beautiful and true

My marriage with Mark is beautiful because it’s real and honest and true.  It’s hard and good, oh so good.

For some time now, I’ve wanted to write a bit about marriage, specifically my marriage.  I write about mothering — the good, the bad and the ugly — and I can wax poetically about my Little Ones.  I write for a number of reasons, but often it is just as much a tribute to these Little Ones and a way to remember our journey together.  My desire to write marriage stuff is not unlike this, too.  I am often moved, sometmes to tears, by reading other’s writings about living out marriage together, and I know that I have things to say about it, too.

But.

I find that I have shied away from this.  I have yet to stick as much as a toe into the waters and I am afraid of what lurks underneath.  I am afraid — afraid mostly of what you will think.  I am afraid that I will come off as condescending, as if we have it all figured out, this perfect package of marriage.  I am afraid that it will be too real — will I have crossed some unspoken boundary?  I am afraid that I will embarrass my husband, he of deeply private sentiments.  Too, I’m afraid of what I might discover.  I am afraid of what I will learn about myself.

Isn’t it interesting, how this topic of marriage can seem taboo?  Most of us are neck deep in these trenches, much like with parenting, but other than an occasional rant about the sink full of dishes or a funny story about daddy-style parenting, I find that it is uncommon to discuss our married lives.  To go deep in talking about real marriage, even with our closest of friends, is hard.  It is ok to admit our parenting challenges, our gaffes and our successes, to share stories here and in person that illuminate the truest shades of mothering.  But brag a bit about my husband?  Write honestly about what makes our relationship so thick and so worn and so good?  I’m just not sure it is encouraged in the same way.

I’m going to think about this one a bit more, decide if it’s something worth writing out, working through in this public space, or if it is writing that I might just keep to myself.  Until then, I will share with you some who are bravely, and beautifully, doing just this.

Sarah Bessey at Emerging Mummy writes occasionally about what their love looks like.  Here are a two of my favorites: In which [love looks like] a real marriage and In which [love looks like] a handmade bed.  Oh, and this one to: In which our [love looks like] 10 years of moments. 

Also, Amber at The RunAmuck and her husband have been writing marriage letters to one another.  Here is a good one: On the Sexy.

resiliency, or guilt vs. grace

Why are we so heavy with guilt?  As moms, this seems to be a running theme — whether it is guilt about our children, our marriages, our houses, our work — it seems as though we all carry an invisible burden that we are constantly not doing enough.  We fall short, and we beat ourselves up for it. We crumble to the weight.  I want to change that: instead of guilt, heavy and burdensome, I’m choosing Grace, easy and light. I want to embrace my inadequacies, bear them with my loved ones, and offer them up as sacrifices.

The Working Mother’s Research Group just published a report of a survey it conducted with both working and stay-at-home-moms and it found that well over half of both groups experienced guilt about the cleanliness of their homes.  Working women felt guilty about the amount of time spent with children and women at home felt guilty about not contributing financially.

This week I also read a study about praising our children.  There was so much in it that I want to think about, but one finding of this study had to do the type of praise a child recieves.  It suggested that for more resilient children, and therefore more resilient adults, as parents we need to be less generous with person-based praise and more generous with process-based praise.  ”Kids praised for their efforts believe that trying hard, not being smart, matters. These kids are “resilient” and take more risks.”

To me, these two issues are interwoven.  The idea that we feel pressure for perfection, and then guilt from not reaching it, suggests that we lack precisely resiliency the second study applauds.  It seems to me that we are motivated by feedback, and feel as though we fall short when we don’t get the positive feedback that we were anticipating.  Having grown up as part of this over-praised generation, this makes sense to me.

I don’t get a high five every time I put dishes away.  My children won’t have any concept of the energy and effort I spend on them until they are well into the process of raising their own kids.  I’m not going to get a Thank You for enforcing boundaries, giving rules and expecting manners.  If I’m super lucky, and it’s a good day, someone might say Thank You for cooking dinner as we sit down for grace before the meal.  The lack of praise could lead me to believe that what I’m doing isn’t good enough — that I need to pile on the guilt because there is more that I should be accomplishing, different ways of meeting others’ needs.  But I know better.  Though there are plenty of areas where I fall short as a mother, as in life, I know that I love my family and I am committed to them.  My shortcomings allow for me to receive Grace — His, and theirs, too.  It allows me to be human to my Little Ones, to show them that they, too, are worthy of His Grace.

Of course I want my Little Ones to be proud of who they are.  But I want them to know that there are not loved because they are Smart, or Strong, or Athletic, or Beautiful.  They are simply loved.  And I want them to pursue excellence in all things, and work hard, not because of the praise they will receive, and how it in turn will become part of their identity, but because of the chance to seek a challenge and apply themselves to the best of their abilities.  To learn how to fail, and allow themselves to picked up again, without the guilt.  I want them to truly know Grace.  Isn’t that resiliency?

grateful and patient and grateful

I wonder what Ann Voskamp is like in real life, in person.  Because in her writing, she is someone I want to spend time with.  A lot of time.  I want to soak up her wisdom, her countenance, her love, gratitude, grace, patience.  I know it’s not hers, it’s His, and therefore it can be mine, too.  Today, all I have for you is this:  when you are finding it hard to be patient. Read this now. Don’t believe me? Here’s a taste:

And it strikes me, an epiphany over the fry of bubbling pancakes, “Love is only patient if it’s first grateful for what is.”

When I am not patient?  My failure to love is first a failure to be grateful for who people are right now.

Patient people dare to gratefully accept people where they are. Grateful for who they are now, appreciative of works of art not yet finished, but still deeply loved.

