Dreaming of Feasts

I had a strange dream Wednesday night: I was having everyone over for Sunday dinner after church (roast beef). Everyone got there at the same time. I immediately went to the kitchen when i got home and went to get my bearings in the kitchen. Some ladies followed me in to help. They asked what they could do but as i was puttering in the kitchen i realized that i hadn't taken anything out of the freezer the night before... hadn't prepared a salad... no buns... I was ashamed. I looked in the freezer and it was stocked with plenty...i considered pulling out a salmon but even that was going to take too long. I looked out to the dining room and saw that as soon as everyone had come, they had sat down at the table, forks and knives up, starving, ready to eat. I decided that i would have to cancel and tell everyone to go home. I went to the dining room. As the words started to come out of my mouth i looked around. Everyone was so happy and glad to be there. There was a leftover ham on the table that my mom had brought to add to my meal, buns someone had brought, and tiny plants dripping with perfect tropical tomatoes which were brought by some missionary friends who had come to the dinner. I plucked one off and it was filled with juice like a tiny balloon filled with water. I could see through it and it was red with small slit stripes of yellow on in. The tomato burst in my mouth and was delicious, everyone started eating and there was more and more food. My shame and fear evaporated and i slowly sat down to just enjoy with everyone else the huge feast that I had not prepared. I woke up in a panic and embarrassed about not cooking but as the dream all came back to me, tears choked me. The dream spoke to me on so many levels, in every role i fill. The only job i really had anything to do with was the invitation.

Time Machine

There is something about the pitch black Alberta winter mornings and the smell of fresh snow and ice that go with them mixed with the silence of this part of the country that tugs at my childhood memories. I can remember the frantic rush to get up, washed, dressed, fed and then hurrying to get my layers of poofy winter snow clothes on, my backpack... and then walking the long walk up the lane with a hot chocolate or coffee in my 10 year old hands to keep me warm. We three girls stood at the top of the lane that led to our acreage and talked...or fought... or stared bleary-eyed into the dark morning watching the steam off the tops of our mugs. Waiting for the sound of the little bus to come crunching through the snow around the bend. We would tuck our mugs into the little birdhouse shaped mailbox at the top of the lane, pick up our bags and shuffle through the snow and up the steps of the bus. My best friend Kyla was always there and the windows of the bus were covered in vine patterns of ice. We rode a small country bus of mostly french immersion students so were fairly tight knit. The bus driver would crank 630 CHED which used to be a music station. Whitney Houston, Hewie Lewis and the News, Corey Hart, Duran Duran, Wham...Top 40. Fast forward 24 years... same winter, same smells, same countryside...but my children won't look back out the rear window of any school bus watching their home, mother, baby brother and sister fade into the distance. These dark Alberta mornings make me thankful for the time I get to spend in the company of my children. Such a gift to be in the presence of the ones I love most.

mellowing

13 months after our marriage:

When we brought our first child home from the hospital we were hypnotized. We couldn't sleep for staring at him in the bed between us. I remember both being propped up on one elbow in bed with little Darren sleeping in between us. I looked over at Curt staring at Darren and thought. "This little life is here because of our love for each other!" It was an overwhelming thought. When Darren would cry in the night, we would both get up to watch him nurse and have a change of pants, watch him being burped, watch him watch him watch him... and slowly Curt faded off to sleep. There was nothing *he* could do anyways. He had to get up at 5 am for work. Curt was a light sleeper and the lights being turned on, the crying and the bed jostling as I got in and out was annoying to him. On nights that Darren's colic was on 'high' he would scream for 4 hours at a time. There was no place to go in the tiny farm house we were living in and our attic bedroom was open to every sound. I tried to soothe Darren, I took him to the living room to watch the dark winter night continue on without me, all the while, jiggling Darren, singing, rocking, pacing, patting, massaging his tummy. A few nights Curt dragged his weary old self and walked out the door the 50 paces to his mother's house and slept in the basement. It was impossible for me to not take that personally. It made me feel deserted in those bleary-eyed first months of motherhood.

12 years later...

