rolling up our sleeves and saying yes

On Sunday Liam wanted a job to do. I suggested he and Elliott wash the car. And they did, with gusto.

When they were nearly finished, Liam asked me for the keys.

“Why do you need the keys?” I asked.

“To open the roof,” he said matter of factly.

“No, honey,” I said. “Not while you’re washing the car.”

“But, mom,” he pleaded. “I can’t get the roof clean!”

I wasn’t following him and my impulse was to just shut him down. I’m the mother after all. Water is being sprayed with a hose. Soapy rags are being tossed about. The car interior will surely get wet. Not a good plan.

I held my breath and resisted the urge to blurt out my mantra, “No. Not today.”

But we were having a good day and I say that far too often.

“Explain to me what you want to do.”

So we made an agreement. Hose off, shoes off. I opened the sunroof and Liam rose up through the open space and proudly went to work scrubbing the roof.

I say no a lot. It's practically become a reflex. But lately I've been seeing it for what it often really is —the easy way out.

I don’t want to clean up your messes, so “no.” I don’t want to risk the possibility of injury or accident, so “no.” I don’t want you (or me) to look silly, so “no.” I don’t want to spend the time, so “no.” I don’t want to think about this anymore, so “no.”

I have written about the importance of saying yes a couple of times—how much good it does for a child’s creativity and how much joy and pride it can elicit in a child who has been given a privilege or a responsibility. The problem for me is that saying yes doesn’t get any easier.

I still don’t want to clean up the messes or look silly or spend the time. I’m prone to laziness in this department. Plus, saying no makes me feels like I’m in charge.

But on May 11, 2004, I was blessed with a son who is not easily controlled, and not because he’s defiant or rebellious, but because he’s smart and compelling and a very skilled negotiator. He’s a risk taker and an inventor and very much his own person. He doesn’t happily take no for an answer.

I could squash him, and let me tell you, I have and I do. But this weekend he turned eight and as he stood with a sopping rag in hand asking to take his job to the next level, I saw that it may be time to try yes.

In her excellent new parenting memoir MOMumental: Adventures in the Messy Art of Raising a Family, Jennifer Grant devotes a chapter to saying “yes.” Through story and anecdote she reinforces the importance of letting out the lead and allowing a child to make his own decisions, especially as he gets older. She ends the chapter with this quote from playwright Jean Anouilh in his drama Antigone, “To say yes, you have to roll up your sleeves and plunge both hands into life up to the elbows.”

Not the flippant, thoughtless, "you finally wore me down," "get out of my hair" kind of yes, but the kind that's risky and messy. The kind that requires surrender. The kind that opens the door to really living.

My son reminds me daily that we have many chances to roll up our sleeves and plunge both hands into life. All it requires is a yes.

grumble hallelujah

We are in a financial mess. Creditors call us daily. I don’t even open the medical bills anymore. Our mortgage is late again, and I don't know how we're going to pay it. And I can’t believe I’m writing this for anyone to see. But if I’ve learned anything from reading Caryn Dahlstrand Rivadeneira’s book Grumble Hallelujah: Learning to Love Your Life Even When It Lets You Down, it’s that my honesty just might help someone else feel less alone.

Now knowing firsthand how it feels to be released from the terrible prison of embarrassed isolation (which involved, I’m not embarrassed to say, a lot of tears), I’m willing to accept the ridicule and pity for telling you this awful news about our life. But somehow I doubt it’s coming. Because I bet you have awful news about your life, too.

Your situation may not look like mine, but it’s probably equally distressing and painful, or maybe even worse. It might be something that keeps you up at night or causes you to cry yourself to sleep. Or maybe you’re just working really, really hard to ignore it. As Caryn’s book so poignantly points out, none of us get the lives we thought we were supposed to have.

While reading, it occurred to me that every person I know has something in their past, present or (sorry to say) future that they never asked for, something that leads (or will lead) them to say, “This isn’t the life I signed up for.” An unhappy marriage, a spouse with depression or addiction, infertility or miscarriage, the death of a child or a husband, divorce, a disabled or mentally ill child, a career in the tank, bankruptcy, broken relationships, abuse, cancer. I don’t know one single person who has a perfect life. Do you?

And, yet, how hard we work to make it appear otherwise.

Most people who know me would probably say that I’m a pretty happy person. I find the positive in most any situation. I care for people. I love my family dearly. I follow Jesus. But what most people don’t know is that I live with this big pile of ick.

