Nancy, we are getting OLD, sister!

(you first)

Coincidentally

it was the last time the Captain came to the party
and the last year Nancy blew out all 40-something candles.* Ever.

Happy birthday!!

Have a safe and happy birthday, Nancy:
buy the number candles from here on out!

*this number is a bold faced lie to protect the innocent: ME! (because my sister might kill me if I posted her real age without her permission)

---------------------

P.S. My dear readers, I'm on a mini-blog vacation and will return in June. Just FYI.

7 Quick Takes

Hypocrisy Girl needs a better uniform
(and a picture of a woman wearing it)
P.S. Anyone else creeped out by the lack of arm hair?

1 Hypocrisy Girl: Self-Serving Humanity Since 2003!

My husband and oldest son were both cranky and tired after a long and stormy night kept them from getting enough sleep. Both were reacting to minor irritations by increasing their volume. Since I'd suffered through the same sort of night, the noise was getting to me. Finally, after my husband delivered a routine instruction at full volume, I snapped, "Can we cut the yelling? John's been at it all day. You coming in and doing the same thing is just...blah...blah...blah..."

I hope I was kind, but I realize I was in full Teacher Mode (i.e., obnoxiously lecturing). Mercifully I was busy enough to be brief. As soon as I turned back around to finish getting dinner, my youngest son grabbed the cup I was in the process of filling with his powders and supplements and turned it over.

"No, Simon, no!" I yelled. He gave me his patented you-clearly-have-no-idea-what-you-are-doing eyebrow lift before dumping the cup again, showing me in his nonverbal way that I hadn't filled it before donning my Hypocrisy Girl super suit of moral infallibility. I blushed furiously, met my husband's eye, and pantomimed a grisly moment from the original Men in Black movie. I reached behind my head, pretended to pull my skin tight, stretched my mouth wide and said in a cockroachy voice, "Is that better?" Without missing a beat, my husband leaned in and whispered, "More sugar" before kissing my cheek.

You've gotta love that man.

2 Nieces: You gotta love them, too!

President Bush Bikes Here

My youngest niece flew in for a visit over her very short Spring Break. I've not seen her since she was in elementary school in California and now she's a Freshman BYU, Utah. To tell you the kind of awesome kid we're dealing with here, not only did she opt to visit a houseful of Martins in lieu of partying in someplace like Cancun, she happily took charge of canning a flat of tomatoes that came our way unexpectedly. Not only that that, this Freshman will be graduated before the end of next year. She sings opera, too. Sings it well, I mean.

We did attempt to entertain her in more traditional ways than peeling tomatoes. We took her to Palo Duro Canyon days before the media discovered it. She can always say, "I was there before the President made it cool." If she mentions her visit to outsiders, that is.

3  Cheeses
I have officially made my first solo batch of goat cheese cheddar (solo, yet well supervised by my friend Rozanne). I had to get up a little early this morning in order to take it from the press and salt it. It's happily drying out on a make-do cheese cradle consisting of Pyrex and plastic cutlery. I got the curds a little too hot a little too soon, so they matted up on me. It won't be a pure cheddar, but since cheddar recipes are the basis for most cured cheeses, I think we'll have something edible. More news on that when it cures.

4 Sold!

We have now committed to the switch from Nubian goats to La Manchas. We bought one La Mancha goat and she outproduced the combined total of milk from all three of our Nubians. With last year's drought still a prominent factor in our decision making, we had to make the difficult choice of selling goats. Last year we barely had enough milk for daily use and I could only make a fresh cheese once every two weeks or so. Now I am getting enough milk from our new goat that I can make plenty of fresh cheeses, like ricotta and mozzarella, and still have enough left over to "store the milk" in aged cheeses. Truly a goat worth her feed!

5 Moths and Drought Effects
We have been inundated by a plague of moths. They aren't a new species, just a whole lot of our usual ones. Explanations have varied from "climate changes affecting migratory routes" to unseasonably warm temperatures speeding up the annual life cycle timetables. I think a simpler explanation may serve. Last year the drought was so severe that only the earlier emerging moths survived long enough to breed. Any later developing varieties were either burned out or scooped up by birds desperate for food before they abandoned the region. Not only was there no greenery last year, there were no bugs and hardly any birds. I know this because I am in charge of cleaning windshields and lawn mowing. After April last year, I didn't clean bugs off the windshields once. Nor did I mow a single blade of grass. Birdsong was absent all last year. This year each blade, each chirp, each flapping moth has been a relief. The biggest effect of the drought has been an increased tolerance for such nuisances as mud, moths, and bug splattered windshields. It's annoying to clean tracked in mud, gross to remove bug parts from wipers, and eyewateringly itchy to mow a weedy lawn, but it's much more disconcerting to live an entire year without ever needing to.


6 Lot's of short stuff

Nothing says Spring quite like a girl and a hammock!

The blogging has been a little sparse lately. We're busily schooling, renovating, living. The usual. I've been reluctant to get up early enough to write, so there you go. June will be a breather, so I'll be blogging more then. Meanwhile here's a few random shots of the kids.

Sylvia smiling at her favorite neighbor!

Anna exploring nature.

That look, that one right there...that's why!
(It explains everything.)

P.S. I am in desperate need of some shots of John! He's got a charmingly gap toothed smile at the moment. We've chewed through several cameras in the last year and our latest computer is the usual Martin Clunker, so current pictures are scarce. These were all glommed off of friends.