I think I get it, the order of love, the preeminence of patience — love is patient first. Because it first is grateful for what is.

Not my words.  But what I’m soaking in, today.  And I’m grateful for lazy, super-hot mornings, with books piled high on my bed with the little ones tucked in between pillows and friends.  Thankful for freshly ground peanut butter and buttery french baguettes.  Grateful for the air-conditioning that is all “Little Engine that Could” around here.  Thankful for grilling outdoors, in summertime joy, with those I love.   And I’m going to work extra hard at being grateful for the tender-hearted boy who is scared by the sound of his hard working air-conditioner tonight, when evening darkens our house and I have lost sight.

(floating down the) streams of consciousness

This may turn out to be one of the most random stream-of-consciousness type posts, but I am very scattered at the moment so this seems to reflect my current state of being.  In no particular order, here are a few things that are on my mind:

bipolar three year olds: You might know one, have one, been one yourself.  (I’m pretty sure my mom is nodding vehemently at this point.  sigh.  Karma?)  It goes something like this —  we’re driving happily in the car listening to a CD, which happens to be of the more grown-up variety (that is to say, not silly songs in which the best part is “same song, second verse; a little bit faster and a little bit worse”).  Said three-year-old had been enjoying the music, clapping and dancing intermitently, but when he got a chance he asked for more of his music, specifically a particular song that we’ve heard countless times in the past 2 days.  I kindly put his request off, suggesting that when we finished with this CD we would choose another of his.  Without pause, without escalation, he heads straight into full meltdown:  the screaming, the kicking the car seat, the tears.  (To which I ask of myself: what just happened here?  I thought we were having fun).  By the time the next song is on (still music of my choice, not his) he is laughing again, and congratulating himself for pulling it together.  Man, I’ve got to laugh, too, or else I’d start acting like a bipolar three year old myself.  

yum:  Can’t wait to make these Banana Blueberry Muffins, but just when I think I’ve got the ingredients, I open the fridge to find the blueberries all gone!  I’m loving all the fresh fruit at the Market these days, and can’t seem to keep enough of it around.  Guess I’m going to run to the Orchard later to restock.  I’ll let you know how they turn out.

vacation envy:  Quite a few friends lately have shared about their dreamy family vacations.  Mostly these aren’t extravagant or lavish escapes to exotic places but more like family camping trips and beach excursions.  But, I still have such envy.  I do have a vacation to look forward to, in September, but my husband won’t be able to join us for the full time, and I’m sad for that.  This time of year I desire deeply to not be ruled by the clock, to be barefoot for days, to be sandy always, to eat lots of Smarties, and read lots of books.  To have something special that will remain always in vacationland.  Weekends are nice, but I’m yearning for something more.

car questions: With a third child on the way, we are looking to buy a new car.  Right now, I drive a little sedan, which I have been coping with for a few years.  It’s a reliable car, which has been its reward, and now I’m glad that we didn’t upgrade last year or so, because we’d be in a jam now.  We have a pretty specific checklist for a vehicle.  I’m pretty little, so I don’t want to drive something that seems huge.  I don’t want to be lifting kids in and out of a car that is high up.  It needs to fit three car seats, and I’m kind of banking on three car seats in a row.  Does it make sense to think about extra room for car-pooling?  And what about gas mileage?  I’m hesitant to drive a mini-van, though recognize that I’ll drive whatever seems to make the most sense.  I’d love any feedback y’all have about whatever you drive. 

time to write:  Before I was pregnant, I liked to write during nap time.  It was a good way to break up my day, clear my head and get some thoughts out.  But now I’ve come to cling to nap time for my own napping. (I’m growing a person here, folks).  The kids seem to be waking earlier that ever before, and I’m not much of a morning person anyway, so even if I thought I could get up before them and start my day by writing, I’m not sure I’d actually beat them up.  By the time the evening rolls around, I’m spent, and still have to clean up the kitchen and tidy up the house, and take care of whatever paperwork, bills, etc. that need to be kept up with.  And then at some point my husband and I collapse on the couch together for about 45 mins of watching something on TV.  (I know that this is important time for us, even if we’re watching silly stuff, so I’m not giving it up).  I’m just trying to fit in some writing here and there when I can, which is why I have been random with my postings, random with my thoughts.  It’ll all even out at some point (I’m sure only to be rocked by another change in routine), but for now, stick with me. What are your writing routines?

reading:  a lot.  The new Vanity Fair issue.  State of Wonder by Ann Patchett.  The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver.  Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall.  And I finally got myself a copy of Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts.  And these are just the things I’m currently reading.  You should see my night table for my waiting list.  What is your nose in right now?

:: Do share whatever is on your mind ::

read these now

I’ve been reading, thinking, praying, contemplating.  If you want to join me, try here:

The Domestic Monastery  :: challenging me to think of my time mothering little ones as monastic: “What is a monastery? A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is also a place to learn the value of powerlessness and a place to learn that time is not ours, but God’s.”  // convicting, but maybe giving me an opportunity that I hadn’t seen before.

The Practices of Mothering  :: the power of our words, what are we sowing, how are we affirming ourselves and our little ones.  I’m really looking forward to the rest of her series, too. “But it is spiritual and powerful because in my heart, I see my life – and the lives of my tinies – as fertile ground.  And the words I scatter so carelessly around me can take root in the hearts and minds of us all, giving a narrative deep in the core about ourselves, the God we love, each other and our world. I am conscious of sowing words that give life in and about my tinies and my husband.”

For the Claire Dunphy’s and not the Claire Huxtable’s  ::  reminded again that Mothering is a marathon, and not a sprint.  I am not perfect, my kids are not perfect.  And that’s OK.

What are you reading?