I try to keep all the yucky stuff—the debt, the bills, the worry, the fear—stuffed in a can, but it keeps sloshing over, seeping into the beautiful parts of my life. And it makes me angry and scared and really embarrassed.

I once told a close friend who knows the ugly truth about my life that one of my greatest fears is dying and knowing that people I love will discover the depth of our financial mess. How sad is that? But something in me wants to hide at all costs. Somehow we’ll come out of this and regain the life I’ve always wanted, I think. No one needs to know.

And yet, as I sat blurry-eyed, reading Caryn’s book, I realized this approach benefits no one, especially the one trying to hold the lid on the can.

In the pages of her book, Caryn shares the bitter truth—this brokenness is your life. But, thankfully, that’s just Chapter One. The other fourteen chapters are helping me learn what to do with my struggle and see how my life was meant to be lived, and loved. I am discovering that I need to grieve the fact that this was not the way my life was supposed to be, to release my expectations about how my life should look, to spit out my envy and anger at the ease with which others seem to live, to stop worrying that my shameful-feeling secret is going to influence others’ opinion of me, to die to this “should be” life I’ve imagined and, instead, to allow God’s light to shine through my imperfections and struggle.

If I could, I would give this book to all of my friends and family members who need to grieve over the fact that their lives aren’t turning out as planned. Loved ones who are experiencing distressing circumstances or painful losses. People who need to know they are not alone and that God wants their hallelujahs, even if they’re grumbled. Because when we’re courageous enough to cry out and give thanks even in our lowest times, God’s in the business of turning our lives into something beautiful. And that is reason enough to find our voice and stop pretending.

the book this fearless idealist read with a lump in her throat

I am an idealist. A positive thinker. A glass-is-half-full girl. Because of or in spite of the fact that many “worst fears” have been realized in my life—my parents divorcing, giving birth to a developmentally challenged child, experiencing serious financial difficulties—I am not afraid of much. I am pretty sure I was born this way.

I am also pretty sure I was born to be a mother. The oldest of 20 grandchildren, I took on the role naturally and gladly acted it out in family reunion skits or playing house in my grandparents’ basement. I was sure I would have at least four kids, no problem. Marrying at 34, however, has made this dream unlikely, at least as one who births all of her children. And, so, the idea of adoption grips my heart.

My husband has known even more “worst fears” in his lifetime. The child of alcoholic parents who never wanted him and ultimately abandoned him, he, too, is a fearless idealist. And a man who dreamed for years about the family he would create someday, the one that might very possibly include an adopted child.

Some people who love us worry. They know parents for whom adoption didn’t work out so well. They know we struggle financially. They know our littlest has had a host of medical issues.

But we are not naïve. We are hopeful. We believe that when God puts a call in your heart, you just can’t ignore it. We live with no regrets and we certainly aren’t going to start racking them up now.

In her new book Love You More: The Divine Surprise of Adopting My Daughter, author Jennifer Grant (a new friend I am just learning to know) understands this longing. She writes, “the idea of adopting a child lingered in me like a song you cannot get out of your head.”

Although Jen’s story, in many ways, exudes this same kind of fearless idealism, she was not naïve about the challenges of adoption. In this intimate, beautifully written book she shares tender and devastating stories, including the agonizing wait to bring Mia home, her older daughter Isobel’s painful adjustment to her mom’s divided attention and Mia’s gut-wrenching sadness over missing the birth mother she never even knew.

I love that Jen acknowledges that adoption is not for everyone and that good intentions are not a good enough reason to travel this road. But for those who feel a tug to grow their families and stretch their hearts, adoption can be an incredible gift for everyone involved.

In the year or so that we have been looking into adoption, especially when we've begun doubting its feasibility, the most amazing little prompts and signposts have shown up, in the form of new friends with adopted children, cousins on the same journey and this wonderful book of Jen's. We're slow but God isn't giving up on us. I just know I'm going to thank him for that.

food rules

One of the best take-aways this past weekend was my grandma's recipe box. Because it is such a treasure, I will be scanning all of her handwritten recipes and making a book for all of my cousins, siblings and aunts and uncles. It's only fair, since many of her recipes, like brunswick stew, tijiana torte and shredded wheat bars, are legendary in my family. It wasn't that my grandma was a gourmet cook, but she was a comfort cook, and a healthy one. And she made healthy delicious.