7 A Disturbing Report
The neighbor boy came by with the alarming news that we have two dead chickens. It turned out to be one dead rooster, one wounded rooster, and one missing hen. It looks like our skunk is back and our chickens' days of "free range" are over. Back to the tractor, the lot of you! 

Le sigh...

Thanks to Jennifer Fulwiler, a fellow Texan, for hosting

7 Quick Takes Friday 

over at Conversion Diary.com

 

Happy Birthday!

18 years ago today, you blessed our family by being born.
Happy birthday, niece!

The power of love...Grandparents

As you are running around cleaning today, eating tomorrow, and shopping Friday, remember to love.

Here's a little story...

My foster daughter lived with us for the most part from the age of two weeks old to one year (and a few months) when she went to live more permanently with a relative. She came back to us again when she was two years old.

The first day back in our home, she was confused. She'd been bounced around and had experiences that led to a removal from that relative's home. We were so happy to have her back with us, and of course we remembered her, but she had that wary, uncertain look about her that children shouldn't ever, ever have.

She would sit in my lap for hugs. She'd let my husband carry her. She would stand next to the other kids, but her thumb was in her mouth, her smiles were brief, and she was stiff, poised to run. That is until my mother came over.

No sooner had my little foster girl's wide and searching eyes landed on my mom, than her arms were up, asking mutely to be picked up. Mom, still in the hallway and hardly in the house, scooped her little Sissy into her embrace.

She melted into my mother. That moment changed everything. She remembered her Nana. She was safe. Her tiny body finally relaxed as she hid her face in my mother's shoulder. When she surfaced again, peeking at us from the depths of that hug, she was finally smiling. She had come home.

If you ever, ever wonder about what it means to be a grandparent, there aren't any words. Just an image of a poor lost little girl who couldn't quite remember the family who loved her until she was safe again in her grandmother's arms.

The Culture of Divorce

REWIND WEEKEND: As I am off on retreat this weekend, I thought I would rerun some of the marriage posts. We can all use a refresher course on being sweet, after all. (Me included and me especially!)

The Culture of Divorce

"The unchallenged acceptance of divorce has infected our world with hopelessness" from the Retrouvaille vision statement

A friend lamented recently, "Why wasn't I taught how to be a wife when I was growing up?"

I thought on that for a split second and then I opened my mouth and said something along the lines of: well, my mom had tried her best. She wanted to teach me to be independent. She made sure I knew how to balance a checkbook and stay within a budget. She stressed the importance of maintaining good credit, limiting your debts, and paying your bills on time. She also trained me up to maintain a house for myself. I could cook, clean, maintain a decent schedule for myself so I didn't burn out. I resisted all along the way, of course. She insisted on choosing a solid, dependable career as part of my training, and it was in college that I learned to resist anything that resembled "women's work." If it smacked of the domestic chains, I wanted nothing of it. She had her work cut out for her.

When I took a breath and she had half a chance, my friend, obviously a tiny bit irritated with me a bit, said, "Not that stuff. That other stuff."

Come to find out what she really meant was the skills like keeping your mouth shut when you want to let loose, apologizing without rationalizing, allowing space for emotions without letting them run the show. That's a whole different kind of training.

All my married life I've struggled to learn That Other Stuff.

The more I thought about this the more I realized I've been trained to be divorced better than I'd been trained to be married.

Here's some Divorce Preparation Tips I picked up along the way:

• Get a career and keep your own money in case he dumps you.
• Keep track of what belongs to whom.
• Let him know exactly how you feel.
• Men want to rule women.
• Men are silly.
• Men don't feel.
• There's no difference between men and women--it's all cultural.
• Because you feel it, it must be true.
• You're not just arguing with your husband, you are arguing with thousands of years of male domination and female repression.

Most of this "helpfulness" came from those women's magazines that are chock full of articles my husband and I joking refer to as "How to be divorced in 6 years or less!" The real stuff took some real maturity and some real pains to learn.

The Real Stuff like:

• There's no winning an argument.
• Actions speak louder than words.
• Emotions are just emotions.
• Love and trust are not emotions all the time: sometimes they are conscious decisions you make.

There's No Winning an Argument

You can win debates. You can even even win the lottery, but an argument with your spouse is unwinnable. Winning means there's a loser and when there's a loser, you both lose. It's like scoring a touchdown against your own side. You and he are in this together. You're a team. You may have won the war of words, but you've lost something more important. Keeping score and using conflict to do it is a no-win.

You need to approach conflict as the inevitable result of two people living in close proximity. You're going to have to come to a compromise of some sort. This other person has needs and desires that are at the very least just as important as yours. Try to find a way to accommodate each other. The first step is to listen to him. Try restating his argument for him. "Are you saying...help me understand." Let him know you are really listening and really considering his side. That generally takes the heat out of the friction between you, and once that happens you can get down to the business of working things out.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Are you still acting single? Do you have your own space, your own money, your own stuff? Do you make decisions that will affect the two of you without his input just because you can or even because you merely feel like it? Do you resent the demands he makes upon you?

If so, consider how loudly you are communicating two thing: my spouse doesn't make a difference in my life and he is not worth any extra effort on my part. You may not ever say such rude comments out loud, but consider how much wear and tear is done to the relationship when you daily act as if they were your truth.

But He Isn't Perfect!

