A Cheerful Reciever

I must have strong puritan roots somewhere in my history. Maybe Quaker. I prefer to live simply and shy away from extravagance. Why buy a new shirt for $25 when you can buy a perfectly good used one at the thrift store for $3? I’m the kind of person who thinks Target is a fancy store.

It’s not that I’m cheap (although that is also true); I believe that the way a person spends their money speaks loudly to their priorities and values. Am I selfishly spending all my money on me and my own? Am I giving to others? Am I using my resources to help people in need? A quick peek into the old checkbook can tell you a lot about someone.

My husband and I had to shop for a car recently, to replace my totaled van. I tended to gravitate towards older, cheaper, no-frills models. Just give me a car that doesn’t break a lot, gets decent gas mileage and has enough seats for everybody. My husband, on the other hand, wanted a beautiful car, loaded with snazzy features. A frilly model, if you will.

“I’m OK with the [old, ugly] minivan,” I said, ever the righteous martyr. “Think of all the things we could do with the money we aren’t spending on a vehicle.”

“No,” he replied, looking at the fancy pants car with its heated seats and MP3 player. “This is what I want for you.”

I closed my fool mouth and signed the papers because somewhere in there I realized someone who loves me was trying to give me a gift.

What do you do when frugality collides with generosity, when blessing conflicts with blessed?

I think I do alright in the giving department. But for some reason, I get weird and squirrely when it’s time to receive. I believe in radical generosity – just not directed at me.

Our God is a loving and generous deity, a doting grandpa pouring out favor on his people. And I’m all, uhhhh really? This is too nice for me; here, let’s give this to someone else. Like I’m some kind of crazy blessing re-gifter. 

It’s something I struggle with: should Christians display the trappings of wealth? Are we better off with vows of poverty and horsehair shirts? You cannot serve both God and money but can you have both God and money?

I really don’t know the answer but it is an important question to wrestle with, especially now that we’re back in the land of Excess. It was easy to live simply in a country accustomed to lack. How do we cope with a culture that encourages overindulgence in every aspect of life?

I will say that I am glad we bought the fancy car. And not just because I can start the car from the living room ya’ll! Where it’s warm! And the car automatically turns on the seat warmers when remotely started. Toasty buns for meeeeeeeeeeee!

Ahem.

I am also really happy for my husband. As we drove away he said to me with bright shining eyes, “I never dreamed I’d own something like this.” For one second I could see the little boy that grew up with nothing. That boy suffered under the crushing hand of poverty for a long time. That boy almost didn’t go out with me because he said he came from a poor family and had nothing to give me. That boy grew to be the man I love best of everything. 

His joy is worth even more than heated seats.  

Sleep

Does anyone want a baby? Between the hours of 10pm and 7am, I am renting mine out. Cheap. It’s a bargain people!

Seriously though…why doesn’t my baby sleep????

He’s on exactly the routine all the books say he should be on. His day starts at the same time every morning, he eats at exactly three hour intervals. He eats, plays, and naps in exactly that order. He eats rice cereal in the evenings to keep his little belly full. We put him down to sleep while drowsy but not yet sleeping. We play soothing rain sounds and carefully control the temperature of the bedroom. We wait a few minutes when he starts crying before picking him up in the vain hope that he will put himself back to sleep.

I’ve tried having him sleep beside me; he just wakes up more often. Although, to be fair, if I were sleeping next to a big ol’ plate of delicious food (bacon anyone?), I would wake up and snack all night long too. We’ve put him on his back, on his side, swaddled, un-swaddled, recently bathed, dirty as a pig…

WHY IS HE WAKING UP EVERY HOUR AND A HALF?????

Why God, WHY?????

I might drop dead of exhaustion. This is torture. Literally. This kind of behavior would be illegal if I were a prisoner of war. At least I think that’s true – I don’t really want to Google “forms of torture banned by the Geneva Convention.” I’d end up on some kind of watch list.

zzzzzzzzzzzzWhat was I saying? Sorry I dozed off there a little.