Yesterday I read Michael Pollan's newest book, Food Rules. It's an easy 30 minute read, as it's just 65 brief rules, or policies, on eating. Other than drinking a glass of wine with dinner, I'd say my grandma followed them all. For a frugal, sugar-loathing farm girl who was eco-saavy long before the term was coined, this woman, with her arsenal of wholesome favorites and fridge full of leafy greens, was ahead of her time.

Eat what grows as a plant and not what's made in a plant. Check. Stay away from refined flour. Check. Don't eat anything with ingredients your great-grandmother couldn't identify. Check. Only eat at a table. Check.

As I read this excellent little book that I believe every American should read - and take to heart - I thought about how incredibly healthy and vital my grandma always was, and how she cooked and ate. As Pollan simply says: Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much. That was my grandma's diet and way of feeding her family in a nutshell.

I think it's time to get back to that simple, whole foods diet. Considering the general state of health in America today, I'd say it's long overdue.

Read the book. Then go look for your grandma's recipe box - when dinner wasn't prepared in a factory, encased in plastic or served out of a window. You know, the good old days. It''s not too late to get them back.

bread and chocolate

The year I lived in Paris, my favorite lunch, which I ate nearly every day, consisted of a warm baguette and a bar of belgian chocolate eaten together like a sandwich. I used to get misty-eyed just thinking about how delicious that combo tasted. Not anymore.

Last summer I bought the book Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day after I had checked it out from the library three consecutive times and never once opened it. I had read all the raves on various blogs and thought I would be excited to try it. By the time I bought the book and thumbed through it, I thought it looked kind of daunting. I was happy making my weekly oatmeal bread, and I never got around to trying anything artisan. A couple weeks ago when I started cleaning out my kitchen, I came across the book and decided to give it a second chance. Daunting? Hardly. I cannot believe I let all those months pass with these amazing breads right within reach.

Here is the secret: We eat fresh, hot, crusty European bread every night and it takes practically no effort at all. Even if you have never made bread in your life, you can make this. It's easier than mixing a batch of cookies and every batch of bread dough makes about four loaves. There's no kneading, no temperature taking, no yeast proofing. You mix the ingredients and then keep the dough in your fridge until you're ready to grab a hunk and bake it. The secret, I think, is in the pizza stone and the pan of water in the super hot oven. A process I had memorized by loaf two.

I have always been a slow adopter. I don't know exactly why. I still use the kind of corkscrew you take camping, I write addresses down on paper and post-it notes, and I have never had anything but a pay-as-you-go phone. I don't like fads. I like to do things the hard way. Perhaps this relates to the poor-me syndrome I fell victim to as a child. Perhaps I need therapy. In any case, if you are like this in any way - skeptical, stoic, too cool to be cool - do not miss this boat. You will be utterly amazed that you can bake this well. You will consider opening a French bakery. You will be making bread and chocolate sandwiches. Your entire household will thank you.

some things I'm really loving

:: Open windows, coat-free afternoons and holding hands without mittens :: In Chicago, the arrival of early spring, which is heralded by the pussy willow tree in our backyard, brings tears to my eyes. Every single year. There is nothing like it, which is really one of the only reasons we can endure the rest of the year.

:: Fruit smoothies :: Daily my boys' picky eating habits seem to grow, even now refusing most fruit and yogurt. Before those boys disappear altogether, I decided to pull out the blender and sneak good whole foods into Jamba-Juicish beverages. It works! Every day we enjoy some yogurt-soy milk-berry-banana-honey-flax seed meal-wheat germ concoction. Added bonus: We sip from straws and pretend it's summer.

:: Homemade bread :: There's not much I find more satisfying than the process of making bread. The miracle of rising dough, the scent of baking bread and, of course, eating slices warm from the oven. I'm currently making my way through the bread recipes in More with Less. An excellent decades-old cookbook from people who really understood the meaning of green living. Cornmeal Yeast Bread just came out of the oven. And I swear, by using the dough hook on my mixer, I spent less than 20 minutes making it. It's not rocket science. And it's one of the few foods that my boys will inhale.

:: Debut album from The August :: I am totally infatuated with this band who are on their way to Nashville this week to make it big. This I know because the singer Jackie Dustin sang gigs with Andrew in Deja Vu. I'll miss hearing her folksy-bluesy-rock sound on stage but expect to hear her on the radio real soon.

:: Things to knit and sew :: This shawl and this bag and this book and this book and this book. Thank you blogging world and library. You have both been instrumental in helping me procrastinate my taxes.

