Why I'm Giving Up Facebook for Lent

 Several years ago, after Facebook had become more mainstream and not just for college students, I saw post after post of friends "giving up Facebook for Lent." I really thought this was ridiculous. Good for them, I guess. I thought you were supposed to give up chocolate for Lent. Why were they giving up Facebook for Lent?

  That led me to wonder why we give anything up for Lent. What is the purpose of fasting from something for the 40 days of Lent? My quick, easy answer is that it is to prepare our hearts to remember the death and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. So what kinds of things do people give up for Lent that fulfill this purpose? 

  I'll admit that I have been very judgmental about the things I hear from my friends or acquaintances and strangers are giving up for Lent. We have all heard of the people who choose something for an ulterior motive such as, giving up sugar in hopes that they will lose a few pounds over the next 40 days, or give up a bad habit because they hope to kick it for good.

  Something about me is that I desperately want the things that I do to have purpose. So much so that if I can't justify an action or a decision with a greater purpose, I end up frozen and paralyzed to take any action at all. For this reason, I have not done a Lent fast for many years. I knew that, for me, none of the typical things that I heard of other people giving up for Lent would really serve the purpose that I believed in of preparing my heart, so I did nothing. 

  The last time I remember fasting from anything for Lent, I was seven or eight and I gave up chocolate. At the time, my family had a tradition of going to Old Country Buffet for Kids Eat Free night on Thursdays. There was a dessert bar and I remember my favorite dessert like I'm holding it in my hands right now. I would take small dessert bowl and place a brownie in the bottom and then carefully pour soft serve chocolate ice cream on top and top it off with chocolate sprinkles. I know that every Thursday night during Lent, I wished for my chocolate creation but settled for some other dessert. I also remember the second Thursday after Easter when I realized that, not only could I have my chocolate creation again, but I could have had it the previous week too had I not forgotten that Easter had come.

  At that age, I was trying to do what my friends were doing. My friends at Wednesday night church had all been talking about what they were giving up for Lent so I joined them in fasting so that I could fit in. I had a very immature understanding of what it meant to fast for Lent. The problem was that as my understanding matured, I didn't really bring my actions along. Fasting for Lent was a big deal and if I couldn't do it right then I wasn't going to do it at all. Unfortunately, I began to mentally make fun of everyone else for not doing it right. The more I chuckled at others, the less I wanted to fast for Lent. 

  When I eventually became aware of people giving up Facebook for Lent, I thought that was the silliest thing of all. What? Not checking Facebook is going to bring you closer to God? Hahaha! I can be so mean sometimes. I thought Facebook was a silly little harmless thing that couldn't possibly get in the way of a relationship with God. I can be so wrong sometimes.

  In the past months, I have been in more constant communication with God through the Holy Spirit. I am correcting some things in my life that have brought separation from God. I am bringing him burdens that I thought were too small for God yet they were crushing me. I have been experiencing healing and renewal. I have also been convicted about areas that need to change. 

 I check Facebook a lot. I read my newsfeed several times a day and more when I am lonely. Now that I stay home with my kids, I feel lonely almost constantly. So I look for new status updates almost constantly. I want to see something interesting that someone else is doing but rarely do I find anything that I read on Facebook to be terribly interesting. The more I check it the less I get out of it but the more I want to check it. 

  What if, I didn't check Facebook when I was feeling lonely? What if, instead, I cried out to God? Sought his comfort, peace, and direction in my life? I think a lot of things would change. I think it would be transforming for me and for my family. I think it would bring more joy and less emptiness. Sign me up for that! 

  So, I take back everything I ever said about giving up Facebook for Lent because I am giving up Facebook for Lent. Instead, I will allow my loneliness or boredom to be filled with the love of God and the power of the Holy Spirit and the joy that comes with the forgiveness of sin through Christ Jesus. Amen.

  

Jaundice

  Jaundice is normal for many babies, mine included. Gavin, my first, had jaundice which was diagnosed at our visit with the pediatrician two days after we left the hospital. His number was 18 ml per something. I don't know the units but  the number refers to the amount of bilirubin in the blood. The placenta takes care of this for the baby in utero, but the baby's liver has to take over after birth. Sometimes this doesn't happen quickly and the amount of billiruben in the blood will rise. Gavin had a phototherapy bed that was delivered to out house and we had to keep him in it, except for feelings, for five days. His blood was checked everyday by a home nurse and we were able to stop phototherapy when his number came down. His billiruben levels continued to fall very slowly and his skin looked orange for about a month.

  Henry had elevated billiruben levels but not high enough to require phototherapy. We laid him in the sunlight from the windows a few times. Everly did not have jaundice at all. She was my only full term baby, my only natural birth, and she was born ready to nurse. She nursed very well from the first hour and my milk came in within 24 hours. I suspect that those details had something to do with it.

  Genevieve had jaundice the worst of all. Since our last baby was born, hospitals have started checking babies' billiruben levels at 24 hours after birth. She was 10.9. The doctor decided to start phototherapy at home, which was a very cautious decision as 10.9 is not terribly high but that was at 24 hours and her billiruben was likely to continue to rise. I could see the orange/yellow tint to her skin. A phototherapy bed was delivered to our house right when we got home from the hospital.