I have been sick for two months straight with this same stupid cough that won’t go away. I simply don’t have enough energy to function and heal at the same time. If only I could get a good night’s sleep. Whimper.

So I ask you, good people of the internet: how do you make a baby sleep through the night?

I want this - for 6-8 consecutive hours!

I Could Do That

This is the true mark of nobility. The unshakable belief that they can do anything: tan leather, shoe a horse, spin pottery, plow a field…if they really wanted to.

-          The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss

I must have been some kind of noble in a past life. Except for any activity involving actual athletic ability, I look at all these tasks that require skill and training and I think, “I could totally do that.”

It certainly doesn’t help my delusions of grandeur that an alarming amount of the time I totally can. I watched a cooking show on TV way back in high school. That looks good, I thought, bet I could make it. So I did. And my cinnamon scones are some of the best around.

Several years ago, while we were setting up for youth group and listening to the youth pastor practicing his guitar for the worship set, my sister and I bemoaned the lack of a band to play with him. It wasn’t that the church lacked instruments; we just didn’t have anyone willing and able to play on Wednesday nights. I leaned over to my sister and whispered, “Twenty bucks says I can learn the drums in five minutes or less.” It actually took the pastor a little bit longer than five minutes to teach me. But two weeks later, I was playing drums for the teenagers.

I see needs and I want to fill them. Perhaps you are thinking that scones are not a necessity but that is obviously nonsense. Baked goods are always a good idea.

Last summer, knowing that we were going to have a baby boy and hoping to acquire a teenage boy as well, I calculated for my husband how much it would cost for three haircuts every six weeks. As a man used to getting his head coiffured in Nicaragua for 30 Cordoba (around $1.50) a piece, he balked at the outrageous amount it would cost just for cheap haircuts. For a tenth the price, I told him, I could buy a kit and do it all myself! He looked at me dubiously but I knew I had him.

For some time I had gotten it into my wacky little brain that I could cut hair. It looked pretty easy when the trained professional did it. How hard could it possibly be? Eli resisted this idea on the (rational) basis that he didn’t want to look like an idiot. He had some previous experience with his dad cutting his hair as a child. His soul still bears the scars of going to school with bad hair.

I breezed past his concerns with a confidence based on my own special blend of crazy. This will be fun!

It was not fun.

The first time I got near him with the machine he freaked the crap out.

“Don’t cut too much! Concentrate! Make sure it’s even! GOOD GOD FOCUS!”

“Um…I haven’t even turned it on yet.”

“DON’T CUT OFF TOO MUCH!!!”

Suddenly really nervous and aware that I did not, in fact, have any idea what I was doing, I gave him a pretty bad haircut. He ended up with straight up biscuit head you guys. Noooooo. In trying not to cut off too much, I didn’t cut off enough. I had a pretty good idea how to fix it but it took him several days of hat-wearing before he’d let me try again.

The second wack at his hairs proved far more successful. It wasn’t perfect but it looked much more like what I had pictured in my mind.

I get better every time too. Last night was another Haircut Night. Gabriel told me he didn’t want his usual style – he wanted Prince Royce hair. Uh, sure. Why not? He showed me a picture on his iPad and I gave it a whirl. Eli helped me out with the sideburn part since I don’t do razors. Gabriel was sufficiently pleased with how it turned out.

See? This was a great idea! Everyone has decent hair, it’s super cheap and I get to learn a fun new skill. Everybody wins!

I wonder if this is why the baby refuses to grow any hair…

Rookie Mistake

This morning I got up, looked out my window and saw that the predicted snow had in fact, not come. Like usual. Ok, there was a slight dusting on the grass and car areas but the streets were clear. Proceed as normal, I thought.

Rookie!!!!

I dropped the kids off at school then started down the long road to daycare for the baby when my phone rang. It was my husband. My poor sleep deprived husband who has to work the night shift for a few weeks and had only gotten home about 4 hour previously.

“The school called, it’s closed.” He said sleepily.

Shit.

I’m really so embarrassed. Why didn’t I check ONE of the 80,000 methods to divine the school closings?

