NOW what? August 22, 2008

I just got back with from a meeting with the new pastor of the church that didn’t want to interview me.

They want me for a youth leader position.

My impulse was to say, “Bite me. Find a different woman to be your bitch.” But I reminded myself that the pastor had nothing to do with how I was treated by the call committee. I’d heard through the grapevine that he feels that I’m a “shoo in” for the position, and that made me feel a bit bucky (how in the hell would he know I was a “shoo in” if he’d never even talked to me?!). But: I went.

Turns out all my main concerns with the position (it’s not a pastoral call, it’s part time, there are no benefits) are mostly negotiable. He’s even 100% OK with me leading worship from time to time. He’s already spoken to the bishop, anticipating that I would want this to be a pastoral call, and the bishop has told him that he would OK that if I want the position.

Which leaves me in a quandry.

I don’t have any particular draw or drive to youth ministry. I loved teaching confirmation (and I’d get to head up the Confirmation program in this position), but when it comes to being a “rah rah guitar-playing youth pastor” I’m pretty much left feeling cold inside. I’m not interested in thinking up trips, servant events, activites, dances, games, etc. I’m not particularly interested in hanging out with teenagers for a significant amount of my professional time.

But there’s just something about the position that has captured my attention. I’m not sure if it’s captured it only because I’m so desperate to be a pastor again that I’ll do anything, or if I’m truly feeling a sense of call for the position. And I’m still FAR more interested in the position at my own congregation, the one I filled in a ton of this summer. I’ve started falling in love with those people, started remembering how sweet it is to be a pastor and be brought into that sort of relationship with people.

So: I don’t know. I asked for the weekend to think it over. One place they’d HAVE to step up to even allow us to consider it is the pay rate and the benefits package. It pays $13,000 a year. At that rate of pay, we’d NEVER be able to move out of Mom and Dad’s, since it’s significantly less than what I make now, and we can’t move out on what I’m bringing home now. I don’t think any of us can face the thought that this little arrangement we’ve got going is permanent.

So I don’t know…

Shameless self-promotion.

So, I discovered that my sermons from this summer have been converted to MP3’s and can be listened to on our church website.

If you’d like the link, leave me a comment with your email. I won’t approve the comment, so your email won’t show up on my blog. I’ll just be able to send you the link.

Worst. Night. Ever. August 19, 2008

I have been parenting for nearly 5 years now. Certainly not an expert. But not a rookie either. Last night was, no joke, the worst night I’ve ever had with one of my offspring.

Sarah was awake all. night. long.

She woke up at midnight, and didn’t sleep again until I FINALLY got her to go down at about 8:30 this morning.

Nice.

We’ve got no idea what was going on with her. Her mood this morning (after she got some breakfast) was fine. She just looked like an exhausted little kid.

Naturally, her screaming and wailing woke up Linnea. So Linnea was awake from about 2AM until about 5AM. At 4, Linnea was in our bedroom (I had Nea in our room, M had Sarah in their room) and she asked if she could watch some cartoons. I looked at the clock, fought the urge to burst into tears, and said, “Linnea. You have no idea how important it is that you sleep right now. I can’t even tell you how important it is that you sleep right now. If you don’t go to sleep right now, something very bad will happen.” Her eyes (already pretty big naturally) got HUGE and she nodded, “OK, Mama. I’ll go to sleep right now.” and she rolled over and that’s what she did.

Now M gets to spend all day at work with no sleep, and I get to close tonight with about 2 hours of sleep under my belt.

Anybody out there thinking their lives are empty without children? Yeah…you might want to sleep on that. In fact, sleep some for me, ‘k? 🙂

Good night, sleep tight August 18, 2008

So, I’m not generally a “parent by the book” kind of mother. I try and listen to my gut, my common sense, and my heart, believing that no expert (no matter how well educated) knows my kid like I know my kid.

But then, sometimes, I hit a wall. Like the bedtime thing. So I turn to “Raising Your Spirited Child”. This has been an invaluable book for dealing with Linnea. Time will tell about whether or not it will help with Sarah. And “Spirited” recommended pretty much what Mojavi did.

So, tonight, bedtime routine started at 6:30. It took us about a half hour to get pajamas on and teeth brushed. Then we watched a half hour of “Spongebob”, and read “Harold and the Purple Crayon”. Then we went potty, did hugs and smooches, and went into bed, said prayers. Said “Amen” and Linnea proceeded to lose her shit. Freaked out. Woke up Sarah. Got a swat. Cried. All the goodness, calmness, and sweetness of the evening was just gone.

She laid there in bed, tears pouring out of her blue eyes, and kept saying, “I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.” So, even though I wanted nothing more than to scoop Sarah up, calm her down, and leave her sister to cry herself to sleep, I thought to myself, “You turn yourself inside out to give her everything else that she needs, why does she suddenly have to be all self-sufficient when it comes to bedtime?” So I laid down with her.

