a glancing smile exchanged with my husband while the kids laugh around the dinner table, maybe pudgy arms wrapped around my neck accompanied by a tiny kiss on my cheek, maybe my hand reaching down to pet the dog in the middle of the night--and I squeeze my eyes shut and try to memorize everything about it, knowing that tomorrow it will be blown off into the wind like dandelion fluff.

Finally, I just give thanks and pray that God will help me remember. Because I know that the things that make a life are not the Pinterest moments or the well-planned birthdays or the perfectly executed vacations (not that there is anything wrong with those things). A life is made up of a string of moments, one after another after another.

I brush the hair off of sleeping eyelashes. One moment.
I read as the sun sets, an arm around each boy. One moment.
I push the swing higher to the music of shrieking giggles. One moment.
I hold the Man's hand while we drive. One moment.

Tomorrow there will be new moments to replace them--some good, some not so good. I say thank you. And remember...as best as I possibly can.

Bucket Lists and Babies

I hit a major goal on my bucket list this week. I feel like I should write about that because it was kind of a big deal for me, but also because I think sometimes we need to remind others that there is life after kids.

When I first found out I was pregnant with the Little Man, I thought my life as I knew it was over. In my hormone crazed mind, all my dreams were suddenly placed on the back burner, and I was no more than a receptacle for a child. Seven years and a little sanity later, to a certain extent, yeah, it was kind of like that. But really, not at all. Because while there are seasons when all I do is kids, I never stop being me, and the things that make me Marian never disappear. I might have less time for the things that once defined me, but they are not suddenly negated.

So if you're a new mom reading this (or a mom who's just had kid number two or three or four), take heart. I know having a new baby can feel overwhelming. You're stuck in a world of breastfeeding or bottles, spit up, runny poop, endless diapers, and an ever changing nap time. And you have graciously, sacrificially, lovingly set aside your own wants to care for this tiny being who is completely helpless. The days are very, very long...mostly because you never get to sleep any more so they stretch on into what was supposed to be tomorrow.

But the newborns grow up. And you will read books again and go to coffee shops and have the occasional uninterrupted conversation (though that will still be rare because hello, you have kids). You will find the time to exercise. You will go shopping (if that's your thing) and buy something other than unscented wipes and new pacifiers. You will fix your hair and do more than survival make up. You will wear jeans that fit again.

You will remember what it feels like to be you.

Not the you from before. That you has now deepened and broadened (especially around the hip area). There are parts of you that will be recognizable, aspects of your personality that will be greeted like old friends, but parts that will surprise you too. You still like running, but suddenly you have a taste for guacamole too.

This weekend I ran my first half marathon. I was surprised that my bladder nearly gave out on me--darn you, twinnancy! And that I had as much fun running it as I did. And that the sight of my children and husband cheering me on, first at mile ten and then at the finish line, about brought me to tears. But the running part felt very familiar, like getting back a piece of me that's been on hold through multiple pregnancies.

So I just wanted to say, I did it. And you can too. I don't know what's on your dream sheet. Maybe not running until you about pee your pants and your toenails want to fall off. Maybe it's going back to school. Maybe it's learning a new hobby. Maybe it's just figuring out how to do a Dutch braid. And right now you feel so overwhelmed and think that you're never going to do more than survive all the wonderful children God has given you.

Take heart. It may not be this season, but it could be the next. Our kids grow up so fast, and our bucket lists aren't going anywhere. Then again, one of the women who came in before me was pushing a running stroller with her very young baby in it and she was trucking so...some people are just super awesome and don't have to wait. You could try that route too. For the rest of us, solidarity: our bucket lists will still be there when the newborn smell has worn off.

This is after I availed myself of the port-a-potties.
Didn't the Man do a great job getting all the kids ready?
He even color coordinated them and got a bow in Bee's hair!

Bedtime Reading

Bedtime reading is sacred in our home. This week we've been straying from the more traditional written word and enjoying the challenge of I Spy Treasure Hunt with photographs by Walter Wick and riddles by Jean Marzollo. I love the I Spy books, and so do the kids. We've found several of them (including a Christmas themed board book that has been read to oblivion), and this one has been fun times for all. 

Unfortunately, this week, Littles decided to unscrew the lightbulb from his table lamp...and then Bruiser promptly shattered it...and I'm too lazy to change a lightbulb...so we've been trying to find all the little hidden items by the light of the dusky sunlight that makes it through the window or the blindingly awful over head light. We've loved the challenge. Bedtime has gone a little late as we've gotten sucked into finding that one last item.

Last night after we finally gave up on I Spy (and probably destined the boys for a lifetime of glasses), I tucked the boys in bed, strapped on the Man's handy headlamp, and read them a chapter of The Wind in the Willows. It was so cozy, and it just happened to be the chapter where Mole gets lost in the Wild Wood, which was deliciously appropriate for reading in the dark. Tiny got very sucked in. Me too.

Some of my favorite reading happens in bed. There are few things more enjoyable than curling up against a stack of pillows with a good book and a warm blanket. There's also something thrilling about hiding under the sheets with a flashlight because you don't want Mom to catch you. Or, in my case, don't want to disturb your husband by keeping the lamp on. 

Lately, the Man and I have been letting Littles stay up with the headlamp and a book for another half an hour or so after getting tucked into bed. We feel that this is a time honored tradition which is just part of the joy of being in a reading family. However, this evening, I came up to lay down the law over bed time with the twins (again) and discovered that Bee is also delving into the world of reading under the sheets. She had handily picked out a Dr Seuss book and was more than a little proud of herself. It got confiscated after this picture.

So, what about you? What have you been reading in bed lately? I've been sampling some Annie Barrows, but when I was a kid I typically stayed up late with L.M. Montgomery, Brian Jacques, and Robin McKinley. So far Littles is tending more towards Beverly Cleary and Roald Dahl.