  We went to the pediatrician's office everyday and had blood drawn and tested. She had lost weight and was not gaining and her billiruben fell slowly. The first day at the pediatrician's office, she was at 18 and her weight was 5' 12". She had been 6' 7" at birth and 6'3" when we left the hospital. My milk had come in quickly with my other babies and they had all regained to their birth weight in only a few days. She was already my smallest baby and I was alarmed that her weight was down so much. Her number fell slowly and on day seven, it was 15.9. We could stop at 15 so the bed was picked up the next day.

  A week later, we went back for Genevieve's two week check-up and the doctor wanted to check her billiruben levels. Ideally, her number would have continued to fall and she would be around 10 by then. I looked at her and thought she looked very yellow. I told the doctor that I would be surprised if she was down to a ten based on her color. The test takes about 15 minutes and we had always waited for the results in the office. This time, the doctor said we could go and she would call us with the results. 

  I missed the phone call and an hour later saw that I had a voicemail. It was our doctor saying that Genevieve's billiruben was at 20. I knew from our experience with Gavin that 20 meant a return to the hospital for phototherapy. Our doctor said if she had known it was that high she wouldn't have let us leave but that we would try phototherapy at home that night to see if it made a difference. She said she hated to leave this information on my voicemail. I was glad it was on my voicemail because I was crying as listened.

  So I had a sobfest in my car and I went home and sat Genevieve in the sunlight until the home medical company delivered the bed. I worried that I wasn't feeding her well enough. Babies need to eat well and be making a lot of dirty diapers to help get the billiruben out of their bodies. Genevieve had not been gaining weight and took more than a week to go from miconium diapers to breastmilk diapers. She was always so sleepy that I had to work hard to keep her awake for feedings and sometimes we both fell asleep. 

  I worried a lot, felt like a bad mom, and wondered what was different this time comparing my first three babies to Genevieve. She was small to begin with. She was several weeks early. She was not eager to nurse. I had been sick with the flu or an infection the first five days home from the hospital. 

   I looked online for information. I read the .orgs and .nets but not the .coms. None of the sites I read discussed a rise in billiruben levels after stopping phototherapy. All of them said that jaundice cleared up in a few days. None of them talked about being a 20 at two weeks old. One mentioned the risk of brain damage if left untreated but assured that jaundice was always treated in time with regular pediatric care. There was discussion about breast feeding contributing to the rise in billiruben because it takes longer for a breastfed baby to start digesting and removing billiruben. 

  My doctor had suggested switching to formula for a few days while we got the billiruben under control. Not one of the sites I looked at endorsed that suggestion. All seemed to value breast feeding and all of its benefits. I knew that her billiruben was high, but I looked at her jaundice as temporary and breast feeding as long term. I have breastfed all of my babies for 9 months to a year and plan to let Genevieve self-wean. I knew that I had enough milk and that my supply was not the issue. 

  Though I was nervous about nipple confusion, I started giving Genevieve a bottle of about two ounces of my pumped breast milk after nursing. I was able to pump about five ounces usually in the afternoon. I would give her one bottle in the car while we waited to pick up Gavin from school and let Keith give her one before bed. This seemed to work as she gained a little weight and her jaundice came down enough to stop phototherapy by Friday, day four of our second round of phototherapy. The doctor and I agreed to continue phototherapy through the weekend, given our previous experience, and check her blood midweek, after being off the lights for a few days.

  That brings us to today. Genevieve was 3 weeks old yesterday. We went to the pediatrIcian today to recheck her billi. When I put her on the scale, it read 6'7", which was her birthweight. I can't believe it took 3 weeks to regain to her birthweight but I am so relieved that we are finally there. Her billi was 15.6. This is not dangerous, but it did rise since it was 14.7 last check. The doctor once again suggested formula for a day or two. She said we need to rule out breastmilk jaundice.

  Breastmilk jaundice occurs when something in the milk causes the billiruben levels to rise, breast feeding jaundice occurs when baby isn't getting enough milk to digest and get rid of the billiruben. I know that I make enough milk and especially since I started supplementing with pumped breastmilk, I believe she is getting enough. One blood test last week was sent to a lab to check for a whole host of other potential problems, but no other reason for high billiruben levels turned up.

  I hate the idea of feeding her formula when I have milk for her. But after three weeks of jaundice and worrying, I am ready to do what it takes to get her well. Last week, I would have advised another mother in my shoes to continue breast feeding. Today, I realize that I have avoided the formula as long as I could and we just need to go for it. 

  It's been 8 hours. I pump every three hours and freeze my milk then give Genevieve a two ounce bottle of formula. The doctor gave me 12 little sample bottles. I figure I'll use them until they're gone and go back to nursing. My supply is rapidly decreasing. I got an ounce less milk each time I pumped today. I think it will take some work to regain my supply when I return to nursing. 

  I long to nurse my baby. I am so blessed to be able to breastfeed. It seems so counter to what I know that breastmilk may not be best for my baby, that she needs formula to get better.

  As natural as breast feeding is, pumping seems very unnatural. This machine goes  "wooooohmp wooooohmp woooohmp." It doesn't feel good at all and no amount of Internet surfing on my phone can distract me from the nagging discomfort of using a machine to extract milk from my breasts. Now I am cursing my decision to buy a one sided pump and not the double. Whatever I saved, I would gladly spend now to be able to pump in half of the time. What was I thinking?

  I realize that I have a lot of pride in my ability to nurse my babies. I don't want to be prideful. I want to be humble and grateful because I know women who wanted to nurse and couldn't or who never made enough milk and supplemented with formula or who had to stop nursing before they were ready for medical reasons. These problems weren't their fault and my adequate supply is not by any skill or ability that I possess so my pride is misplaced. I should just be grateful and keep some space for empathy for other mothers who have different experiences with breast feeding than I do.