If you are expecting him to be perfect before you are willing to make any changes yourself, you'll have a very long wait. Neither he, nor you, will ever attain that glorious state. Waiting for him to change first is a perfect excuse. It's your handy dandy get of responsibility free card. When you find yourself thinking he doesn't deserve the best from you, I can pretty much guarantee you probably don't deserve the best from him either.

Part II All You Have to Do Is...

REWIND WEEKEND: As I am off on retreat this weekend, I thought I would rerun some of the marriage posts. We can all use a refresher course on being sweet, after all. (Me included and me especially!)





The 3 Things You Need to Do

1. Pray

2. Give more

3. Stay in your right mind

A Recap and an Introduction to Part II

Marriage is almost impossible. It takes society, willpower, the threat of financial ruin, and Divine Intervention to keep us from exploding into separate and unhappy divorced pieces. Studies have shown that after a few years, unhappy couples who have rated themselves as miserable and yet stuck it out now rate themselves as happy. The unhappy couples who divorced still rate themselves as miserable(http://www.americanvalues.org/html/r-unhappy_ii.html). That makes sense if you think about it. Are you happier knowing that when times get rough, you have someone willing to tough it out with you? Or are you happier knowing that when times get rough enough, you'll be all alone?

Real unhappiness in a marriage stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of human nature. We think that we can live happily ever after. Oh sure, you'll be happy intermittently and sad intermittently, and angry, too. But that happily ever after part comes later, ladies, when you reach your reward. Having impossible expectations leaves you frustrated and unhappy. Who are you going to blame for your disappointed expectations? Him? How about our fallen human nature?

From our Self-Esteem Pushers we've heard that human nature is giving, loving, generous, kind. Blah, blah, blah. What is pointedly ignored is that human nature is also selfish, demanding, cruel, and lazy. Each one of us is a combination of good and bad traits. You are. Your husband is. We are all pretty much idiots emotionally. You are going to hurt him and he will hurt you back.

So? So stop feeling guilty. So stop holding grudges. It's the nature of the beast.

Stop thinking of your husband as the enemy. Even when you are fighting, he is not the enemy. He is the man you chose, and he is the man God will use to make you better than you are. We do not grow emotionally or spiritually by doing what is easy, but by enduring what is hard. Marriage to an imperfect person is hard work, but you will grow in love and holiness by persevering in the task. G.K. Chesterton, often referred to as the Apostle of Common Sense, said, "Love means loving the unlovable - or it is no virtue at all." Love what is good in your husband and he will return the favor. Love what is not good in him, and pray he does the same.

Your husband may not be your enemy, but you are involved in a great war. On a purely secular plane, the battle is about wresting a living and keeping afloat financially in the world. It involves everything from scheduling to sleeping to packing a lunch. There are too many demands out in the world. You act as one another's filter to keep those financial and time demands to a sane minimum. There is also the war of good versus evil that has its sights trained on you. Since marriage and raising children is a "good," it will come under direct attack. Evil is not a very fashionable idea in our day and age, but that only works toward its advantage. It exists. If you don't believe in it, watch the news.

When at war, there are casualties. Although you are united in the fight against a common enemy, it is the nature of war that sometimes, accidentally, you catch fire from your own side. It's called Friendly Fire. It's due to errors in communication, judgement, or confusion in the heat of battle. The injury is the same as if the enemy inflicted it, only...it's worse somehow.

The problem with battles within a marriage is that they are all Friendly Fire. Thank God, there is a cure for those wounds.

1. PrayWhen you hurt, pray. When you wonder, pray. When you despair, pray. In all things, pray. Prayer reminds us that we are not the largest, greatest, and best thing in the Universe. We are bowing to Somebody. We are humbled. I have a very wise friend who once advised me when my heart was breaking to cry in the lap of God. He would comfort me. She was right. I received comfort and was healed over time.

God will take the hurts of your marriage and heal them. Through prayer, He will make the pain in your life a wellspring of compassion in you. When you are humble enough to ask for help and to admit your own faults, it's amazing how your perspective on your spouse changes. He stops being an adversary and becomes, once again. a person that you love and that you want to love you. Be soft. Be humble. Be prayerful.

My husband and I began a habit not too long ago when we were stuck in a rut of daily bickering. I wanted to stop the constant, mutual harassment and so did he, but it seemed impossible. After a particularly trying day and at the start of yet another epic misunderstanding I prayed aloud, "All of Heaven would you please listen to what I am trying to say to this man?" My very wise husband, grabbed my hand and said, "Okay, then, let's argue in prayer!" So we did. All the heat went right out of us and we were able to say exactly what we needed to say and to hear exactly what we needed to hear. It's now a joke that God wanted in our argument. But the joke was on us, because by praying, the argument was over. We were able to finally have a discussion.

What's really funny is that neither of us even remembers what that particular argument was about!

So, if you want to really go out on a limb, be as brave as my husband was, grab that furious person's hand and ask him to pray. Ask God to join your argument. It will transform your marriage.

2. Give more

Selfishness breeds more selfishness. Focusing only on yourself and your needs is childish with the complication that it will further your unhappiness. When you are thinking, "All I ever do is give!" the focus is on yourself and what you are doing. It's a sure sign that you are actually not giving enough in the marriage.

Human beings have a real need to be needed. This doesn't mean that you have to go out of your way to make yourself indispensable to your husband. That is another form of selfishness--it's still all about you. What you need to do is to go out of your way to make your husband's life easier to live. There's a big difference. The first way, becoming indispensable, means that you are rewarded by being needed. The second way, being helpful and easing his burdens, is a gift you are giving your husband. Remember that first post on the difference between male and female? I'm trying to teach you a little about the male way of loving.