The other night Wes, our sixth child, now two months old ended a fitful night of sleep. He has been snorkely with a cold lately and it was as if a litter of snorting, slurping, spluttering piglets were writhing in the bed between me and Curt. I got his nose cleaned out as he howled. Finally he latched on and his eyes rolled back in his head as he settled in for another little stretch of milk induced sleep. Through it all, Curt laid there like a rock. No complaints, no movement, determinedly "sleeping". It was as if he were in a locked vault. I had to burst out laughing. If he wanted to sneak over to his mom's nowadays i couldn't care less. My how times have changed. I love the mellowing that the years have produced in both of us...i hope we just keep getting softer in all things. Life and marriage is hard enough... I'm so happy for tenderness to begin spreading it's tendrils all around.

"Siblings Sunday"

My two boys...11 years apart.

My sisters Steph, Paige, and of course me. Four of my kids catching moles together in the chilly morning.

Two of my girls after their X-country races.

Tea parties in the baby room.

A Woman's Guilt Feast--part 2

O.K. I've been getting a lot of comments on the guilt post, through facebook, e-mails or this blog. These guilty suggestions are not all mine... but statements of guilt I've been collecting from women friends...It's not meant to be an exhaustive list. I don't need to tell you what you feel guilty for...Just a little reflective mirror to display all the sticks we beat ourselves with. I believe there is such a thing as healthy shame... but there is also such a thing as unhealthy shame. The verses that follow these statements speaks to both.:


Guilty for eating too many cookies.
Guilty because you quit making cookies with your kids.

Guilty because you aren't the fun mom you wanted to be.
Guilty because you aren't strict enough with your kids.

Guilty because you stayed too long in a bad relationship.
Guilty because you left.

Guilty because your kids aren't involved in enough music, sports, outdoor activities...etc.
Guilty because your family is run ragged with extra-curricular events.

Guilty that you spend too much time away from your family doing something you love.
Guilty that you gave up one of the things you most loved and you don't think you'll ever get it back.

Guilty for working outside the home.
Guilty for staying home and not contributing to the income of the home.

Guilty for public schooling your kids.
Guilty for homeschooling your kids.

Guilty for holding the baby when you should clean.
Guilty for cleaning when you should hold the baby.

Guilty for not taking enough risks in life.
Guilty because you took too many risks.

Guilty because your kids have never been outside their own province, never seen the world.
Guilty because you moved to another country away from all the family.

Guilty for letting someone take advantage of you.
Guilty for not being vulnerable and reaching out to someone in need.


Romans 8:1,2
"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death."


Here is Romans 8: 1-2 again, this time paraphrased by Eugene Petersen in his book "The Message":

"With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.

I'm going to just post this verse all over the house this week, teach it to my kids... lean on it, cling to it, claim it...and let the grace flow down and cover me.

Little Mama's Progress

Curt and I had a long conversation about my post yesterday while laying in bed. He still hasn't read it but for the record, disagrees that what I experience has anything to do with being a perfectionist. I'm still struggling with what to call it then... If I'm not a perfectionist, if that term is to be reserved for truly glistening homes and sticklers, then what am I? This sounds like the playground taunt "I know you are but what am I? haa haa! I guess for now I will settle for "Self pant-kicker with guilt-ridden worrier tendencies". Whatever the case may be, it is the reason that whenever I read "Little Pilgrims Progress" and I get to the part where Christian lays his burden at the foot of the cross, I sob like a lost 3 year old. Nothing like a flood of grace is there?!