:: A new blog :: Like I need another blog to visit. But this is good writing, really good writing. Funny stuff about being green, being a mom and just generally being a good human: The Green Mama. (Also, I interviewed her for a project. Very cool woman. Check her out.)

:: Baby steps :: My 22-month-old nonwalker is beginning to blossom - on his feet. Instead of collapsing his legs anytime we try to get him to stand or walk with us, he is choosing to do it - walking up and down the sidewalk, through the library and around the house, holding a hand but moving like a true biped. We will keep our neurologist appointment June 1 (yes, an eight month waiting list!) just to be sure, but I feel pretty confident he is just my snuggle, stay-put boy. An extended baby gift to a mama who's finished procreating.

:: Funny conversations :: Liam continues to crack us up on a daily basis. The thing I love most is that he has no idea how funny he is. Here's one of our latest exchanges. (It is important to know that he has been examining his clothes tags lately to see how old he's supposed to be for each item. We have been graduating from size 4 to size 5, and he has been a little confused since he is not yet five, but accepts that he is just ahead of the curve.)

Liam (examining the tag of his winter coat, which has European sizing): Oh my gosh!
Mom: What's wrong?
Liam: Look at this! It says I'm supposed to be 100. (mouth agape, completely dumbfounded) That's crazy! Before I could even wear it, I'd be dead.

you know you are parenting boys when...

...you hear yourself yelling things like, "Don't run with that gun in your mouth!" or "Your brother doesn't want to smell your butt." Oh, yes, I have uttered both of these tasteless lines this week.

So, I was looking forward to hearing the authors of the book Wild Things: The Art of Nurturing Boys speak tonight. But I wasn't expecting it to be so incredibly excellent. If you have a boy and marvel at the words coming out of your mouth (or his!), do yourself a favor and check out this book and the authors' website. It will be a heart changer, for everyone involved.

bella

My aunt (and faithful blog reader) recommended the movie Bella to me. I have never written about a movie on my blog, but this one truly lives up to its name. So many independent filmmakers are set on making films that are raw and real, but for most, the only way to achieve this, is to make them dark and depressing. Even films like Lost in Translation and Magnolia (two of my favorites) leave a lingering ache of sadness. Although the difference is subtle, Bella, both raw and real, shines light. Don't get me wrong, it's not a light film. It's main characters both suffer deeply, but they also make choices we rarely see in movies, choices that are brave and triumphant, and, like the main character in the Kite Runner, choices that allow them to be good again. The beauty of this movie is elusive, maybe because it's so simple. But it's in everything - the story, the filming, the characters, the music. It made me think and feel and cry. Most importantly, it reaffirmed my belief in the redemptive power of family and friendship and forgiveness, especially forgiving yourself. Thanks, Deb.

what I learned from A.J. Jacobs, my uncle Dan and 29 hours in the car

On Thursday evening, Andrew and I kissed Liam and Elliott goodbye, hopped in the car and headed for Denver. My cousin was getting married and we had decided a couple months earlier (after confirming with my mom that she would be happy to babysit our kids) that we would turn the occasion into a childless roadtrip and seize the opportunity to reconnect. Seeing that the drive was long and the duration of the getaway short, we decided to catch up on our reading and enjoy some of the time together in the car listening to books on tape.

Thursday night we got several hours under our belt and made it to Des Moines. Friday morning, settling into the car with our coffees, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't brought anything to do. What a waste of time, I thought. I could be embroidering (something I oddly like to do but never have the time to) or knitting. In fact, I actually would have enough time to knit something significant, like a hat (or two!) or part of a sweater. I could move beyond scarves with these kind of hours ahead. What was I thinking?

I briefly considered asking Andrew to pull off in Omaha to look for a Hobby Lobby or the like. But we were trying to make it to Denver for a celebration dinner and time was tight. Plus, I knew he'd never agree. He already thinks I focus too much on doing and accomplishing. And, for crying out loud, this was vacation.

So I sat and tried not to seem irritated with myself as we listened to one of the books we brought, A Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A.J. Jacobs. I had started reading this book at home so I knew it was funny and clever, but I wasn't expecting to learn much or have it spark an intense and thoughtful discussion that would lead to some significant decisions about how we are spending our time as a family and living our life together. I wasn't expecting to give up my desire to knit so easily.