We women make the mistake of feeling that love is only an emotion. We think it's supposed to be a perpetual state of bliss, a soft goeyness, or an overwhelming desire for another person. What is love really? Love is a series of decisions you make. Men understand that way better than we do. They decide to brush the snow off your car, check the fluid levels, fill up the gas tank, not because it's something you can't do, but to show you they care. What little gestures of love does your husband do for you? Does he put a glob of toothpaste on your brush before he brushes his teeth? Does he spoon sugar into your coffee when he's sugaring up his?

Use the male model of love for a month. Do little things for him that he would normally do for himself--not the things you'd like done for yourself, that's a veiled hint. While you do these little things in your head say, "I'm doing this to show myself how much I really love him." Don't worry if he never notices. Don't hang around waiting to see if he's discovered all the wonderful things you are now doing for him. This is a lesson you have to teach yourself.

3. Stay in Your Right Mind

This one is the hardest. We women are emotional creatures and we relate to the world and to others on a touchy-feely level. When we hurt, we hurt! When we love, we love! When we argue, look out!

We have an advantage over men in the emotional arena. Our female brains are wired with many more connections between the right and left hemispheres than male brains. That means your emotional left brain and your rational right brain are a little more intertwined than your husband's. A woman can generally out think and out speak a man on the emotional level. In other words, we can better express our feelings from the right side of our heads with the logic and language skills stored on our left side. While this gives us a decided advantage in rearing children, it can be a handicap: when our emotions run away with us, our mouths give a running commentary.

How many times have you had to apologize after the heat of the battle for the cruel words that spewed from your anger? How many times have you wished that you could take back the words that have hurt so deeply?

When you are in the heat of the moment, always remember that this moment will end and it will have an aftermath. Would you rather the aftermath be full of peace and resolutions or full of regrets and apologies?

Keep your head straight when you are in the thick of a disagreement. You don't have to agree on everything. You don't even have to come to any particular conclusions right at this moment. Some discussions are better tabled until after some thought has been applied.

The old adage of "Count to 10" before speaking is a good one. A better idea is to give Heaven a quick appeal before you open your mouth to speak. Ask for help expressing your needs in a way that he can hear. Ask that his ears and heart be open to you and ask that yours be open to him.

Maybe a change in perspective is needed, too. Before you start to voice your opinion in any given disagreement, ask him if you can sum up what he is trying to say to you. Try to restate what it is he is trying to say. Let him fine tune your perspective until you actually do understand and can make his case for him. Take the time to hear him and his side before you ask him to do the same for you.

You may find that if you are calmer, more logical, and more open to his perspective, he'll begin to return the favor. There's no guarantees, of course, human nature being what it is. But if you change your way of dealing with him, you will at least have more peace with your side of things.

Now what?

Well, that's a very good question. Now that you are better prepared to stay prayerful and giving in your dealings with your husband, shouldn't everything be blissful?

Not on your life, but take heart.

We are not meant to be happy every given moment. We are not capable of sustained bliss. Marital happiness is more about having a person on the planet who is willing to bear you and bear with you the struggles of daily life. He is your one sure ticket to heaven--either by encouraging you in your daily growth to God or by causing you to call upon Heaven for the strength to put up with him.

Your marriage isn't about Happily Ever After anyway. It's about something more: how two selfish people can overcome themselves in order to make something beautiful. It's about reflecting the love God has for us by giving and loving another person. Neither you nor your spouse is the center of your marriage, and neither you nor your spouse is the Center and the Universe. God is. Just remembering that alone will take care of most of your problems.

One final point. I don't know about you, but I sure am grateful that I don't have to be married to me. I think my husband is much easier to get along with.

Part I here:

http://gardenofholiness.blogspot.com/2009/04/attitude-tips-for-wives-and-moms.html

Related Posts:

http://gardenofholiness.blogspot.com/2009/03/believe-it-or-not-its-controversial.html

Baby Product Recall--Fisher Price

Babies: Coming Mother's Day

"A visually stunning and joyful new film that simultaneously chronicles the lives of four of the world’s newest human inhabitants - in Mongolia, Namibia, San Francisco, and Tokyo, respectively -- from first breath to first steps, on a journey at once universal and amazingly original."

This looks to be an amazing film that will show how we much we are all alike. A baby is a baby is a baby, after all. They all manufacture cute. They all spring variously textured leaks. And they all engender the best and most precious in us...the desire to give our lives over to another person: the desire to love.

Of course it will be released on Mother's Day. When else?

Babies

Getting out from under... Part I

A short time ago, I posted a little hint about the grand plan in the works to get ourselves out from under a mortgage. With national debt levels hitting the stratosphere, that debt being purchased by a rival world power, banks going belly up, and all the rest of the mess, my Econ 101-honed instincts have tingled like a spidey sense. I'm no Peter Parker of Wall Street, but I can almost see inflation creeping up the side of the Federal Reserve Building.

When and if the dollar goes under, I don't want to be carting buckets full of them to the bank to make monthly payments. Yeah, I know, it can't happen here. We're too big to fail. I know. I know. Zimbabwe used to be the breadbasket of Africa, too. It took only one administration to starve them out. It looks like it'll take at least two over here.