perfectionism

I was going to comment along with the last blogs' entries about "guilt" but it started getting long. The root of that kind of guilt is really perfectionism isn't it!? When my mom first started talking about "perfectionism" about 10 years ago, my first thought was "Well that's for sure not me! Just look at my house and the way I dress. I'm definitely not perfect!" I thought perfectionism was an outward thing. Over the years I've learned that it's not about how things look from the outside but what is going on inside the head and heart that determines your level of perfectionism. If you do things well and it still doesn't feel like you did all you could have, should have, would have. If your child is doing his/her best and yet you feel the need to continue pushing...not teaching... pushing. If reality finds it almost impossible to meet your expectations... you are a perfectionist. For me it is most definitely about letting go of perfection not only for myself but for my kids. Whether it be my agonizing over Darren's epilepsy. hah! What will agony do but cause more agony and give him a complex. One of my children struggled with math, another with reading...should i feel like a failure over that? No! Those problems are resolving, but it's taken time. What if it wasn't getting any better? I know I sure didn't perform straight A's all the way through my schooling. How can I expect that from my children? And even if I was a straight A student. Does that mean that my children will be too? Goals are great. I was raised to believe they are necessary and I do have high aspirations for each of my children but when life throws a curve ball, I want to respond in a way that says to my kids "It's o.k....life will go on. It's not the end of the world and you don't have to beat yourself over every difficulty or seeming "failure". Especially as homeschooling moms I think we attach our children's successes and failures to ourselves. (I'll have to blog on this as well I think! hah!-so much to say!) So dangerous for both mother and child. My deepest desire after all isn't that my children would be geniuses, gorgeous, talented, fashionable... or even completely happy. My deepest desire for them is that they would know and LOVE their Heavenly Father and want to please Him... not me... or some horribly high standard they invent to beat themselves with. Life is too precious and short. But God's Grace is "fully sufficient". ;) -j

Guilt

Tonight my husband took the kids out to run errands. All except for baby Wes who was sleeping in his crib. In the silence of the house, Guilt lurked around. Catching me by the sleeve as i passed the messy counters, the crayons and books on the coffee table and the dirty socks someone left for me to pick up. I sat down and played the piano and sang for a good 1/2 hour instead. When the music stopped, guilt peeked in around the corner suggesting that I really should be *organizing* my music, not singing and playing. When I sat down at the computer to read my sisters' blog, Guilt sat next to me and whispered that I really should wake the baby up and hold him as he's only little for so long. Then suddenly the thought struck me that neither my dish washer nor laundry was humming away. Guilty again! When did this unwanted, guest with his heavy baggage come to live with me? Was it when baby # 2 arrived and I let Darren cry while I tended to Carrie's needs the first time? Was it the first time I asked Curt to bring home take-out instead of cooking a meal that I was completely capable of cooking? Maybe, but in all honesty, I think it was even earlier than that....and I think *I* let him in! How many times has he whispered in my ear that my efforts are sub-par... that what I have to offer is not enough, that I could do better but I just "don't"... I think it's time for an eviction notice to go up. Long passed due too. Time for a new reign...a new word to rule my everyday actions. I think i found it too. :) The past few years I've discovered a kind of joy every time I hear the word "adequate". My dad does not share my affinity for the word as it's most often used to mean "unexceptional" or "nothing to write home about" or better yet, "minimal". I can understand his aversion to the word and yet...:) There is another side to this word. In Latin studies today we studied it's root "ad". It means "to, toward; near, next to". The part of the word "-equate" comes from the word "aequus" which means "level, even, flat." Put together they mean "even with or equal to". What is done is "equal to" what is needed. My super-old dictionary defines the word as "fully sufficient". Hmmmm. I would love to be described as "fully sufficient", to feel like what I do is enough. What i accomplish in the day is fully sufficient... it is enough... it is just what is needed. No pressure for more or less. It is enough. In fact, my thesaurus gave me even more joy as I read these synonyms:
plenty
suitable
fit
proportionate
ample
competent
able
capable
up to snuff
contentment
completeness
satisfaction
thoroughness

I don't need to be "more"... I don't want to be "less"... I just want to be "enough".
It may sound weird but GOODBYE GUILTY AND HELLO ADEQUACY! Welcome home.