  Genevieve already looks better. In just a few hours of ceasing breastmilk and feeding her with formula, her skin has lost much of it's yellow tint. I did sit her in the sunlight from our front window all afternoon but the formula is the new factor. I can go back to beast feeding tomorrow and will continue to put her in the sunny window, we get about four hours of sun every afternoon. We will check her again next week. I am sure we will see improvement. I am so exhausted of this! I thought that her check today would be the end of the story.

Update:

  We went in to recheck Genevieve's billiruben. She was 4 weeks old the day of the appointment. She had really nice weight gain since the previous appointment - she was 7 pounds even! Her billiruben was down to 12. This was a relief because I thought she looked more yellow that day. What a relief to see that number drop. The doctor wants to continue checking until Genevieve gets down to 10 so we will go back in two weeks. I don't see why she wouldn't be down to a 10 by then. I've decided to stop worrying, I think we are finally kicking this thing. I have no idea if using formula helped or not.

Final Update

One week after dropping to 12, at about 5weeks old, Genevieve began to look worse. I could tell that the billi was rising but we had a lot of winter weather and absolutely no sun. One day, when I changed her diaper, I thought she looked as bad as she did when we needed the lights so I made a doctor's appointment for the next morning.

  I knew the doctor would say we needed to switch to formula so I went out and bought some and preemptively switched that evening and pumped to keep up my supply. 

  At the doctor, she tested 13. A rise, but still not dangerous and not as high as I had thought. The doctor said to go to formula for a week and called a friend of hers who is a liver specialist to see if we could get in to see her.

  The liver specialist did not think that we needed to come to her and that it sounded like we were doing what we needed to do.

  That weekend, I went to a conference and took the baby with me. It would have been too much trouble to pump while I was there, so I went back to breastfeeding. 

  The following Monday, I was thinking about our appointment the next day and hoping that we could be done with billi checks for good. I was really convicted that I hadn't really prayed for Genevieve with the expectation that God would heal her. My attitude was that this wasn't a big deal and though I prayed, I really didn't have the expectation and faith with that prayer. 

  So Monday, I prayed and I believed that the next day she would be below 10 and that we would not have to check her anymore and the jaundice would be behind us.

  That Tuesday, she was 6 weeks old. We went to the doctor. Genevieve's color was looking great. The nurses talked about doing extra blood work but when the doctor saw her she thought Genevieve looked great that we might not need to so the additional blood work. Sure enough, her billi came back at 9. Prayer were answered and the jaundice was behind us. I was so happy!

The Birth of Genevieve

  My baby was born on New Year's Eve. Somehow 10 days have passed. What a whirlwind they have been. Things aren't so peaceful when bringing home baby number four, but was it all that peaceful bringing home the first? When I brought home my first baby, I collapsed on the couch the second I walked in the front door. I was experiencing my first gallbladder attack. I thought i had gotten a bad epidural but finally got that thing diagnosed and removed after Everly was born. When we pulled into the driveway this time, I cried hard into Keith's chest because, first of all, it's normal to cry after having a baby, and I was really hurting - fourth baby after pains are no joke. And I thought, "This is going to be so hard." And it was, it is. And it's wonderful, too.

  The story began on Deceber 30. We went to a regular OB appointment and I was so emotional and actually crying a little on the way there. I had been experiencing prodromal labor for over two weeks by this time. The night before had been tough. I was awoken by contractions that were nine minutes apart and were hurting my lower back. I had to get up and sit for awhile because it was uncomfortable to be in bed. After awhile, I went back to bed and woke up in the morning feeling so discouraged. I was so tired of having contractions without being in real labor. I thought I had about two weeks still to go.

  The doctor checked me and asked how my contractions had been that day. I told him about the night but that I hadn't been paying attention that morning. He felt my tummy during a contraction and couldn't believe I was talking through it. It didn't hurt but it was strong, as my contractions had been for over two weeks. He thought my labor was starting and sent me over to triage. After a few hours in triage, it was established that I was in labor and I got checked in to labor and delivery. I still felt fine, so we walked all over the floor. 

 My progress was so slow. I thought I might still get sent home. My doctor was very busy, as was the whole floor. At 3:30 he stopped by and was going to break my water but let the nurses start an IV first. He got called away and didn't come back until after 7:00. I hadn't progressed much so he broke my water and started pitocin. Since we started pitocin, I decided to start my epidural too. I slept off and on and several more hours of slow progress went by. I kept waiting for things to pick up as they had with my previous two births. They kept turning the pitocin up a little more and a little more until the baby's heart rate dropped. I had to be on oxygen for the baby, it brought her heart rate right up. I can see how interventions like pitocin can lead to a c-section. I trusted my doctor though, because he is one of only a few doctors in town that does v-bacs.

  At around 2:00am, the doctor came to check me again. I was 8cm. He said "Oh for heaven's sake!" He said "On your next contraction, you're going to push as hard as you can and I'm going to stretch you." I pushed and, thanks to the epidural, couldn't feel the stretching. He said he got me to a nine and seemed very pleased. They got everything set up for delivery. The baby was sunny side up, which is one reason for the slow progress. The doctor turned her around and I pushed to a 10 then pushed to crowning. Keith encouraged me and said he could see her hair. 