Call me a teabagger, but I'm uneasy. I've been uneasy since the Clinton Administration's fiscal responsibility was tossed out with the bathwater under Bush and has since been merrily and completely mucked up with the mantra "Bush's fault" this go-round.

So, even if I am a dumb hick red state extremist because I say so, I don't like debt. I think too much of it is irresponsible. So now what?

Well, even if I'm wrong about everything, getting our family financially in the black won't hurt, so we're downsizing. We're already pretty fiscally responsible (and pretty Green, too, by the way) by recycling, buying used whenever feasible--yes, even down to the dryer because we only use that when it rains or snows--and not consuming for the sake of stuff. We've taken a few wrong turns here and there, but we've generally been going in the black direction, even when swimming in red ink.

Red Ink--Blue State
As a pigheaded youth I married wrong and then I got sick. That one bad choice and one bad circumstance left me debt riddled and starting over in my early twenties. I moved to the land of golden opportunity and cheap tuition (California in the early 90s) and worked at whatever job I could scrounge up, happily relying on my bachelor's degree that I had also worked hard and paid for (and off) to scrabble into a position that I hated but had benefits. I stood that job as long as I could and as long as it took to save enough money to be able to get my teaching degree while working part time.

As a teacher, I lived frugally. I was taking out the maximum in retirement and living as poorly as a college student on her own dime (again). Some of the other young teachers invested in enviable shoes and great hair. I let mine grow out and clomped around in sensible shoes from Wal-Mart. Yeah, it was good for the soul, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, I was working up a down payment for my first home. Meanerwhile I was courting long distance and planning on marrying the man I should have married in the first place. He had debt issues, too. By the time we tied the knot, we had our 10 % down on a house just shy of $100,000 in the early days of the California market climb. Our house only had two bedrooms and the siding was shot and the realtor really wanted to "work with us" and get us that third bedroom and second bath, but we had my husband's debt load to pay off and no kids to house yet, so we opted for much less than we qualified for. That house was about half of what the banks was begging to "give" us.

Then the real estate bubble hit very hard. In about two years we had doubled our money in equity, so we refinanced and fixed the siding. Two years after that and six years ago this spring, my Econ 101 spidey sense started to tingle, so we sold our house, took our money and ran. California was too expensive to reinvest in and was spending money wildly, so we ran all the way to the Panhandle of Texas where we could pay cash outright for a house.

We were set and we were mortgage free the first time around, but we forgot to factor in some things: neighbors, pushers, and the meth epidemic.

end of Part I

The Hitch in Your Get-Along

Wow, you think, you are a marital diva. You've weathered the storm. For months now, you and your dear hubby have been chugging along, getting along. All is well.

Then it hits--the hitch in your get-along.

Sure, months ago some well meaning mentor may have warned you this was inevitable, but you were unprepared. Surely you and he have solved every last marital problem?

Sure.

So, before despairing and thinking, "Oh woe! Oh weep! Oh moan!" Think again. Did you forget something? You are married to a human, and worse! You are both of the same species. Neither one of you has any hope of getting it right every single time.

Here's a few things to do while you are weathering the glitch:

1. Don't dredge the past
2. Don't despair
3. Don't lose your head, use your head

1. Don't dredge the past
    Old habits are hard to overcome. If he's slipped up or you've slipped up, can you give yourself the common decency of remembering that learning and changing is a process? A slip up can be just that. If it isn't something serious, like an affair or a return to an addiction, a relapse into bad behavior is probably just a momentary weakness and not an indication of a refusal to love, honor and cherish.

2. Don't despair
    If you can manage #1 and if you can remember to pray, this one might not be as hard as it sounds. Despair is an emotion: a profoundly negative and unhelpful one. Although it is incredibly hard not to let emotions get control of you and your mental life, it may help to consider that if you are feeling despair, you are most likely not seeing things very clearly. Also, you must remember that an emotion is not the most important element of your reaction, as much as that emotion wants you to think it is the boss. Sometimes you just have to ignore yourself and get going. Despair is not an emotion with a divine source, it is a sinister, undermining, weakening emotion that you are better off not entertaining. If you find yourself having despairing thoughts, say, "I know better than this. I really do" and then allow yourself or even force yourself to think of something else. You've got reason for a reason. Use it when your emotions are not helping.

3. Don't lose your head, use your head
    Well, fine and dandy. Maybe he has treated you this way before and maybe you really are thinking he is hopeless and this is a horrible way to live and the usual interior rumblings of an unhappy woman (let us do keep these types of thoughts to ourselves now shall we?) Does that really mean you now have free reign to behave badly in return? Can you let go and be a banshee because he's been a jerk? Are you still 9 years old and think you can walk away from responsibility for your own actions with a "Well, he started it!" attitude? Do you recognize a rhetorical question when you see one? Or five? Or seven?

The sweetest revenge is sweetness. If he's hunkering down to jerkiness, respond with kindness, smile sweetly and think, "Oh yeah? I'm being a much better person than you!" Pretend you don't notice and carry on as if you were the nicest gal ever. Pretty soon, he'll come around. I've never had this one fail me. The trick is to not have one scintilla of sarcasm in your manner, not a dollop of ill will, or even a whiff of irritation. Consider it an exercise of wills. Yours versus yours. Just trust me on this one, he'll be dazzled.

Meanwhile, back at the split-level ranch house, can you remember that history repeating itself has a good side? Yes, you've been here before and you are sick and tired of the same old stuff coming up again. You hate feeling this way and you never ever thought you would have to again. Yeah, that sucks. But, guess what? You guys felt like this and got over it once before. Or two times. Or maybe even half a dozen times before. You guys can get over this glitch because you've gotten over glitches before. It's a habit now.