For the book, Jacobs, a very nominal Jew, read the entire Bible four times through and wrote down every law, rule and suggestion he found in its pages. Then he set off to live "as Biblically as possible." Each day Jacobs tried to focus his actions and behavior on the ten commandments and at least one other more obscure Biblical command. He wore a copy of the commandments on his forehead, tied tassels to the edges of his garments, let his beard go unshaven and tried to avoid clothes of mixed fibers. But he also battled his tendency toward coveting, his struggles with lust and the near impossibility of keeping the Sabbath holy - no working, no email, no cell phone, etc.

As we listened I began thinking about which rules and commandments I follow, which I justify, which I condem others for blowing and which I flat out ignore. In the end, postulates Jacobs, all Christians are cafeteria Christians, picking and choosing what to put on their trays and what to leave behind. In the law-abiding sense, I'd definitely have to agree. Who could do it all and who would want to? Seriously, if Andrew refused to touch me in any way (including sitting in a chair that I had sat in - yes that's in the Bible) seven days a month, I'd probably clock him. But what struck me more than anything in Jacobs' book was how the Bible is not meant to be a rule book. It's meant to tell a story. And it tells lots of them. Crazy stories. Horrifying stories. Sad stories. Incredibly profound stories. And stories so simple and humble, it's easy to miss them. All in all, stories that point us to God.

The stories were not lost on Jacobs. Throughout the book, he tells his wife Bible stories to help them both make sense of their lives, their circumstances, their struggles and their joys. He doesn't do it because the Bible tells him to; he does it because in all his reading and living Biblically he realizes that the stories have a lot to say. More than meets the eye. More, perhaps, than the laws. More than the most Biblically literate among us might be seeing.

Because this is the thing, stories are messy. They have contradictions. But they are how we live. And, even more, how Jesus lived and how he taught. The laws and rules, definitely important to the story. I won't argue that. But, for the most part, we do them alone. And, if we pick the obscure ones to follow, we can probably expect to live alone as well. (Not a lot of camaraderie for a bearded guy in tassels, carrying a staff and the ten commandments strapped to his forehead in modern-day America.)

So, what will our story be? This is what Andrew and I debated and pondered for a few precious hours of our 29 hour drive. We could sanitize it, choose the cast and the setting, and try to write the script in advance. But, truly, one only has to read the Bible one time to know that this is a fool's errand. And even if it "works," where is God in that?

At the wedding we attended, my uncle Dan conducted the ceremony for his daughter and son-in-law and made reference to the Three Dog Night song, "One," which begins, "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do." His point was that one is, in fact, not the loneliest number if it's done right. It's the least lonely number. Two becoming one in marriage, the church becoming one body, this is what happens when the story is lived, not according to all the rules (although some key ones do help), but in the grace and love and forgiveness of the greatest storyteller of all.

As for these two who became one just about seven years ago, we'll be focusing on some of our newer cafeteria choices, including keeping the Sabbath, with no computers, email or cell phones sundown to sundown (which, for the first couple months, no doubt, will be more competition than holiness), and finding real ways as a family to care for the orphans and the widows. These are just a few of the things we've decided that we hope will shape our kids' stories.

But most importantly we'll be trying to live a story that is full of love and grace and forgiveness. A story that includes and embraces. That questions and doubts. That hopes and prays. And that, by grace, points people to God.

living creatively

Today I got a surprise in the mail. Around Christmas time, when I was selecting gifts, I came across a book on Amazon that hadn't been published yet—The Creative Family: How to Encourage Imagination and Nurture Family Connections by Amanda Blake Soule. It looked so wonderful I pre-ordered it, and then I promptly forgot all about it. It arrived in my mailbox today, and I can already tell that it's going to be a treasure. There's a chapter on being resourceful, which includes instructions on how to make a cute pair of child's pants out of an adult's old t-shirt and make dyes from things in nature. Other chapters suggest ideas for sharing the tradition of handmade, everyday rituals and turning a child's artwork into objects. It is beautiful, imaginative and just oozes creativity.

The chapter on preparing your creative mind begins with rich little section on gratitude, including this thought:

"Creativity goes deeper than the 'art' sense of the word; it encompasses a whole way of living and being. Gratitude, and recognizing gratitude, can have a powerful effect on our whole lives. When we feel grateful, we feel full—full of love, full of inspiration, full of ideas, full of creative spirit. Practicing gratitude in our families can help our children learn this power (one they have within themselves) at a very young age, giving them a lifelong gift that will nurture all of who they are."

I am buzzing with gratitude just at having discovered this awesome book. I am going to try very hard night to stay up all night reading it! The author also has a great blog at www.soulemama.com.