I do all my own stunts

Hair stunts, that is.

Survivor

My strong, courageous sister and her teammates (husband, friend) ran the Race for the Cure early Sunday morning.

I watched. I cheered. I forgot to wear some pink (thought about toting the nearly-empty pink water bottle from my car though!). I ran the final stretch with them, outside the barrier. (People probably thought I didn't understand the nature of the race course.) I fought back a few tears, especially seeing the runners with "In Memory Of" signs taped to their backs.

Next year, I'm hoping to run. Maybe with an "In Celebration Of" sign on MY back.

A Pioneer Sampler

I just have to share that we are having a big old time with this book, which we snagged from the library but plan to own eventually:

It's a delightful hybrid of a storybook (following the daily life of a pioneer family living in the woods in the 1840's) and a craft/activity book. One of those precious tomes that captures the attention of ALL three children. Each chapter begins with a story, followed by some supplemental info presented in a more factual yet still engaging manner, and an activity suggestion or two. Just this week, we've made butter by hand, watched beekeepers online (hoping to take them to see a For Real one soon), and -- perhaps my favorite -- tried to beat the stopwatch, seeing how fast we could name then pioneer uses for corn. Are you aware that they used dried cobs for toilet paper? Are you? Huh?

(Contemplate THAT next time you think your "green" brand doesn't feel quite as soft as Charmin.)

Anyway, check it out!

How to entertain yourself

... if you're nine years old and waiting in a soporific line at the post office while your parents complete passport applications and swear that they're not abducting you and spiriting you off to Tasmania:

(click to enlarge)

... if you're six years old and live in a place with nary a blaze of autum glory to be found (make your own!):

... if you're three years old, and the weather prevents you from fishing with your homemade pole at the neighborhood pond, and your backyard is one giant mud puddle:

... if you're a mama in need of simultaneous caffeine and comfort while your house looks like this:

(make THIS!)

What's keeping you amused today??? Care to share?

Maybe she means "consciousness"

Caroline: "Mommy? I can't sleep."

Me: "Why not?"

Caroline: "My conscience ... is ... wishing."

Me: "What is it wishing for?"

Caroline: "A pair of glass slippers."

I'm in a quandary

I just can't decide what the highlight of this weekend should be. Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope.

It might have been dropping off my two guys at a scouting event called Webelos Woods on Friday night, where the Boy Scouts take the older Cub Scouts under their wings and try to impress upon them the utter coolness of becoming a Boy Scout. I just knew they were in for a night and a day of nonstop male bonding, building stuff and getting dirty and singing ridiculous songs. Grunt.
(Fly in the ointment: Three year old thinking I'm the worst mom EVER for not letting her stay with the boys. Well, get used to it, kiddo. I think that particular file will remain open for the next two decades.)

It might have been taking my girls to the pumpkin patch to make their selections. To be honest, I just couldn't work up any motivation for autumnal activities until this weekend. When it's mid-eighties and humid, it's like your seasonal clock is jammed. You're bitterly aware that folks in OTHER parts of the country are picking apples and baking them into crisps, or crunching merrily through piles of leafy splendor, but you just can't quite get into the spirit of things, you know?


Or maybe it was my mother-in-law, whom you might have met in the comments section, taking the girls to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and get ice cream, so I could have a bit of that "margin time" we've recently discussed. I like my mother-in-law. She speaks Desperate-ese. (Bonus: Three year old thinking I'm the best mom EVER for making her a twirly skirt in her absence.)

No wait, I know. It was THIS. This afternoon we were invited to attend the baptism of a young friend of ours. All the ingredients for a perfect occasion were assembled: gorgeous lake, perfect weather, tasty refreshments, 20-30 supportive friends and relatives, and us getting completely lost and arriving twenty minutes late. Awesome. So we're gathered at the shore and our seven-year-old friend Catherine wades out into the water with her father, who has offered up a prayer and a short word on the significance of baptism. Everyone's quiet, reverently waiting. Her father takes Catherine's arm.


Suddenly, loud and clear, one of my children blurts into the silence, "Hey, while you're in the water, can you pick up that glass thing floating around out there? It's going to pollute the lake!"

Okay, go ahead and keep your bubbling, cinnamony apple crisp. I'll just be over here in my corner, giggling nervously and eating humble pie.

Please pass the margin

Have you heard of the concept of margin? I'm not so well-versed, but I believe the concept involves making space in your life, doing a little less, leaving room -- room in your time, your energy, your finances, etc. before you find yourself running on fumes.

I'm feeling the lack of margin these days. There are a couple of witty little posts and long, reflective ones trying to wind their way out, but honesty compels me to admit, right now I got nuthin'. This week I manhandled five passport applications into the U.S. bureaucracy, endeavored to inspire my children to further learning, tutored for four hours, and finally, after feeling like I was spending a disproportionate part of my day walking to and fro in the house picking up stuff, filled with grace for nobody, promised myself to stop that and just for a day, neither clean nor nag. By Wednesday night, I felt myself quivering on the verge of tears during our AWANA club night over my child's "under-performance." Not good.

I had to take ten minutes to stand outside and watch the rain fall. I had to tell the Lord, for the twelve thousandth time perhaps, that I cannot make it and that He must. I had to listen for His reminder that His transforming work in me is just like that gentle rain: unstoppable.

I know my children deserve my best. I know the answer is not to withdraw from them. But I also feel sometimes that they're getting less than my best, because I'm not taking care of their mother. I read a post by beloved author Shannon Hale about mothering and creativity and thought, yes, that part is usually the first to go. But one distant day from now, my children will be living lives of their own, and what will be left? How do you give your family 100%, relishing the work and the joys of the domestic sphere, but also maintain a certain amount of yourself in reserve -- the part that is a child of God and therefore enjoys creating, that wants to go and do and explore?

I believe that children naturally respect adults who take care of themselves, who remain lifelong learners, who refuse to stagnate. Yet meanwhile, they and their surroundings require great care and (often immediate) attention. The default for most of us, I think, is to become primarily consumers and maintainers, rather than producers and delighters. (New word. You're welcome, Mr. Webster.)

Friends, how do you all reconcile this dilemma in your own lives? Has anyone modeled for you that kind of balance?