Now that's worth something.

Marriage...

For Jacen...


...my nephew, poised on the brink, within the week you, too, are about to enter The Fellowship of the Rings! Here is some advice, some words of wisdom, from the wellspring of 10 short years:

Marriage is not for the faint of heart. It is for the steadfast and loyal. It is hard work. It is so worth it.

Some of the most exquisite moments of your life, like the moment your eyes will meet hers after you have touched your first child for the first time, will only be known by you, your bride, and God. These moments are so much more precious because of their secret and intimate nature. May you have too many to count and may they begin with that first marital kiss!

Silly, auntie, you may think: you need no advice in how to weather the bliss. We seem born knowing how to handle it! It is those other times that need bolstering. Those dry times, those times when God seems distant and we are in the cold desert alone, those are the times that try us. There is a reason for winter, for ashes, for quiet and loneliness. These are the times that God is hidden from us and He is at work within us.

As a farmer, you know very well that there is a cycle to things: spring, summer, fall, and winter. You are entering into the springtime of your love. Hope and light and warmth are increasing. Your first honeymoon together is about to begin. After the fullness of this cycle of growth, seeds will be planted in the soil of your marriage, and the pruning frosts and a shedding season will begin.

Do not be afraid. Do not ever be afraid. Things are at work in the hushed season of winter. God is whispering in secret to the seeds the summer has sown. Those seeds will grow, but first God requires a dark and a lonely season. When the cold comes, let your vows sustain you. Your promise and your word is good enough to get you through this time without light. Trust that there will be a new springtime on the heels of this.

My only advice is this: trust each other always, even in those rare times when you don't seem to like each other. Her word is good and so is yours. You have promised to love, honor, and cherish. That promise will carry you whenever you forget how to carry each other.

For now, though, my advice is to forget this letter, forget this advice, and enjoy each other. Enjoy your day and the first of many beautiful days together!

Love and much love,
Christie

40 Dishes in 40 Days: I know I promised...

...not to update endlessly about the 40 Bags in 40 Days exercise, but I am so jazzed about it! I can't tell you how wonderful it has been to spend 20 minutes or so a day going through all those things I always mean to get to but never do. This challenge has given me the impetus to "get a move on" and "get around to it" finally.

Here's one group of items that have made it into the "Giveaway Pile" much to my relief: my wedding dishes! The dishes were perfectly nice and perfectly serviceable, but there's a story that I haven't shared with many people. The person who bought them gave them to me saying in a whisper, "You'll like these better than the ones you picked out."  As you can imagine, the smile froze on my face for a moment or so.

Did I respond to the implied insult to my taste in dishware? No. Did I return them for the ones I wanted? No. I was polite and contained my irritation. You see, it was a group gift from several friends and this woman had taken charge and purchased them. None of the other friends knew she'd gotten a set I hadn't wanted. I didn't want to hurt their feelings or bother explaining what had happened, so for 10 years I've used them and remembered that moment.

Now I won't have to.

A few years back my mom gave me a set of china with a similar story behind them. As an overenthusiastic newlywed she'd done something similar--purchased dishes that a bride had not picked out. My mother had saved and scrimped and purchased dishes she would have loved to have--much as I can hope my friend had done for me (minus the scrimping). I know that my mother meant well and I have come to want to believe the same of the friend who'd bought my dishes for me. That other bride gave the dishes quietly to her mother to store, and after 40 or so years the dishes meandered back to my mother. They're mine now.

I can use them and not doubt the intentions of the giver. I can, instead, remember my mother and her sometimes long-winded impulsiveness. I've been told that women remember everything forever. In my wedding dishes this has been true. I will enjoy my "new ones" and be a bit freer to remember better moments with that long ago friend of mine.

Now, these perfectly serviceable dishes (that were also not on my gift registry) will have two stories. One of my mother and one of me.

Busy enough for ya?

I forget how to add. Like 2 + 2 = 4 is obvious, so should be a more algebraic but equally basic equation like Valentine's Day + Sunday = Crowded Mall.

We decided after the Jell-O and candy at Nana's to celebrate the day with our sugar-sweetened children by going to the $2 discounted theatre at the mall. "We" being half the town.

In our wisdom to forget about people behaving just like us, it also never occurred to us to allow time for a line, so we were forced to take the only row that had 7 empty and consecutive seats--the front row.

Now would be a good time to explain some things about the experience of Autism: big, huge, loud, flashy and colorful experiences are better in smaller, more distant and constrained conditions like between two parents near the back with the entire comforting mass of family between the experience and the exit. Being able to get up and walk into the open space in front of the first row makes everything less tolerable. You have options. Options are not good.

On the other hand bailing on a movie, getting vouchers to return another day and indoor playgrounds on a blustery winter day are good. Getting to it in a crowded mall? Not so very good.

My kids are 6, 4, 4, 2, and 1. There are 1 more of them than there are available adult hands. They dawdle. They look at things. They have short legs. They exist when other people are existing. These things about children in large groups make some adults in small groups grumpy. Adults grumpy about children being children tickles my sense of the absurd and I laugh. I also connect seemingly unrelated dots, like certain unfortunate winter clothing choices and frozen bakery items. Dot connecting makes my husband laugh.