Daycare, as you might imagine, was also closed. My very lovely husband peeled himself out of the nice warm bed and picked up both the kids and swung by my office to get the baby and take everyone home. I hope God grants him extra-restful sleep this morning. He deserves it.

Seriously, why didn’t I check my email this morning?

I’ll tell you why, because I don’t have time. I have three kids and a me to get ready and out the door. And even though I have two in middle school, I have only been a mom for four months. I still pretty much suck at everything. Which is ok, that’s kind of how this works – skill is acquired over time.

And also – I really can’t stress this enough – there is NO SNOW ON THE STREETS.

Someday we will all be good at being a family. Someday we will not just be making it up as we go. We will have a rhythm, our own traditions, and our own family culture. This, we will know, is what it means to carry this last name.

Someday I will have 40 years of mom-ing under my belt. I will be awesome. And when new mothers ask me how I do it, I will be very gentle with them and remind them that sometimes it takes a few decades to feel steady on your feet.

Just like all the awesome moms I admire have reminded me.

And in the meantime…I will check the school closings list whenever one single flake falls out of the sky. 

Counting Blessings

We have a big whiteboard in the lunch room at work. On it everyone has been writing what they’re thankful for: family, friends, freedom – ya know, normal stuff. And while I am also thankful for all those kinds of things, I find myself filled with gratitude for a multitude of things I would never, in a million years, write on a whiteboard at work, lest people think I am weird.

So instead, I will write them here, on the internet. And everyone will know that I am a crazy salty nut.

***

I am thankful for the ability to eavesdrop on Spanish-speakers who gossip to each other secure in the knowledge that anyone wearing this super gringo face can’t possibly understand them. Oh, but I do! Muahahahahahahaha.

I am thankful that daycare always puts out pastries in the morning so on those (frequent) occasions when I run out of time or chose to sleep an extra five minutes and can’t eat breakfast, I can snarf down a muffin or crumb cake in the car.

I'm thankful for the turkey recipe Marissa found
on Pintrest. Yum!

I am thankful my baby is the world’s fastest eater. The books always say to make sure they (the babies, not the books) eat at least 15 minutes per side. Sometimes I worry that my son isn’t getting enough food because he only eats about 3 minutes per side – and then I look at him. Yeah, that fatty-watty isn’t hurting for food.

I am thankful that I can drive a stick shift. Sure, it’s not going to be the smoothest ride you’ve ever had, but I will get us there! And now, every time some snotty car salesmen doesn’t want to show me a vehicle because it has a manual transmission I can haughtily sniff, “that will not be a problem.”

I am thankful for the dryer. And the washer. And the Dishwasher. And the programmable coffeepot. And all the many devices that do the job for me so I can be the exact same amount of busy – but I will be busy doing other things. Also, my towels aren’t crunchy. I love you, dryer.

I am thankful for the generosity of our friends, who bring us food, toys for baby, school uniforms for the big kids, and a TV that randomly speaks Spanish during football games.

And lastly, I am thankful for the gizmo that turns a light bulb holder into an electrical outlet so we can hang Christmas lights on the house. My entire childhood I longed to put up Christmas lights but we never had any way of plugging them in. Driving around and feasting my eyes on all the lights in December is one of my very favorite things ever – it’s right up there with automatic car washes – and thanks to the thingamajig, I get to see sparkly lights even as I pull into the driveway.

Clearly, I am so blessed.

What are you thankful for? 

Cereal Killer

I nearly had a meltdown in Target last night.

All because of this:

I was buying rice cereal so that soon the little babushka can start eating solids. My baby was born like 15 minutes ago! How can he possibly be big enough to start eating anything that did come directly from my person??

Shit. I'm THAT mom. The lunatic who can't let go and ends up teary-eyed in embarrassingly public places. Today the grocery store, tomorrow the kindergarten parking lot. 

Children grow up. That's kind of what's supposed to happen. Babies come out all purple and gross and filled with unlimited potential.  Little by little they learn and develop and, with God's grace, become all they are meant to be. 

So why all the crazy?

Because, ya know, I made that kid. Me. With my self. I've got the stretch marks and out of control belly jiggling to prove it. And after all that hard work and that waaaaaay harder work of getting him out, I helped him grow big and healthy with more me (sometimes we call it milk). Me!

You know what that box of rice is? Not me! 

weep.

It's just the first tiny step in a long slow descent into abandonment. Or, as my husband so helpfully pointed out, "Pretty soon he'll be getting married and leaving us forever." Thanks sweetie! That will help the hysterical overreaction. 

I know, I know, more food means more sleeping through the night and that is definitely a good thing. And I really love how each day he has more personality. He makes clam noises with his mouth and then starts busting up laughing his deep baby belly laughs. He can even see me now and hold onto my fingers

Yes, growing up is a very good thing.

Sort of. 

Just not in the baby food aisle. 

Beer for Jesus

A while ago, one of my co-workers asked if I had heard about the Big Thing that had just happened. I forget exactly what it was, maybe a shooting or something large on fire, or Colorado being underwater, whatever it was – I hadn’t heard a thing. Slightly embarrassed by other people now knowing that I live in a cave, I make it a point to scan the headlines of an internet news site at least once per working day. 

If something Big happens during the weekend, please call me.

And so it was that I stumbled across an article entitled, “Why Craft Beer Won’t Lure Millennials Back to Church.”

I drank this blueberry wheat ale for Jesus

Blink.

Blink.

Hold onto to your hats – this is about to get sarcastic.

Really? I mean really? I felt like I was looking at an entire piece devoted to the idea that “Putting on Underwear Before Pants is a Good Idea.” Do we need a whole article on why this is a stupid idea?

Apparently we do. It seems a whole bunch of hipster churches are trying to pander to the coveted 25-40 demographic by serving craft beers during their services. Weirdly enough, that approach isn’t raking in the coverts as expected. Huh.

Who could possibly have predicted that?

Several years ago, I was a member of a church undergoing a change in leadership. The new pastor pronounced that he KNEW what Young People Wanted. Oh? And what is it that you know I want?

A live internet feed of his sermons. Apparently that’s what I was craving.

I’m sure you will be shocked to learn that nearly every single young person (including me) left that church within a month.

Craft beer. Fancy technology. Slick worship sets. These are all just the latest in a long line of gimmicks desperate to attract a generation that is slipping ever further away from the Church.

Just stop. Please.

If you really super have to know why none of that is going to work, I – a young person (well, ish) – will tell you. The secular world already offers all of it, in a much nicer package, without sermons of any kind. When the Church barfs out a low budget imitation, it looks pretty lame. Suddenly, the Bride of Christ is a poser with its underwear on over its pants.

“Be imitators of Christ therefore…” I mean, Jesus!

No really, I mean Jesus. Remember that guy? Remember how he hung out with all the cool rich 20 somethings?

No? You do not remember that?

God Incarnate spent a whole lot of time chilling with thieves, whores and outcasts. His target demographic was the failure pile. The Kingdom of Heaven comes alive and comes to earth when adulterers, homosexuals, greedy thieving con men and drunks encounter the Living Spirit of the Most High God. Jesus preached Good News to the poor and the unwanted.

Who are we aiming our gospel at?

What if the Church stopped trying to be a sexy hangout and started trying to be a sanctuary? What if, instead of lattes and microbrews, we offered quality affordable daycare for working moms? What if we didn’t upgrade the sound system and instead sponsored a team fighting human trafficking in Asia? What if we stopped shouting about gay marriage and started screaming about the child slaves who grow our chocolate?

What if we had a little bit of faith in the inherent attractiveness of restoration in a hopeless, corrupt world?

Imagine a Church that went hard after the rejects, the bullied, the people with nothing to offer and made them family. Imagine a Church that got serious about repairing the earth – healing broken systems, broken relationships, broken homes, even broken ecosystems. Cool huh? Wouldn’t you want to be a part of that?

Maybe a millennial would too…