Eating like a Roman Soldier

Yesterday we started "The Story of the World---History for the Classical Child". I bought the C.D so had it running while we were all around the table working on the map and coloring work that went with the story. Suddenly, 1/2 way through the lessons, Curt came exploding through the back door and announced "I'm going to pick up a billy goat!! Who wants to come!!??" Books were slammed shut, pencils thrown in the general direction of the pencil box and the C.D. droned on telling the story of the rise and fall of Rome... I looked around at the empty table thinking "Thanks alot 'principal Curt"!... and then smiled. We have a fun principal. :) Anyways, today we finished off the lesson and decided to do the cooking ideas that went with it. We were to cook our food over a fire-pit and eat with our hands like the Roman Soldiers. It's a little chilly to be cooking over an open fire so i decided to use the oven. I had frozen ziplock bags full of meatballs in the freezer to sent Darren to bring me 6 of them. He cut up some potatos, grabbed a bag of carrots and mushrooms from the fridge and i pulled out alluminum foil to make packages for their food. Darren helped each of the other kids to load up their alluminum foil with food, sprinkle it with salt and pepper and a bit of butter and then we sealed them and marked them. Half and hour in the oven at 400, and lunch was served. I got Carrie to dress up a pizza crust from the freezer just in case. (Oh me of little faith!) They loved it. Carrie offered to make it for breakfast tomorrow morning and every little bit was eaten up... and so was the pizza! This afternoon we are making Roman columns out of sugar cookie dough and then coming in like the Goths and Huns...etc Barbarians to destroy Roman rule... and of course eat all the cookies. I think I will like this new program but I may not lose my baby weight too quickly! eeek!--j

The Truth About Homeschooling

The truth about homeschooling:



You will have to answer math questions from the bathtub,

while changing poopie diapers,

while making dinner,

while helping someone else with reading,

while folding laundry.


You will quickly realize that you forgot everything you learned in school... and then re-learn it as you teach. Some days you will be certain that you are the only one learning anything--you're not.


In a desperate attempt to still be able to do some of the things you loved to do most, you will force your children to do them with you. (Playing the piano, reading your bible and singing alone becomes "worship time" all together. Quilting becomes "sewing lessons".)


Your kids will pick up your bad habits and cause you to think about your own character daily. For every child this is multiplied over again. Some days you will feel like a failure-- You're not.


"Me Time" is that moment when you take the crumby tablecloth out the back door to shake it out and the chilly winter air hits you like a fresh kiss.

You will have to lock yourself in the bathroom on occasion to carry on a private phone conversation. When you come out crying they will say "Where were you for so long! Darren's bugging everyone, Sadie is eating all the Halloween candy and Robin's not doing her work!!" You will suck up your tears and get on with it.

There is no such thing as a sick day.

.........

Your children become each others' best playmates, give each other nick names, call each other "buddy", spend every school day (together) making memories (together).

You will be the one to teach your child to read fluently. As you sit together on the couch, she will hold the book with one hand and rest the other on your belly so she can feel her baby brother kick inside when she gets words right. When he kicks she'll stop reading, look up at you and say. "He likes when I read to him." You will fall in love with your roll as a mother all over again.

When your child comes to you and says "I need a hug." You will be the one to melt in it, no matter what time of the day it is.


When it's blistery, blizzardy, snowing and dark on a school day, you don't have to drive anywhere....or call the school to see if it's in session or send your children out into the darkness of the Alberta dawn to wait for the bus. You get to announce a hot chocolate morning and make popcorn snacks during lessons and be a hero.

When your child is struggling with something, "the class" won't move on without her. She is "the class." and you can slow down to accommodate her. When she is gifted, she won't have to wait for the class to catch up. She can work ahead of her "grade".

When your child falls in love with a subject, there is freedom to explore it for months.


When your 3 year old wants someone to play with, her siblings are home and there are lots of options for playmates throughout the day.

When your husband decides to go fishing, horseback riding, fencing, pick up sheep, hunting, with the kids, you don't have to pull your kids out of school lessons. Those become the school lessons.

When the vet comes over to castrate the stallion, perform an ultrasound on a horse, or a biopsy on a cancerous tumor on a horse and he finds out that you homeschool, he offers more information and demonstration than you could imagine....or want. :)

You get to decide what is important... and teach it.

You will see your children try.... and fail... and succeed, you will try... and fail... and succeed. You will be prideful some days, defeated others.


People will attack you publicly for your decision to teach your own children at home. Other people will heap praise. You'll be comfortable with neither....But you'll come to really enjoy and value your children, your home, and your role in it all.