So, here we were, traipsing around with children and laughing because we were actually having a good time. Some other people were also having a good time. They exchanged pleasantries in that Mallish way of milling about and making eye contact and saying something nice just loud enough to be overheard. "Cute kids." "Look at that hair." "Aw!" We had our share of nice things to say about some little girls in very princessy looking dresses as well as a few wind and weather remarks made to allow for a bit of idle conversation among strangers.

Sadly, though, amongst the crowd of us there were people there not to have a good time at all. They exchanged grumpiness in that Mallish way of not making eye contact and brushing past in a way that screams, "I'm busy here!" in a flustered and important way.

I never realized road rage was possible without a road.

I've been that busy. I can't even stand myself when I'm that busy. I hate it. I'd especially hate being busy on a Sunday in February when me and everyone else decides to do the same thing at the same time and we're all kinda stuck with each other doing it. I'd much prefer having nothing much better to do than enjoy some time with my family--my small one and my very big one--all the whole lot of us.

Even in a Mall.

A Friday Coffee Break

This is just too, too cute not to share with you. Look how well this baby keeps time!

Spaghetti! It's What's for Dinner!

I have been enjoying the mayhem of the Advent and Christmas Seasons with my family. Blogging took a back burner. I wanted to share this fun pic with you--my facebook friends have seen it!

Wifey Wednesday

Today was one of those days. I had so many things scheduled that, although everything got done in a timely fashion, I was stressed out for most of the day.

As I was tag-teaming with my husband--he was coming in while I was going out--I heard myself barking orders at everyone instead of kissing goodbyes.

"Go help your sisters with...

Honey, don't forget we're meeting up
at...

Are you ready yet?...

I need you to..."

I had to stop myself. I was still broiling on the inside with the furor and fervor of an overly scheduled day, but I hugged and kissed and smiled at my brood. My husband could still tell I was stressed, as I'm sure the kids could, but I decided to behave better than that.

As I'm always telling my kids, "Your feelings aren't ruling the roost!" it was nice to actually show them my philosophy in action for once. I was feeling absolutely frazzled. I could have used my emotions as an excuse to drive myself and them into a frenzy, but instead this thought came clear out of the blue: man, I should schedule less stuff on Tuesdays.

This was my "Ah-ha Moment." Not only did we have two morning appointments with people coming to the house (which means chores must be done three hours earlier and not spread out over the day) I'd scheduled a Math test for my oldest, rice and funnel play with my youngers (messy), plus I'd thawed a week's worth of burger to make into meatballs for future dinners (messy and time consuming), all before having to leave for the afternoon appointments half an hour after my husband got home.

What's the matter with me? Yes, it all got done. Yes, the morning and afternoon appointments were all attended to (Not to mention, my husband sold a car in the midst of all this Tuesday induced mayhem).

Tuesdays are naturally busy with several immovable events, but like the untidy pile on the end of the dining room table that grows if not attended to, Tuesday gathers clutter. Partly it is just schedule magnetism. I'll think, "Oh well, I'll be running into town on Tuesday anyway, I can just swing by and..." I don't know if there is some sort of perverse pride or martyrdom in voluntarily adding more and more stress to an already stressful day, but I think I'll pass.

Like now. I'm writing. On Tuesday. I scheduled this to round out the day. I could continue to examine my motives and insights until I come up with something really neat or inspiring, but instead I'm going to bed.

Now that's time well spent.

A Life Worth Living

I can't tell you how many times someone has said to me, "I'd rather be dead than like..." someone like my son. Of course, they said this before I or they were aware of his disease, so they meant no offense (other than the offensiveness of the statement itself). By now some of those people have no doubt heard the diagnosis. I wonder if they will recall those words and feel a little flutter of shame or guilt or some unnameable emotion when we see each other again.

Some will not even remember. A few will be so embarrassed they'll probably let the acquaintance drop. It's human nature. I can see that. One maybe two will be repeating themselves on the issue, wishing death on themselves (and by logical extension on my son) and they will feel themselves very compassionate. They will, of course, be careful not to extend such brute compassion into the path of this mother. They were duly and politely informed where I stood on the issue long before it became personal.

This subject shall be taboo. Yet here I go, writing again. I'm the type to poke at a wound. I want to feel if there's fever in it. Is there something festering that needs to come out? There is so much under the surface.

I read books, the web pages, the parent forums and the fear is palpable. What if my son/daughter never becomes productive? What then? What if nothing we do ever fixes this? What will you people do to my baby after I'm gone? It's a valid fear after all: in the secular world a person's worth is measured by their utility. The Nazis' "useless eaters" idea was not a new one nor was it vanquished by their defeat.

Overall I find my reading depressing. So many of the experts and self-appointed experts are adamantly insisting on one treatment or another. The tone is so strident you can hear the underlying harmonics of "Please believe! If you believe, then I'll know I'm believing in the right thing." There is safety in numbers, after all.

But I'm not in that crowd. After my initial round of emotions I realized my autistic son was still my son with all his same traits, the lovable ones as well as the obnoxious. After all, nothing fundamentally changed with the diagnosis. What I mean is this: autism is merely a label for what we had already seen. It comes as a confirmation and revelation rather than as a thief in the night.

I can only imagine how my life would have been turned upside down if his diagnosis had been something along the lines of a terminal brain tumor. From one moment to the next, the world would have been completely different. The worst would have happened and nothing would have been the same again.