I snuggled her for about a half an hour, and finally got up (she was still awake) and left her room. So even though bedtime and the bedtime routine took about 2 hours (!!!), she was still asleep earlier tonight than she’s been in weeks.

I close tomorrow night, which means that M is in charge of bedtime. I’m making him read the sleep chapter, in the hopes that he’ll continue what I started tonight. My hope is that each night is a little less involved, until we get back to the point where we used to be: bedtime was no big deal.

Here’s hoping.

Love is a Battlefield

Bedtime is a HUGE battle with Linnea. It usually always ends in tears, threats, hollering, and frustration. She used to be so great at going to bed. We Ferberized her, and we would go in, say The Lord’s Prayer, and down she went. No fuss, no muss.

But within the last year or so, bedtime has become an issue. I actually go through the day both dreading and longing for bedtime. She won’t nap (even though she needs to), so by the time she gets home she’s way overtired, which makes her a real peach to be around. And when bedtime comes: she literally screams and cries and flails about like we’ve just told her she has to go live with another family and that we will never see her again.

I’m sort of at the end of my rope. She shares a room with Sarah, so I’m not that into letting her cry it out (particularly since that doesn’t seem to be working, now that she gets up, gets out of her room, and stands in front of me screaming and crying). But I’m also not into a kid who is going to sleep at 9PM, up at 5AM and refuses to nap. She’s about 4 hours short on sleep by my calculations…4 hours short EVERYDAY. She’s starting to act up and out at daycare, she’s a total pill to be with at home, and yesterday I had to work a 12-hour day. I had a 2-hour lunch break, so M was going to bring the girls to have dinner with me. The only caveat was that Linnea had to take a nap. At 2:30, she called me and said, “I don’t want to come have dinner with you.” All so she could NOT take a nap.  I’m standing on the sales floor, fighting crazy tears, because my 4 and a half year old is breaking my heart, and totally doesn’t even seem to care.

Maybe the problem is that she’s somehow gotten the idea that sleeping is optional. That if she doesn’t want to take a nap, she doesn’t have to: she just forfeits the nap reward. Maybe we should have never started offering rewards for napping, because that makes napping negotiable.

But I think our key problem is the missing naps. Because then by the time bedtime rolls around, she’s so over tired she’s had to ramp herself up to get through the evening, and she has a hard time letting go.

All I know is that I have to come up with some sort of solution, before we really do tell Linnea that she’s going to go live with another family and we’ll never see her again. Because that’s how horrible she can be when she’s so exhausted.

Any ideas?

Being Mindful August 17, 2008

It seems I spend a great deal of my time admonishing my small daughters to “Watch out!” or “Be careful!” or “Watch where you’re going–cars go here!” or “Don’t step on your sister’s face!” or “You need to pay attention to where you are, you could crash into someone and get hurt!” You know. The typical Mom drill.

I’m in this odd place right now…very introspective. I’m working some things out in my head, and once I get them worked out, I’ll probably share them here (boundaries? What boundaries? Boundaries, schmoundaries!).

But for now, what’s coming to the forefront is that I need to be more mindful. Mindful of how I treat my body, mindful of the fuel I put into it (she’s not running as well on the crap she used to run just fine on. I see this as a sign of old age…creeping into my mid-30’s doesn’t FEEL old…but it’s feeling older than mid-20’s did).

Mindful of the words and tone I take with my children, mindful that a kind direction can (and often does) work better than a time out.

Mindful of not taking out my professional frustrations on their innocent blond heads by being short tempered, cranky, irritated, and other ways of being a Mom who’s not that fun to be around.

Mindful of how and where I spend money. This mindfulness will cause the Fashion Emporium some loss in revenue. But I was struck by something Clover said when we were at her cabin, about how she hadn’t bought new clothes for herself in a ridiculously long amount of time. I used to be that way. I’d get a new blouse or new pants a few times a year…nothing outrageous. But now? It’s sort of unusual for me to go a week without buying something. And part of that is because I spend 8 hours a day surrounded by clothes that I (for the most part) really like. But when I’m mindful, I realize that as much as I WANT that new faux suede jacket with the waist detailing that would make me look so nice and skinny: I don’t need it.

I also need to be mindful that as much as I rag on myself about my appearance, there are thousands of women who would love to be my size, and have 12’s hanging in their closet instead of 20’s or 24’s (or larger–I had a customer come in who confided that she was a 5X. She could barely walk).

I need to be mindful that the way I got this body was by carrying two gorgeous, healthy, vibrant, sparkling, delightful girls through 2 pregnancies. They weren’t easy pregnancies. They took their toll. But I’d rather have this body and my Sweet Pete and my Boog-a-Roo than my other body and no kids.

I need to be mindful of how my votes will affect others, and not simply vote because I get a gut feeling, but do some research to see if that gut feeling is backed by facts.

I need to be mindful that M has needs for alone time, sanctuary, and peace as much as I do and not take advantage of the fact that he would move heaven and earth to give me what I want (much less need). I need to make sure he has the time and space that he needs, too.

I need to be mindful of the gift we’ve got in one another. Someone at work asked me the other day how long M and I had been together. I replied, “It will be 10 years next month.” She was shocked. She said, “By the way you lit up when I told you he was on the phone, I would have guessed a lot less time than that. You’re really lucky.” And I am. And he is. And we are. He is my beloved, and I take great delight in him.

Now I have to go to work. I’ll chew on this some more, I know. It’s just the rudimentary ruminations of a mind that senses that perhaps changes are coming. Do you ever get that way? You can feel that something is going to happen, but you don’t know what, you don’t know when, you’re not exactly fearful, but you’re a bit wary? That’s where I am.

So I’m mindful.

That was fucking awesome!!!!! August 11, 2008

So, I was a swimmer in high school. Four years on the varsity team, which I loved and adored. My dream is to one day do something that enables me to afford one of those little bitty pools that you can swim in without moving–but only if I can’t afford an actual lap pool. I LOVE swimming. Love how it feels, how my body moves, and how it’s as close to flying as you can get.

So, naturally, I’m in heaven during the Summer Olympics. It’s about the only time you can find swimming on the television, and since swimming is the one sport I know anything about (other than, “Ohhhh…that big guy just knocked the guy with the ball down. Is that good?” or “He hit the ball with that stick thingy! Yaaaaay! Right?”), I watch it obsessively. Which is why it’s kind of cool that all the swimming events are broadcast live…but it means I’m up until about midnight due to my complete inability to turn off the freaking telly.

But last night I’m SO glad I stayed up and made it. Because the men’s 4X100 meter relay was beyond a doubt the best 4X100 I’ve ever seen, and some experts are saying it was the best 4X100 relay ever. It was all I could do to not leap out of bed, jump around, scream, and generally raise the roof. It would have scared the chit out of my sleeping husband (who is ticked because judo is hardly ever televised on basic cable).

If you haven’t seen it, go out there and find it on the web and watch it. The last leg, specifically. The best part? France had been publically trash-talking (to a newspaper, no less) about how they would crush the Americans in this event. Yeah. Didn’t happen. Take that, France. Y’all looked like soggy pieces of Liberty Toast out there, compared to our fabulous American men.

And here’s how she breaks my heart August 8, 2008

Recently, Linnea has discovered and decided that she is able to buckle herself into her carseat.

She’s completely capable of doing this–she uses the lap/shoulder belt in the car, and she totally knows how to get herself buckled in safely and securely.

But since January 31st, 2004, I’ve been carefully and lovingly buckling her into a variety of carseats. Checking to make sure that everything is fastened tightly, that the straps aren’t rubbing her neck, that she’s safe. Frequently, buckling her into her carseat included eskimo kisses, tickles, zerberts, and kisses on her forehead. You know: the good stuff.

And now she doesn’t need me to do that for her anymore. I know, you’re thinking, “Beege. C’mon. She’s still four years old. She needs you for a ton of stuff! Can the cheese already!” And you’re right. But every morning this week when she’s proudly announced, “No, Mama! I can buckle myself in!” and done it: I get a little sad about it.

My baby is growing up. I wouldn’t want to stop that for the world. But she’s not the only one having growing pains.

The red shoe diaries August 4, 2008

So, my weekend was everything I could have wanted, except a little too short. But also, just the right length, in a weird way.

Clover’s place was a-freaking-mazing. Nestled in a valley, overlooking mountains, with a little fox that visits every night at dusk so she will give him an egg. We spent many many many hours on her deck, lounging around, drinking wine, eating, and talking until the wee small hours of the morning.

There were four of us–Clover, L, E, and me. Clover was really our only common link–so there was a little uncertainty how smoothly we’d all get along (not like we’d be pulling each other’s hair and going all Jerry Springer on each other’s asses while Clover tried vainly to separate us and finally just retired to the corner and cried, “But this was supposed to be a fun weekend….!“). It was great–like we’d all been friends for years.

It was just such a quintessential women’s weekend. L was pregnant, and the rest of us each had two kids, so naturally: childbirth stories abounded. There’s nothing nearly as much fun as a group of women sitting around, drinking wine, eating chocolate, talking about making babies and having babies. It’s like that’s when you realize we’re all in a sisterhood–Ya-Ya, Traveling Pants, whatever you want to call it. And it’s really really good.

As is bacon chocolate. The salty, the sweet…divine. Completely, totally divine. My hypothesis stands.

I also got a kick ass pair of red shoes. Sanitas. Like this. I tried to post a picture of them, so you don’t have to go all linky, but it wouldn’t let me do it. I wore them to work today and looked adorable.

So that was my weekend. To say we ate, and slept, and talked, and shopped, and cocktailed, and cried through the end of Juno really doesn’t do the weekend justice. But the company made it unforgetable. So did coming home to men and children who were really, really, really, really happy to see Mommy. 😉

To our boobs and our bodies, who are finally ours again, and to our hearts that never will be.  Thanks for a great weekend, Clover. 🙂