Reflection

Sadie (3 yrs) : "Mom, can you put Starfall on the computer for me?"

I look up. Her short index finger is firmly lodged up her left nostril to the 3rd sticky knuckle... probably scratching her brains.

I shove my finger up my nose and answer her. "Sure Sadie, I'd love to do that."

Her finger flies out of her nose in shock. "MOM!!!!" Then a huge grin crosses her face. "Don't pick your nose Mom!" "Oh, okay."

Potty Training "Joys"

Potty training has always been my LEAST favorite parenting task. Luckily I had 2 who trained themselves early, but i did have 2 others who were horrendously hard. Sadie, my 5th baby started potty training not last summer but the summer before. She was about 17 months and so excited and eager, telling me she had to "go". This went on till her 3rd birthday!!!

This is such a crazy picture of her because she had banged her eye the week this pic was taken... plus it looks like she had eaten a few markers seconds before the shot too. The older kids made her an outhouse complete with baby potty and stuffed it in the hole made for the dishwasher we didn't have. I'm sure her sucking the markers happened during the making of the outhouse. :) They attached a measuring cup for a handle with a twist tie and it was Sadie's favorite place for a long time. She has been my longest potty trainer. For you mom's out there discouraged. I thought I would post 2 of the posters that gave me a boost to not take it all too seriously during those long months of training. Sadie suddenly trained for both day and night just after her 3rd birthday. I am so relieved, and she is so proud. Anyways, here are the posters that lightened my mood. If you're having problems potty training your child, print these off and post them in your bathroom. You can read them to yourself every time you are sitting there in the washroom waiting for your tiny one's performance and smile to yourself. Don't sweat the small stuff. It'll come. ;)-j

My Girl Carrie

This is Carrie in her Robin Hood outfit. She likes "Much", Robin's side-kick from the BBC's version of Robin Hood. She made the mocassins herself from a kit and the bow from a twig and baler twine. It works. :)


This is Carrie tying 15 horse hairs together at a time while making her Sioux war bonnet.

When Carrie was born she was so sweet and dainty looking. As she grew, she wore braids every day in her white long hair and pink dresses. On Sunday's we would take the braids out and give her a fancy hair-do with the "POOF" left by the braids. Then one day she decided that her new name would be "Clevin the Clown" She wore a clown suit every day and would draw pictures of herself as "Clevin" and leave them on a tiny white board outside of her room with hearts. We would leave a message back to her. "I love you Clevin." Suddenly Clevin's name changed to "Cloven", then "Cloovin"... and then one day she told us that Clevin had died...the fad was over. Then came a pair of shorts...they were her favorite fashion statement for 2 summers. Her closet became emptier and emptier as she grew out of things but did not want me to buy her anything else... her shorts would do....even during the homeschooling winter. We started fiddle lessons in the city and her French Canadian teacher sported an engineer hat. She loved it so i got her one for 3$ in the city... That hat was snatched off of her head so many times over the course of 2 years by teasing cousins but she loved it... It was in 2 years worth of school pictures. The summer of '07, we threw a "Cowboy Camp" for all the cousins. We did hay rides, lantern making, we made herbal medicines over the fire. We went canoeing, had an archery competition, music nights... and even one scary moment when a villain on a dark horse, shooting wildly from his horse and yelling, kidnapped Grampsie from the campfire. ( Our niece Mollen still does not like Curt.) It was a lot of fun crammed into a few days. One of the things we had set up was Curt's outfitters tent with a huge cardboard poster listing Indian names that they could all choose from with their meanings. I didn't realize how much Carrie would fall in love with certain aspects of Native culture. She named each person in our house with a Cree name, telling them their meaning and still to this day refers to them by these names. (The other day, my 3 year old informed someone at church that her name was "Tatiopa" meaning "Happy Hostess"...They looked at me and said "What did she say!??") She signs her own Cree name everywhere. All this past summer she wore clothes she considered to be "Native", and wore huge turkey feathers in her hair that she found in the turkey pen. This fall, when i told the kids they would be doing a research report on Russia (which we were studying) all she wanted to write about was "The Blackfoot Indians"...I let her. She requested that we bring Curt's bear skin into her room. Every night after that we found her sleeping on the bearskin on her floor, no blankets. She told us we could take her bed out of her room as she didn't need it. If we wanted, we could set up a tipi instead! :) Today, as I was carefully mending a pair of pants that have been worn by Carrie for about 8 months straight now, i wondered if she would be the same person had we not chosen to home school... would she still feel free enough to wear the same clown suit, shorts, hat, brown outfit every day with turkey feathers in her hair? (probably not at school) Or would she feel drawn to common fads? Would she still be interested so deeply in certain topics so that she was motivated to read and study about them on her own... or would she be tired at the end of a long school day? The latest fad, mixed into the "everything Native" fad is now "Robin Hood". And time marches on!! What a great childhood! Homeschooling rocks. I didn't realize when i started how much of a difference it makes but I'm loving what it's bringing to our children, to our home, and to my experience as a Mama.