Autism? It might not be curable. It might not be pleasant all the time, but we have our boy. He's exactly who he is and exactly who we love.

And it isn't fatal. At least it isn't now: unless those with the philosophy that some lives aren't worth living get carried away again.

Related posts:

http://gardenofholiness.blogspot.com/2009/06/mommy.html

http://gardenofholiness.blogspot.com/2009/04/into-silence.html

Into the Silence

Since I have been on the other side of this table, I can read this specialist like a book. She's wondering, "Just how honest can I be?" I can see her return read of me, evaluating that I am not the type to burst into tears at the first inkling of bad news. It's a delicate dance we're having.

She's telling me what I already know, have hoped to avoid, but have been doggedly pursuing for over a year now: there's something wrong.

Still, I am experiencing revelations daily. Although I have already assessed him, diagnosed him, and have merely sought professional confirmation and assistance, seeing the reality in black and white finally does bring me to tears. I do it discreetly, alone, upsetting no one but myself.

I am learning that some of the professionals in this maze are honestly caring, genuinely concerned, and purposefully helpful. Some are merely indifferent and therefore tolerable. Some, and these are the ones to watch for, are very full of themselves as saviors. They scare me. I'm beginning to think I need armor to save me from those who would save me.

My son, on the other hand, is as happy as ever. He likes going here and there and playing with all the new toys. He never says a word to all these specialists. His speaking is a private and careful affair. He says his precious few words after much thought and very rarely for strangers. But his eyes dance and he catches my gaze to hold up a truck. "Green," is what he would say if we were at home, meaning, "Look, mom, my favorite color."

The technical name for the way he speaks is "telegraphic speech." It's a phase we usually pass in and out of long before the age of three and a half. He and I have struggled for it, attained it late, and have maintained it long enough to make of it an art.

Make no mistake, he is a smart one. He has been deaf intermittently which is part of his delay and partly why doctors have delayed in taking me up on my insistence that something else is going on. Now that they are shouting my own clamorous alarm back to me, I find that I would really rather not be hearing it.

It's an odd position to be in. I am at once an honest assessor of his abilities, a plebeian petitioner among the royalty of experts, and a mother bear on her own turf. Like my son, my eyes speak the volumes I can not say:

Don't mess with me...Help me...I know...I don't understand.

I've been on the other side of all this as a teacher and advocate. I know the ropes. I could have sworn this would have given me some advantage. Only now am I realizing my mistakes. Compassion only carries you so far. It is an arrogance to assume that familiarity with the details gives you a sense of anyone's reality.

I am finding myself humbled in ways I would never have expected. I stare at the experts and think back to when I've said those same words about another woman's son. So this is what she felt when I said that. Now I know why she looked at me that way. Knowledge is always trumped by experience, sympathy by empathy.

Not that I am in any way advocating a lack of sympathy for those in sympathetic circumstances. Not that I think it is fruitless to try to understand another in this world. What I am saying is this: I am slowly and utterly beginning to understand the commandment, "Judge not, lest ye be judged."

Just because you are familiar with the terms, the outward appearances, there is little of another's actual experience that can be known. We may say things to one another from across a chasm of differences. We may even come to some understanding. But it is in the ringing silences between the words that we lose one another again. There, in that realm, is God. Only He knows what truths lie therein. Leave the fathoming of it to Him.

Settle Down

Long Lost
By Christie Martin

After years
I send you
You send me
Missives
And sheaves

We read

If I held your look
Once
I hold your words
Now
I read you
In the aches and spaces
Between

Does blood run
Black and white
Or laughter slip
like paper cuts
Along the fine seams
Between paper and skin?

Where, O where
have you been?


You know you are finally home when you watch your cousin give the weather report. I am finally in a place where I have roots. The region of the country where I now live is where my parents grew up and my extended family has always lived. It was a place I used to visit now and again. I grew up in a military family and moved several times in my childhood: less than some, but enough to get the habit well established. I continued the practice in my adult years.

I love to start over. I like the clean slate. I like introductions and the thrill of discovery. Everyone is on an even playing field at the beginning. The flaws in the turf have yet to be stumbled over. The wrestling of a friendship from an acquaintance is great sport.

Yet, it has cost me as I moved from pature to greener pasture. I have lost many contacts along the way. I have lived on two coasts and several states. My geography is pegged with longing for faces and voices out of reach in time and space.

Internet inventions like Facebook, e-mail, and even Google have given me the gift of reconnections. My life has been enriched by the reintroduction of those "I knew when." History is something we outrun, but it does catch up with us eventually.

History is to the culture like friendship is to the soul. We need to have an objective look now and then at who we were to fully understand who we are and who we may wind up being. Sometimes a change in direction is necessary. Sometimes, we need to come home, wherever that may be, put our feet to the fire and be quiet.

As unmoored as one single life can become at the loss of connections with the past, a culture can as easily be cast adrift. We have a human need to stay grounded in our past. From Frederick Douglas to John Adams from Socrates to the Apostle Paul, the writers who call to us out of history act as friends to the lumbering psyche of a people. They remind us of where we've been, the failed experiments we've already tried as well as the trials that have led to success. Like a truly good friend they can point out our habits and flaws along with our strengths and admirable qualities.

We need history. Without it we forget who we are and must reinvent ourselves. When we do that we run the risk of losing sight of who we were meant to be.

A Last Thought: "Because our expression is imperfect we need friendship to fill up the imperfections." G.K. Chesterton, Illustrated London News, June 6, 1931.