  Then the doctor smiled really big and announced,  "We're going to do something fun! You want to do something fun?" I wondered what he could possibly mean, but I knew whatever it was, I wanted to try it. "I'll place your hands down on her head and you help pull this baby out. Just don't take her from me until I suction her mouth." This was a dream come true for me. I wanted to catch my own baby but didn't think the doctor would let me. All I could do was nod my head. 

  When I cupped my hands on my baby's head for the first time, I surged with love for her. I'll never forget the feel of her head in my hands just before her birth. It was a surreal moment, straight out of a dream. I was so excited to touch her that I had trouble focusing on pushing but we got her out in no time. She came out holding one leg across her chest. She looked amazing! I have never been so aware of the birth of one of my babies. I held her little bottom and legs while the doctor suctioned her nose and mouth. We got immediate skin to skin contact. I held her to my chest while Keith took some pictures. Finally, she's here! Her lungs were gurgling so I was supposed to rub on her back and try to make her cry but that is counterintuitive for a mother so I couldn't do it. I was so lost in the moment that I have no idea when the cord was cut, what happened to the placenta or anything

  The time in the the hospital with a new baby is like a honeymoon. Especially when you have other kids at home. It was so nice to have time for Keith and I to focus only on this new baby without worrying about taking care of the other kids or the house or anything else. We agreed that this was really special. 

  I was in bed the first 5 days at home with flu symptoms. The baby spent her first 7 days in phototherapy for jaundice. We went to the Dr. everyday to check her billiruben levels. She also didn't gain weight the first week which is never happened to my babies before. I talked to the lactation nurse at the pediatrician's office and got a game plan to keep her awake and nursing longer. I didn't think it was possible to forget how to breast feed but apparently it is possible to forget about nursing a sleepy newborn. Now that we are both feeling better, we are doing better with nursing too. I can't wait to see her weight at our next appointment.

  Keith and the boys were so good to me when I was in bed. They brought me food and drinks and Keith made sure I took my medicine. Gavin (6) kept coming in to check on me and baby, Henry (4) kept asking if I needed more water. They brought me meals and snacks and kept my water glass full. They laughed at how much water I was drinking. I finally asked them to bring two glasses at a time. I was really happy to see their genuine care and natural helpfulness. They're good boys.

  Everly (16 months) loves her sister! She calls her "Bobby" for baby and gives her good smacky kisses on the top of her head. She likes to sit by me while I nurse and really doesn't bother us too much. She just wants to be close by. Gavin was the same way when I had Henry. He had his own special spot next to me in the nursing chair where I could put one arm around him.

  Amazingly, we are adjusting well to having four kids. It's crazy but wonderful and a dream come true.

And we're done. Very done. This family is complete.

Dear Homeschooling, We're...on a Break

  Dear Homeschooling,

  We may not be over, but we are definitely on a break. It might have just been a fling. I wasn't myself with you, I was someone I thought you wanted me to be and I can't do it anymore. I am heartbroken because I was in love with you and I really wanted it to work.

  In all seriousness, I have decided to stop homeschooling. It started to feel really wrong for us. I decided to homeschool last spring after Gavin spent an entire year in Pre-K and learned nothing that he didn't already know. His teacher showed me an assessment during a conference and announced that he "knows all of his letters." Yeah, thanks for telling me that, he's known "his" letters since he was two. I realized that the expectations were very low and didn't want to waste anymore years of school. I wanted to educate him myself. I wanted to know his progress firsthand. I also didn't want to have him gone all day all week. 

  So we began our homeschool journey for lots of good reasons and I imagined that it would be hard but that it would be worth it. It was around Spring Break last year that we made the final decision to homeschool. I went to a Homeschool convention. Umm, yikes! The curriculum fair was huge and overwhelming and I ended up buying a curriculum package that looked amazing at the fair but once I started using it realized that it wasn't a strong curriculum. 

  The package I bought was all subjects integrated into unit studies. I loved it because this is the ideal way to teach, according to my Early Childhood Degree. It was kindergarten but it was too easy for my Pre-Ker. I supplemented reading for Gavin and thought about buying a separate math curriculum as well. At first I would look ahead at the next unit and plan a lot of extras to give the boys a more opportunity to learn. I quickly got burned out and was more disappointed with the curriculum each week. 

  By the end of October, I reached my third trimester of pregnancy and realized that this wasn't working. I hung on for another month and the week of Thanksgiving just boxed up the curriculum for indefinite storage in the closet. I was so relieved to have it out of sight. I hated it and I didn't have to do it anymore. I thought about researching curriculum and getting another plan of action together to start after Christmas. The huge problem with that idea is that we are having a baby right after Christmas. 

  So I thought and I thought and I thought and I became overwhelmingly convinced that my boys and I and our baby girls would all be better off if they went to school full time. 

  It was after I decided to homeschool that we found out that we were having another baby and I didn't want to let the baby stop us. We ended up moving, which we had planned to do in another year but decided we needed more space right away with another baby coming. We needed a bigger house and also a better school district. We managed to find a perfect house that is about 2 blocks away from arguably the best public elementary school in our area. Had we been in this school district before, I might not have felt the need to homeschool in the first place.

  It was 3 weeks before the start of the school year when we moved and my husband really wanted me to enroll the boys in the school. He kept saying he didn't think I could homeschool with the new baby. I pointed out that lots of homeschooling families are large and they don't let babies stop them. I thought I could do it. I wanted to try. I could rattle off a huge list of reasons why homeschool is better, many of these I still strongly believe. 

  The summer brought so much change for us. Moving, new baby on the way when the current baby is still a baby, I quit my job that I loved. It was too much change. I think we all needed this time of being home together through the fall semester. I absolutely could not have enrolled them in such a big school for the full day full week at the beginning of this school year.

  Now that we have tried homeschool for a semester, I realize that I am not doing my best at this and I certainly will not be able to improve things anytime soon. In a matter of weeks I will have a newborn attached to my boobs at least 8 hours a day. Poor Everly is going to be lost in the middle. Gavin has reached frustration level with reading and does not respond well to my instruction. I never dreamed that I would think that someone else can probably do a better job than me at teaching him to read. He cries when I sit down to do a reading lesson with him, I doubt he would do this for a teacher, especially when he is surrounded by peers who are learning right along with him.

  A couple of weeks ago, I let the boys know that I was thinking about having them start school right after Christmas break and they were thrilled. In the past, Gavin has been adamant that he prefers to homeschool so this was the first time he said he would rather go to school. I realized they were feeling the same about homeschool as I was. It just wasn't working and with a newborn, we won't be able to improve things anytime soon. Next, I let my husband know what I was thinking. He was relieved. He had been really worried about me homeschooling with a new baby and a toddler. 12 hours later, he had them enrolled.

  We went on a tour this morning. The teachers and classrooms look perfect and I know that the boys will be in the best place they can be while I focus on this new baby. I feel like a weight has been lifted. I could not mentally fit a new baby into our daily routine. I could not begin to imagine what our school days would look like. Now that I know that the boys will be in school, I can actually imagine caring for the baby and Everly during the day. I used to think that I would send the baby girls to preschool so I could homeschool the big boys but then I realized how backwards that was. Why would I send my babies away so I could keep my big boys home? 

  I have a lot of peace about this decision but I do feel a bit defeated. I am accustomed to doing it all, and it is uncomfortable to acknowledge that I have limits. I do know that this is the best decision for all of us.

  Interestingly, as soon as the boys were enrolled, I began having false labor and went on a crazy nesting spree to get us ready to bring home a newborn baby. I feel ready and am so looking forward to this new chapter.

Sometimes, I Hate His Guts

  I have a friend who says, just like the most adorable third grader you ever met, "Sometimes, I hate his guts." She is talking about her husband and she means it. Sometimes, I hate my husband's guts. I'm sure he feels the same about me from time to time but he is too good to confess it. 

  I spent several days earlier this month hating my husband's guts. He hadn't listened to me about something that I felt was important. It was also a stressful time because the kids were sick with a stomach bug. I selfishly turned it into more than it was. I pulled all the other times he hadn't listened out of my treasure box of grudges and threw them at him. I lay at night as far to my edge of the bed as possible, actively hating his guts and feeling sorry for myself. I shunned intimacy, though I craved it. He said I was acting really pregnant and that only fueled my anger. 

  Then I read a blog post that was circulating Facebook, I can't find it now, but it was a woman who had been recently widowed offering marriage advice to her daughter. It was beautiful and poetic and I cried through the whole thing. She was so wise. I imagined being in her shoes. How heartbroken I would be. How I would miss everything about my husband if he were gone. That nothing that I was upset about now really mattered in the grand scheme of life or even in the grand scheme of this week.

  I get in these ruts sometimes where something really irks me about my husband and I dwell on it and I add to it like rolling a big snowball for the base of a snowman. When I am busy rolling my snowball, it is very hard to stop. I am suddenly blinded to the positives and the negatives shine like a lighthouse. 

  You see, my husband and I are very different. Apart from Keith and me, a Proffitt and an Owen would never marry because we are so different. But, we all know that opposites attract and I fell in love with Keith for a lot of reasons but there were some specific opposites that were very attractive to me. I forget that some of things that irritate me now are the very things that caused me to fall in love with him in the first place.

  I am really in no position to offer marriage advice to anyone. The story above is an example of what not to do. I did learn that anytime I fall into this rut of begrudging my husband, it is when I am being selfish. In love, one cannot be selfish. Love is not selfish. 

1 Corinthians 13:4-5

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 

  So, basically, everything about hating his guts is wrong and here it is straight from the Bible, in a very familiar passage that we have all heard and may be able to recite. Read it again. 

  I spent the last two months helping a friend facilitate a marriage course at church because marriage matters to me. My marriage matters and I care about other people's marriages too. I want people to be happy. I want people to stay together if they can. I want children to live with both of their parents if they possibly can. A man who had participated in the course with his wife shared that they had not been living together prior to taking the marriage course and that after taking the course, his wife had decided to come home and they were experiencing healing and renewal in their marriage.

  Our own marriage was in crisis a couple of years ago. I had built a huge snowball of hurts and I was lost in the dark with only a lighthouse to show the way. The light beamed only on my unhappiness and the darkness veiled all that was good in my marriage. 

  We went to a marriage counselor. It was miserable. We sat in his office feeling like we were broken, but knowing that we weren't really broken. It was incredibly painful to share our wounds with another person, even a professional counselor. The counselor listened to our stories and advised us not to talk to each other (about issues) until the next week when we were in his office again, so we never went back. We didn't have time to wait a week between talking about issues, we had to talk immediately. We were better than this. We had to get out of crisis mode immediately.

  So we talked about everything, not just the problems that seemed so big at the time. We learned each others' fears and insecurities and renewed our love. A bottle of wine in Paris led to a real breakthrough. We discovered that an underlying problem was my parents' recent divorce. It had scared the crap out of us, and it took several glasses of wine in the City of Love to get us talking about it, a few days without our kids added to that equation too. He was afraid that I would leave him and I wondered if there really was such a thing as true love because my model had been shattered. If my parents got a divorce, it could happen to anyone. I realized that we were not immune to divorce, then I had to learn that we were not destined for it.

  I knew how much Keith meant to me and how much he means to our children, but I realized that our marriage matters to a lot of other people too. We are a unit and we have a meaningful place in our sphere of influence. If something were to happen to us, the effect would be devastating. A devastating current would wave through our selves and our families and ripple out into that sphere indefinitely. That realization was slightly burdensome but it put everything into perspective. There really isn't anything between us that would be worth setting that wave in motion.

  

  Just like any personal story I share here, I share this for the purpose of helping others. Maybe someone will read this who can relate and glean hope from my experience. Just because visiting a counselor didn't help us at the time, doesn't mean that going to a counselor would not help another. We all have unique situations and perspectives and we all require different tools to help us with our problems. I am in no way discrediting the counseling profession. It just felt really wrong to us at that time. 

 The marriage course that I referred to is the Alpha Marriage Course, an eight week video series with a workbook to go along with it. Participants sit at a small table as a couple and enjoy a candlelit dinner followed by the video lesson and built in discussion. The beauty of this format is that each couple can have complete privacy as they discuss their marriage. Keith and I participated in this course and really enjoyed it. 

  

  

  

They Say the Kitchen is the Heart of the Home; It Might Just Be the Heart of Me

  I am sure you have heard it said that the kitchen is the heart of the home, maybe you've said it yourself. I have always cringed at those words. I have a love hate relationship with my kitchen. Okay, mostly hate. I hate all of the messes that I make when I cook. Cooking is exhausting in itself but it also comes with dirty dishes, counters and floors. I don't often clean my cooking mess the same day that I cook, I usually leave it for about 12 hours and let it suck the joy of cooking right out of me.

  My first kitchen was a tiny little hallway into the suite that I shared with three other girls when I was in college. I used the kitchen more than the other girls because I had to cut my meal plan in order to  afford tuition and housing. I spent $25 a week on groceries and made all of my food. Okay, not all of it. Keith always paid when we went out to eat and that was fairly often. My poor roommates had to deal with the mess I left in the sink. If I had a lot of school work, I would tell myself that I didn't have time to clean or do dishes. I often waited until Friday afternoon to clean up from the week. After projects were turned in, papers written, and tests were taken I could think about pesky things like a weeks' worth of dishes piled next to the sink waiting to be washed. By hand.

  My next kitchen was also a hallway in the apartment I shared with my husband after we got married. That semester was very strange. I am glad that we don't have to relive it. I was student teaching and that meant spending 7:30 to 4:00 at school everyday. I also had a full load of school work to complete at the same time. It was equal to being a full-time student with a full-time job. Meanwhile, my husband was in his last semester and only had nine hours, not even a full-time student. While I was gone at school he would make the apartment look perfect and expect to be treated like a hero when I got home. It was annoying. I felt like he wanted me to be happy with him because he did my housework for me. It was my work because I was the woman. I didn't see it as my work, I saw it as our work. We lived there. We ate there. At least I never had to do the dishes.

  There was another apartment, I barely remember it. It had a nice big kithen with a dishwasher, but I hardly remember using it. My husband had started working full-time and I was in my second semester of student teaching. Once again, full-time course work along with full-time unpaid internship in the classroom. I didn't like to go home alone in the afternoons so I would usually go to a coffee shop to work on projects after school. Then it would be rush hour and I didn't like driving back to our suburb apartment at that time. Usually, Keith would meet me for dinner and we would head back later in the evening. That's probably why I don't remember it, we hardly spent any time there. 

  That spring, we bought our first house. I was pregnant with our first baby and unbelievably exhausted. We kept our house very clean. Thanks to Keith. I knew that he would clean anything I left out and sometimes I would just let him do it and be glad. Most of the time though, I tried to have everything picked up and cleaned up before he got home because I wanted to just relax with him. The problem was that no matter how clean I had the place, he would still walk in the door and start cleaning. It made me feel like I wasn't good enough and I resented it. A great deal of bitterness built up inside me and I sometimes left everything undone because I knew he would find something no matter how much cleaning I had done. What was the point, I reasoned.

  Now we have 3 kids and the days of having a very clean house at all times are over. Keith is still better at cleaning than I am but I try to appreciate it rather than resent it. Actually, he is better at "picking up" than I am. There is a difference between "picking up" and cleaning. He also doesn't touch the kitchen anymore, unless I specifically ask him to clean the floor or unload the dishwasher.  

  We understand each other much better now, so housework is less of a fuss. I realize that he has a need to do some cleaning in order to unwind. For example, when we have something to really think about and talk through, I sit down on the couch or the bed. I can't do anything while I'm thinking. He walks around picking up toys, he can't do nothing while he's thinking. He isn't cleaning because I didn't do enough, he cleans because he needs to. That realization was liberating for me.

  The last few weeks I have been doing  a lot of extra cooking so the kitchen has really suffered. Most days I have more than one dishwasher load of dishes so the sink is never empty. Even if it is empty, it only lasts a few minutes before someone's sippy cup gets tossed in there.

  We spent the entire weekend making messes in the kitchen and then leaving the mess in order to run off to soccer or church. Every time I walked in the kitchen, I wanted to do something about it but I was too exhausted. I am fast approaching my third trimester of pregnancy. I thought I would clean it before bed on Sunday night but we ended up letting the kids play outside until bedtime. I fell asleep wondering how I was going to clean up the next day and still homeschool my children well.

  Monday was a fantastic day. I sat with the boys while they did their morning school work then I sent them outside so I could focus on the kitchen. Eventually, I locked them out so they would leave me alone. They were fine. I could see and hear them through the kitchen window. Everly hung around with me and "helped." It took an hour and  a half to load and unload the dishes, put away all of the things that were out of place, clean the counters and table and sweep and mop the floor. 

  Once the kitchen was clean, I felt awesome. I felt free to focus on other things. The messy kitchen weighed on me mentally, physically, and emotionally. I felt like a failure as a woman and a wife and a mother as long as the kitchen was a mess. It didn't matter that I have done some of my best cooking ever in the past week. It didn't matter that we sat down together and had hot, homemade food every night last week. We even had the neighbors over for an impromptu chili dinner because I had made a huge pot so I offered and they had no plans so they joined us. Those things should have made me feel like a successful home cook but I allowed the disorder of the kitchen to cause me to feel like an utter failure. 

  It seems that my kitchen is not only the heart of my home, it is actually connected to my heart. What goes in, what comes out, the work in between and the state it is left in are all connected to my thoughts, feelings, and emotions. It seems a bit ridiculous but having suffered a guilty conscience over messes in the kitchen or eating poorly for lack of a  good meal plan has finally brought me to the unwelcome realization that there is something about the kitchen. I don't want it to matter but it does matter.

  I don't want to have to cook and clean simply because I am the woman of the house but somebody's gotta do it and I am a bit of a control-freak. My 23 year old self would not recognize my 29 year old self. For a long time I would have preferred to work outside of the home and pay others for childcare and help around the house and take-out food. I tried to stay home when I had my first baby but only lasted a few months before getting depressed  and lonely and going back to work part-time. I knew I couldn't work full-time but I also couldn't stay home full-time. 

  I felt like I owed it to women in history who fought for the right to work outside the home if they wanted to. I felt like staying home in this day and age was like going back in time. I felt like my degree was going to waste, that I needed to teach part-time because eventually I would want to work full-time and I needed to keep my foot in the door if I was ever going to have the career I dreamed of.  Work made me feel important, housework made me feel very low and worthless.

  On one hand, I feel like anybody could do this, there is no special skill involved. On the other hand, I never feel like I have kept the house or kitchen well enough. Since I stay home now, this is the only thing I have to do but I still can't do it all. Alternatively, I put a great deal of energy into making things perfect and feel spent when I am done, with little satisfaction to keep me going. I feel like I am the only woman in the world who feels this way, but I know that I am not. 

  Last Monday was the first time that I felt satisfaction from thoroughly cleaning the kitchen. It felt awesome so I reveled in it. I felt good about myself and I let that feeling really take hold because it is rare. Maybe the state of my kitchen is of no importance to the world, but it is important to me, and it is important for my family. It turned out that it mattered for the neighbors last week as they got to eat dinner with us.

  When I turn off all of my own negative ideas about myself and my role, I can unashamedly enjoy the simplicity, though hard fought battle, of a clean and comfortable kitchen that functions as the heart of our home and is an extension of my heart for my family, as well as, friends and neighbors who may happen to step in and enjoy a meal with us. It is small, painfully small sometimes, but I no longer believe it to be insignificant. It is hard work but I finally feel the value in it.

  

  

  

  

I Sent My Boys to Preschool and Am Reminded Why We Chose to Homeschool

  I've been meaning to share this for awhile but not really sure what I want to say about it. If you remember a post from a couple of months ago (good for you, I'm impressed), I described an emotional melt down I had during our first week of homeschooling. I can't believe that was almost two months ago. Around that time, I drove by a church preschool that is about a mile away from our new house. The school is one that I have often heard of and knew it to have a good reputation. There was a sign advertising that they had a kindergarten class. I thought of a friend whose son recently attended that kindergarten and a teacher that I knew was the co-teacher in the kindergarten class. I was interested.

  I casually mentioned it to my husband and he emphatically encouraged me to look into it for the boys. I had already read their website and found that it was two days a week and that tuition was very comparable to what I had paid previously at our own church preschool, now too far away to be practical for us. 

  

  I mulled over it for a few more days. My pride was hurt that my husband wanted me to send the boys. I felt that he didn't believe in me to teach them well enough on my own. After some honest self evaluation, I realized that he and I both knew that I did need help. This year, I need help. I am expecting in January and currently have a 13 month old. I am constantly exhausted and overwhelmed by the little things, let alone this big thing of undertaking my children's education. 

  I emailed the director and asked if there was room for my two boys. I thought they would probably be full anyway and I was only going to do it if there was room for both boys. The response was, "Your boys were meant to be here. Someone just dropped from Kindergarten and I have a spot left in Pre-K." The next day, we toured the school and I enrolled the boys. In Kindergarten, Gavin will use Saxon Math and Phonics, and Henry will do some Saxon Phonics in Pre-K.

  Initially, when I told Gavin that we were going to a new preschool, he cried. He said he just wanted to homeschool and I knew that he really did love it but I was surprised that he was so upset. My boys have attended preschool since they were babies. Last year, Gavin actually went to two Pre-Ks as he attended afternoon Pre-K every weekday at a public school and preschool 3 mornings a week at our church, where I worked part-time. Gavin always was happy to attend school and adjusted to new classes and teachers seamlessly. He was a big part of our discussions when we decided to homeschool. As soon as I suggested homeschooling, he wanted to do it. Over several weeks I checked in with him to see if he changed his mind and that he really understood what homeschooling would be like. I told him that he wouldn't be with his friends every day. Gavin was consistent. He wanted to homeschool.  When faced with this new school, Gavin was upset. I showed him a calendar and explained that he would go to school two days a week and we would still homeschool the other three days. Over the next few days, I heard him say that to himself several times. "It's only two days, it's only two days." He felt better after seeing his classroom and teachers and has been really happy every day that we have gone to preschool so far.

  This is the fourth week in the preschool year and about the eighth week of our homeschool year. The first couple of weeks were hard for me. I didn't know what to do without the boys. Since then, I have warmed up to it. I look forward to alone time with Everly and she seems to know that it's special too. Today, after we dropped off Henry and were headed out, just the two of us, she laid her head on my shoulder and patted me. It was like she knew she had me all to herself.  

  I have been able to schedule my doctor's appointments during preschool so I don't have to worry about getting them a babysitter. I have also used this time to run errands. Grocery shopping with one child is a dream compared to grocery shopping with three, even though she spilled Cheerios all over Target today.

  Our homeschool days are better in some ways because we aren't able to get stuck in the same old same old when we meet every other day as we might if we were meeting every day. Gavin brings home a lot of homework because they are working through the entire Saxon Kindergarten curriculum for math and phonics, even though they only meet twice a week. This is great for us because the curriculum I bought for this year is not strong enough. That was part of the reason for my melt down the first week of school. I was realizing that the curriculum that I had carefully selected wasn't good enough and would require supplementation in every subject. I was planning to buy Saxon math curriculum before I found this preschool.   

  I have had some trouble with Henry's teacher. It seems that she would like to diagnose him with some sort of developmental problem. The first week she let me know that he had trouble following directions. She was so concerned, I had to make an effort to listen seriously. She didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but I apologized and let her know that we had the same problem at home. Then we were out of town. The next time I saw her  she was looking at me in a very strange way as I dropped Henry off. She seemed to be studying us and it didn't feel good. After school that day, she said that he had had trouble once again. Then spouted off some conclusions to her observations of Henry that day, her third day to spend with him. She said she thought there was "Something else going on with him." She asked what our pediatrician had said about him and mentioned that she thought he had a sensory issue because he had been distracted by a fan in the music room. 

  I couldn't get away from her fast enough. My head was spinning and my heart was pounding. She doesn't know that I have an early childhood degree and have taught preschool myself. I would never say these sorts of things to a parent in a conference, let alone over the door at pick up. In my classes, we were instructed to share observations but never conclusions that only a doctor should share. I knew the things she said were "Teacher Talk" for something serious like ADD or an Autism Spectrum Disorder. She had said the buzz words "something else going on" and "sensory" and she felt it was serious because she mentioned the pediatrician.

  Rather than act on my immediate feelings, I decided to give her time to get to know Henry. I know that he doesn't follow directions. I am his mother. However, I don't think that he has a diagnosable or treatable problem. I think he is a little boy who has his own ideas about everything. He gets frustrated with himself over the mistakes he makes, it's heartbreaking to watch. I think that 6 weeks is a good adjustment period, so I decided to give her 6 weeks to get to know Henry. If she is still telling me that he is a problem, then I will meet with the director. If he really is ruining this woman's day, she's probably ruining his, too and I would be happy to keep him home.

  I am reminded now of something that I realized early in our decision to homeschool. Even though Gavin is the Kindergartener this year, and I was thinking specifically of him when choosing to homeschool and more vaguely about the rest of our family, Henry is probably our true reason to homeschool. Gavin is the sort of kid who will do well in any situation. He would thrive in public school. I feared that Henry would have trouble and I was right. Here we are a few weeks into the year and his teacher is really concerned about him. If he had to face this for several years, he would begin to feel discouraged and feel like a failure. Especially, when he gets older and sees Gavin doing well in school. I think school would be ruined for him forever before he leaves early elementary.

  At home, I can teach him everything he would learn in school but without the stress of conforming to the standards of a classroom. He can study what interests him, he can take the time that he needs, he can feel his successes and have time to just be a little boy for a few more years. He knows just as much as Gavin knew last year, he loves the topics that we study and takes his new knowledge out into the world with him. For example, our second week we learned about the moon, ever since then he has been giving me his thoughts on the moon randomly when we are out. One night, when we were driving home, he said, "Mommy, I stinking about the moon." (Stinking = thinking, I can't bear to correct him because it's so stinking cute!) "I stink the moon comes out at night to give us light when the sun goes to the other side of the erst." (Earth) I love the way he thinks! 

  I hope that this teacher begins to notice the good in Henry. It would be so sad if she just pegged him as a problem and missed all the wonderful things about him. She thinks he has a sensory issue. I think he has a heightened awareness of the world around him. She thinks he can't follow directions, I've learned that he just wants to finish what he is doing or thinking before moving on to the next activity. Henry requires endless patience and love. Something that a preschool teacher should be able to give but, perhaps, only a parent can give.