Counting

My sister Paige blogged the other day about counting her son's first steps. She had reached the number 66 while counting and her question was "Do I quit counting now?" Counting those chubby legged steps is so exciting. Throughout life we count up... to things like those 66 steps. The amount of years we were married, the number of meals we've made, the number of times we've moved etc. We count down to babies' due dates, Christmas celebrations, holidays birthdays etc. I've counted years that have passed since horrible events and years into the future to see how old I will be when my youngest is 10. The other day my son Darren had another seizure. As i watched him fade from chaos into sleep with wide-eyed non-responsive calm in between, the thought struck me... "This is something I don't want to count anymore." I'm done... but he's not.

Fabulous Blogger Award

Paige tagged me...and I love a good game of tag....as long as i don't have to run too much or be hit...now that i think of it... i like hide and seek better but here goes anyways... i will still play.
Here are the rules to receiving this award:
You have to pass it on to 5 other fabulous bloggers in a post.
You have to list 5 of your fabulous addictions in the post.
You must copy and paste the rules and the instructions below in the post.
On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them.
Sooooo... here goes... (in whatever order... schmozzle as usual)
1.) I am horribly addicted to Facebook... now that's embarrassing! But most of my family lives in other provinces so that's my fabulous excuse.

2.) I am fabulously addicted to children's books, music, stories, movies, ummm even commercials that make me cry....they HAVE to make me cry though. It's actually not that hard. A Ford truck commercial got me once when they showed a large barrel falling in slow motion into the dirty flatbed... you knew that truck was just going to be able to take the manly blow when the barrel finally hit... and then the music started "...Like a ROCK!!!" Large heaving *sobs*...touching.
3.) I am addicted to Bio Oil. After 6 children, anything that gives me even a shred of hope that it can ameliorate the look of my "fabulous" stretch marks deserves to be an addiction.
4.) I am addicted to the idea of living off the land and *I* love making

cowboy medicine from plants found in nature. (I read that over and then put in the *I* It read a little different than i hoped it would. A little Freudian)
5.) (I'm stealing this one from Paige because after all we came from the same womb and MUST have at least ONE addiction that is shared) : I love my piano. Gives me an outlet for joy, pain & all that's in between & to express my gratitude to God ~ who is, by the way, the best One to be addicted to...
So to tag, i choose: my sister Stephanie, Jen, & Cairo, Aaaannnnnd, anyone else who feels like it since i haven't got the brains yet to figure out how to tag anyone else... If you know i read your blog, consider yourself TAGGED.

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives Together!

Here is what it looks like at breakfast time. Uncle Neil was stealing snuggles from 3 girls. One from each family. :) When it's time to pray for the meal, starting to sing is the easiest way we've found to get everyone's attention... no whistling, no yelling to add to the noise level, and everyone joins in. It's a great tradition. Paige's family sometimes leads in singing the "Johnny Appleseed Prayer". It's fun and fast and lists everything on the table. Steph's family has added "Dona Nobis Pachem" to the singing prayers which fittingly means "give us peace" in latin. But tradition seems to usually call for "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow".