Birthdays, Bowling, and Beaches

Yesterday, we celebrated The Rationalist's 8th birthday. Although I was worried that we might have a repeat of last year's version, a few friends showed up at the last minute, making me sweat out more anxiety than is necessary for a birthday celebration.

We bowled, laughed, and ate too much cake. The Rationalist had a great time and so did everybody else. He managed to clean up with numerous gift cards and cash, helping push him a little closer to his goal of buying a Wii....or a Nintendo DS...depending on what he feels like in a particular moment. Being lame parents, we gave him actual gifts rather than cash; a metal detector, a pogo stick, and a Bingo Set.

We have managed to find a bottle cap, 20 nails, an industrial size bolt that was seven inches long, and a metal bracket.

We also have numerous holes in our front yard now.

Here are some pics from the day:









This morning we attended the United Methodist church we have been regularly visiting for the last month or two. We went to the early service and skipped Sunday School in order to go to the beach. I'm not sure how I'll be feeling this summer once I start chemo, and I won't be healed enough in June to be in the ocean. I figured today was our best shot to go. Plus, I wanted to do something fun as a family before I would be laid up for the next week or so.

We had a blast. The Gulf has warmed up to about 82 degrees, perfect swimming temperature. The day was windy, making some great waves for tossing us around. The boys love to head out where the waves break, hold onto an inner tube, and propel forward with the foamy water.
After about an hour, they took a break to create a giant hole filled with sea-water...their own little swimming pool, I suppose.

It's been a great weekend, and I'm glad we spent it enjoying each other.

Sibling Rivalry

Well, the day has come. I think we have officially encountered Sibling Rivalry in the house. It's been rearing its head in tiny spurts, here and there--the occasional spat, the off-and-on teasing, the gloating when one of them is punished and the other is not. sigh. I was really hoping this particular issue would pass over our house like the plague passed over the homes of the Israelites who had painted their doorposts with blood.

At this point I think there will be blood on the door-posts, but it will most likely be drawn by my kids and not from a lamb.

I should have known this was coming. Hearing tales of my husband's constant antagonizing of his sister when they were younger, and recalling my memories of knock-down, drag-out fights with my own brother, should have prepared me for The Ugly Fight.

While making dinner, I heard shrieking coming from the bedroom with the computer. I opened the door to see The Rationalist sitting on top of Intuitive Monkey, holding him down while Monkey had The Rationalist by the throat. It took them a few seconds to register that I was there and that TROUBLE was coming their way.

Surprisingly....I didn't overreact.

I sat them on the bed and asked them to start from the beginning and explain how playing a computer game had turned into a cage fight. Luckily, they're pretty honest and gave me the same story:

Monkey was playing a car-racing game. The Rationalist was helping him and something went horribly wrong. The Rationalist blamed Monkey, making Monkey furious and causing him to try and strangle his brother, because The Rationalist knew it wasn't Monkey's fault and that saying it was would make Monkey very angry. The Rationalist, purely in self-defense, decided that hitting his brother square on the head--3 times, not 5 times as Monkey claimed--would be a good way to end his impending death by strangulation. That makes sense...right?

yikes.

I feel so unsure how to stop this. We have the talk about how solving problems by hitting people is wrong. I ask Monkey what he thinks is going to happen if he starts hitting his brother, making him realize that he's probably going to get hit back and how everybody winds up hurt and angry....yada yada yada...all the stuff that you say to try and get through to kids. I explain that they lose computer privileges for a week, and must eat dinner by themselves in their rooms, and play by themselves for the rest of the night. That's so I don't kill them, rather than them killing each other.

Yet....it still seems so inadequate. The thing is, when they are calm, they understand and agree with everything I'm saying, but when that sibling anger takes over, it's all out the window. They have never hit another child or gotten into fights with other children. They seem to save their fury for each other.

At the same time, when they are getting along, they do so famously. They build things, invent games, talk animatedly about what their action figures are going to do, and make pictures and signs to hang up all over the house. They form a united front.

Except when they don't.

Wake me up when they're 18.

Awkward Moments

Being a good parent can be hard when your family doesn't really know what the definition of "good parenting" is. Usually, they assume you are over-protective, over-anxious, and a general kill-joy. Hey, you turned out OK. They couldn't have been that bad at the whole parenting thing. Of course, just because someone throws you in a river, and you don't drown, doesn't mean they know how to give swim lessons.

My mom called last night to say she's coming down a week after my surgery to visit and help out. This is not a bad thing. I know she wants to feel useful and that she will enjoy seeing me and the kids. However, in the middle of our conversation about the timing of her trip, she sprung this one on me:

"Well, how about I take the kids back to Illinois with me?"

".....um....uh...."

"That way you won't have to worry about them while you are recovering."

"yeah.....well, for how long?

"A few weeks...or maybe most of the summer."

"uh......ummmm......," my brain worked quickly to find a way out of this,"Actually, I will probably be feeling fine by the time you would want to take them. I really won't need much help until I start chemo towards the end of June or beginning of July. Maybe then you could have them for a week. Let me talk about it with DH."

"What...you don't trust them with me?"

"Mom, it's not that I don't trust you...it's that you live really far away and the kids are only 6 and 8. Plus, are you going to stop taking horses for a while? Don't you have to work?" (She carts horses from race track to race track for the horses' owners.)

"Well....I'll just take them with me."

"You'll take them with you......For 6 hour drives every other day?"

"Oh, I'll make it fun for them. I know how to make things fun."

My internal monologue consisted of many unkind thoughts and groans at this point.

"Mom....trust me.....you can't make things that fun."

I have put her off, for a while at least.

It's uncomfortable trying to navigate through what is appropriate for kids with someone who never had an inkling about what was appropriate for kids.

I love my mother. We've been through a lot.....but let's just say that it's amazing that I am alive today.....not because she was abusive to me, though she did have a temper and liked to yell, but because of the lack of supervision we had as kids.

Things I remember from my childhood:

Riding my bike, by myself, about 4-5 miles from where I lived, at the age of 10, without anyone having a clue about where I was, or questioning why I had been gone for hours. I got on a bike trail and just kept riding.

My mother taking us to a movie theater to see Porky's...yes....that Porky's. I was probably eight.

Setting a flowery wall hanging on fire in the bathroom while playing with a lighter. I took it down and hid it. My mom never noticed it was missing.

Playing with the small container of pepper spray on my mother's key ring and accidentally pepper-spraying myself....yeah....that really hurt.

Opening the windows of my second-story, bedroom window and sitting in the window-sill with my legs dangling out over the house.....no screen.

Of course, all of these events convey what an idiot child I was, but also serve as reminders that almost all of them happened with my mother in the house, or nearby, completely clueless about what I was doing.

'Nuff said.

Tonight my sister-in-law called to tell me that my mother is in the hospital. She had been getting dizzy spells and had fallen a few times. I called and spoke to her. She reassured me that it wasn't her heart and was probably just vertigo, but who really knows. It seems as if it isn't anything serious at this point.

When I hung up the phone, I was somber. I wasn't worried that she was near death. I knew that she was OK , but I realized that one day a call like that would come and she wouldn't be fine. She's getting older. She has some health issues. She lives in another state.

It makes me wish I were closer. It makes me wish I could fix everything in her life.

For now, I pray for her and tell her I love her. It seems like small comfort, but it's all I can do.

A Cautionary Tale

The front page of the local paper features an article about Randy and Paula White, pastors of a large, charismatic church in the Tampa Bay area called Without Walls. They announced from their pulpit that they are divorcing "amicably", stating that no third parties are involved on either side, but merely that their lives have begun to take separate paths.

It's troubling on so many levels that I'm not sure where to start. I don't know the Whites, attend Without Walls, or hold to any of their teachings. I can't speak about them personally and don't want to, any more than I would want someone to analyze me from a distance.

What is worrisome is the cause for the split seems to be directly tied to the growth of their separate ministries. Paula White has, over the last several years, built quite a name for herself through websites, speaking engagements, book deals, and other ventures, as has Randy White. They have used the media effectively to gain a wide following and further their private and ministry ventures....and therein lies part of the problem.

The Christian life is not a sound bite. It is not lived for the outer life, but the inner life. There is an intrinsic temptation in media; a temptation to Photoshop personal lives into a glossy 8 x 10 that's been retouched for optimal viewing pleasure. It's a lesson that American culture and American Christianity have yet to learn--TV lies, magazines lie, books lie.

They lie because of money. The truth has never been a best seller. It has to be tweaked, placed in attractive lighting, and given a snappy jingle in order for people to lay out money for it. Behind every spiritual best seller, there is a publisher and an author making a lot of money. That's their job. It's a business to them. They are not motivated by a desire to transform society, but by a desire to earn a paycheck to pay their mortgage.

They lie because we want them to. We want to believe that there is a formula for a successful, fulfilling life that we can apply and implement in order to obtain that perfect life. We buy spiritual snake oil and rub it all over ourselves in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles, banish the dark spots, and perfume our limbs. But, it's all a lie. We are still just as wrinkly, blemished, and smelly as before...only now, we're greasy too.

They lie because, as Jack Nicholson says in A Few Good Men, "You can't handle the truth!". We are afraid to face the truth about ourselves and the world around us. If there isn't a way to fit everything into a nice little box, how will we cope? How do we persevere in the face of our messy, sometimes unsatisfying lives?

The Whites, and many like them, become popular because of the message they preach; that God wants everyone to be "successful" and to fulfill their "destiny". It's what everyone wants--to be special, to be happy, to be blessed. So now, as these two wealthy, famous (at least in Charismatic circles) people divorce, their lives belie the message they preach. The curtain is pulled back and we see that even they have not realized the dream.

I feel sorry for them. The end of a marriage is always a disheartening, horrible thing.

Yet, in my pity for them personally, I am indignant about them publicly. Each of them plans to continue their ministries. They seem not to grasp the incoherency of the teachings they propagate in the face of their own personal disasters, or the consequences of their actions. If they were "regular" people, with "normal" jobs, they would not be expected to change careers, or bear any fault in that area of their lives, but they are not "regular" people with "normal" jobs. What do they have to offer the throngs who follow them? Their promises have proved empty. Will they continue to hawk those promises? Will Paula continue to be a Life Coach when it is she and her husband who really need one right now? It reminds me of Jesus' quote about the blind leading the blind. A confident leader inspires confident followers; even if the leader is lost, directionless, and headed the wrong way.

Time after time, these scandals occur. They will continue to occur as long as people try to mix the Gospel with money and fame. They don't mix. They never will. They are anti-thetical in nature. To gain money and fame in Christianity, you have to lie. Some do it consciously and with forethought, others do with self-deception and a lack of self-awareness. There is no money in telling people to simply follow Jesus, to store your treasure in Heaven, to rejoice in the face of suffering and persecution for Him. There is no fame in glorifying only God and pointing others to Him, refusing to promote yourself or take credit for His truths.

Jesus is not a salesman. The truth costs nothing. Humility does not linger in the limelight

Uncharacteristic Rant

I do it so seldomly...I should be allowed one once in awhile.

So, I'm surfing through a blog, which I had first commented on a few days ago, and come across a post about how a godly wife is supposed to act and react to disagreement.

I knew from the title that it's not my kind of thing, but hey..what's life without a little danger? I read it. I barely kept my head from exploding.

First of all, why do men think that they are the ones who should be giving women advice on how to be godly wives? They have no experience at it. They have no time-tested tips to pass along. They have no understanding of the emotion attached to such statements. Plus, it seems a little self-serving to make sure that your wife is lining up with your opinions by playing the "God" card and reminding women on how they "ought" to behave.

Secondly, it has been my experience that churches that spend so much time focused on delineating specific gender roles are usually missing the bigger picture. It becomes such a heated and drawn-out issue that seeking Jesus tends to get lost in the fray. Or worse yet, a picture of what a "godly" wife looks like takes on a life of its own and begins to determine clothing, hairstyles, and hobbies.

How about we teach people how to love one another and forgive each other, harboring no ill will towards others. Better yet, how about we teach people how to follow Jesus with all of their being. Even better, why don't we focus on evangelism and reaching others for Christ?

Then, once we get some of the basics down, let's revisit the topic of submission.

That's my contribution to off-the-cuff ranting in the blogosphere. Enjoy.

Unfulfilled Wishes

While out visiting my dad this past weekend, I was once again visited by the spectre of a regretful childhood.

I was really sick Saturday night. I developed a migraine and then had to vomit because the pain was so severe. I was alone with my kids at my dad's house. Earlier, he had suggested watching a movie--one that my kids could actually watch. I was lucky that they watched it, because I couldn't have managed if they hadn't. While I lay there, feeling sicker than I had in many years, my dad sat oblivious on the couch. No offer of help, no question of concern, no wondering if I needed something. It was depressing.

It's nothing new. I know my dad. I even know his inability to connect with others in meaningful ways isn't completely his fault. A tyrant of a father and a ruthlessly sarcastic family helped mold his lonely life.

But, it still sucked.

It reminded me once again about the pain of having parents that aren't really parents. I have worked past it, and accepted God as my only true parent, but every now and then an event like this will sweep over me, drowning me in the familiar feelings of loss for something I never really had.

I have many unfulfilled wishes.

1. I wish I had someone to call when I needed wise advice.
2. I wish I wasn't the parent in my relationship with my mom and dad.
3. I wish I had a parent I could admire.
4. I wish I knew that I could rely on my parents if something bad happened.
5. I wish my parents called to check on me, instead of me calling to check on them.
6. I wish that my parents were complete and whole people.
7. I wish that I got together with my parents because I like to, not because I think I should.
8. I wish that I could trust one of my parents to take care of my boys if something happened to us.(I can't.)
9. I wish that my parents were happy people.
10. I wish that I didn't feel this way about my parents.

Coffee--The Beverage of Marital Discord

When you have been married for more than a year, it becomes obvious that there are really only two or three fights that continually occur. The setting changes, the lines are tweaked a bit, but really, it's the same old fight you had two weeks ago, refreshed and brought out for another go at it.



For example:

"Should I make spaghetti or tacos tonight?"

"Spaghetti sounds good."

"Yeah...but I have those tortillas I need to use."

"We could have them tomorrow."

"No, I think I'll make tacos."


This is not the actual fight, merely the prelude to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."


Two weeks later it will go something like this:


"I was thinking of painting the bedroom. Do you think this beige color or the blue color would look better?"

"I like the blue. It seems crisp and soothing."

"Yes...but beige is so neutral. It will go with everything. "

"Yeah...but it's kind of boring."

"Still, I think I'm going to go with the beige. Thanks, hon.' "


And...we're back to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."


One of my oft-recycled arguments is "The Fight About Not Wanting Your Help Unless I Specifically Ask For It." This one pops up quite frequently for me. Maybe it's my Puritan work ethic, or a slight streak of feminism, but please don't try and take over a task that I am working on in an effort to "help" me. I am not a two-year-old. I am a capable, smart, problem-solver. Please, don't insult me by thinking I can't handle things on my own. Yes, I realize this may seem to others, specifically my husband, to be a silly personality quirk. It's my quirk, d@#! it. Accept it already and don't help me! (I realize this is crazy.)


Of course, married life doesn't work that way. One would think that after ten years, or more, of marriage that a couple would understand one another so completely that they would avoid irritating each other in those irrationally annoying aspects of their lives. Nope. Not At All.


A few weeks ago, I woke up tired and feeling a little out of it. I made breakfast for the boys and started a pot of coffee. I hoped a caffeine injection would lift my grumpy spirits. Trying to avoid human contact, I went into the bedroom and began to read while patiently waiting for my coffee to finish its slow brewing, anticipating it with great delight. After about two minutes, in walks my husband with a mug of coffee. For me. Because he loves me. Because he wanted to do something nice.


I sighed and put my head down on the pillow, dreading what was to come. I don't like my husband's coffee. It's too sweet and has more milk than I like in my coffee. He had ruined my expectation of a perfect cup of coffee on this trying morning. I had two choices. I could say nothing, and drink the yucky coffee that I didn't want on this depressing morning, or I could try to secretly pour out the coffee and make my own without him knowing--an impossibility in our small house. I was too impatient for my coffee to wait twenty minutes for him to get in the shower, allowing me to finally get what I wanted and avoid a fight at the same time. While I pondered my options, I grew angry--Who asked him to bring me coffee anyway? Doesn't he know I don't want him to do things for me unless I ask him? He never listens to a thing I say!


I was ramping up for "The Fight About Why You Never Listen To Me."

Familiarity in marriage never prevents the fight. It does, however, greatly decrease the time spent fighting. Once the fight begins it goes something like this:

"Oh, we're having 'The Fight About Why Do You Move My Stuff Without Telling Me.' Let me get out the playbook."

"I say, 'Please, don't move my things.' You say, ' I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it on purpose.' Then, we go back and forth a few more times explaining why we feel the way we do. Voila. Fight ends."

"OK."

"Let's go rent a movie."

Half the time, you're just phoning it in. After a while, a fight that once took two excruciating hours of emotional turmoil can be reduced to a two minute conversation during commercial breaks. Of course that is assuming that PMS, a really bad day at work, or plain old craziness doesn't enter the picture. That can sort of derail the process.