I Want to Be a Nurse

No, not literally. I don't want to be a nurse. I actually kind of get woozy when I think about blood draws.

But I was talking to my friend Amy, who had just watched her sister Emily give birth (to a gorgeous little girl, by the way). She was talking about how Emily was in labor for SO long that the doctors wanted to give her a C-section, but the nurse just kept pushing Emily to keep going, not give up, and deliver the baby naturally (which she did!). Amy said something that really stuck in my head- she said - "You know, the doctors didn't really do anything except breeze in every now and then and check on her progress. It was the nurses who were there through all the pain, putting up with Emily when she was upset, coaxing her, pushing her, encouraging her. The doctors just came in to see if they could do anything, and when they couldn't they just left."

And something about it struck me, because I so often have the doctor mentality, especially with my children. How often when they complain to me ("my finger hurts!" "my toe hurts!" etc.) do I actually answer with the phrase, "What do you want me to do? Do you want a band-aid?" And if they say no, I shrug my shoulders and move on, when what they really want is a nurse to sympathize and encourage, to practice compassion, and FEEL WITH them.

I've posted about this before, in my note about compassion because it is such a glaring weakness in my character. I want to go straight to the fix so I don't have to put up with any whining- I don't want to deal with pain, and suffering and hard times.

And yet, I want great relationships! And great relationships are usually forged between NURSE and patient, not doctor and patient because who is there when times get tough and the pain becomes unbearable? The NURSE.

So... I want to be a nurse. I need help. Pray for me!

The Chicken or the Egg?

Is it just me or does every women's magazine from Parents and Family Circle to Marie Claire and Cosmopolitan feature the same articles over and over again?

They all fall into 8 basic categories.

1. The Five Minute Health or Beauty Tips. This is the part of the magazine that shares such valuable nuggets as: "Don't have time to work out? Lug out that vacuum and give your carpets a good cleaning! It could work off up to 100 calories and as a bonus, your house will be clean!" Also, "We all want to take care of our skin, but who has time? Our experts give you the 5 MUSTS for healthy skin!" (article will then proceed to detail a nightly skincare routine that takes $50 worth of creams and 30 minutes a night).

2. Recipes. They will all be some variation on chicken and pasta with an added ethnic spice ("Spicy Saffron Rice Bowl!")or some type of disgusting looking mini-pizza ("You can't get much simpler than an English muffin with Spaghetti-O's and spinach! Your kids will beg for seconds on these fun (and healthy!) little pizzas!")

3. Kids Say the Darndest Things/Revolting and Humiliating Tales. In mommy magazines like Parents and Women's Day, it's the former. You know, "My Aunt Linda came over for Thanksgiving dinner and my four year old son, Java (always an ambiguous or feminine name for a boy) said "Mommy, why can't I put my teeth in a glass of water by my bed like Aunt Linda?" In the young women's magazines, it's the Revolting and Humiliating Tales, which I won't even put an example of because most of them are gross and involve people getting their period on things.

4. Household Organization. This section is all about stating the obvious. "Cut the clutter! Go through your closets, cabinets and garage. Take everything you don't need out for an impromptu yard sale! You'll clean your house and maybe even make enough to take your family out to dinner!" And often it includes the sneak sales pitch, "Stow your stuff! These colorful bins, $24 at The Great Indoors, are big enough to hold Johnny's soccer cleats AND class science project, plus they add sophistication and fun to your entryway!"

5. The Sob Story Article. This is the closest thing in a women's magazine to real journalism. Usually, this is a good, in-depth article that tells a story we often have already heard on CNN or read about in a paper or heard from a friend of a friend, but at least it's well-written and touching. For the mommy mags, autism, SIDS, dealing with divorce are classic topics. For the young women's mags, anorexia, alcoholism, and abusive relationships are common.

6. The More Light-hearted But Still Serious Article. As the holidays approach, the More Light-hearted But Still Serious Article will be Holiday themed- how to have a "simpler" holiday, avoid excessive materialism and credit card debt, and get along with relatives always works at this time of year. The rest of the year it will be articles on playdates, birthday parties, politeness, safety and enjoying motherhood for the mommy mags, blind dates, being single, being in a couple, weekend getaways for the YM's.

7. Sex. In the young women's magazines, this section is far more extensive, and gives plenty of quotes from 'real' men about what they REALLY want in bed, and what they think is attractive in a woman. In the mommy magazines, the poor men only get a page or two and the tone of them is a complete downer- "We know you don't feel attractive after nursing a newborn all night, but experts say sex will bring you and your spouse closer!" or "Take 5 minutes for sex!" - as if sex in any form would be a miracle.

8. Crafts That You Will Not Do. Halloween costumes you will not sew, cupcakes you will not bake, candlesticks you will not cover in glittery pipe cleaners, no matter how cool it looks in the picture. 'Nuff said.

Each magazine has between a year and two year's worth of material in each of the 8 Basic Categories, which are rotated and recycled over and over again, so that by the time you have subscribed to any of them for about 18 months, you already feel like you pretty much "get" everything any of them has to say.

That being said, I continue to read them. I usually flip right to the Household Organization category, as if simply by reading a couple of tips on how to organize that are more commonsense than anything else my house will suddenly be clean and organized. I sob over the Sob Story Articles. I sometimes even buy the materials for the Crafts I Will Not Do, even though I know I will not do them.

I can't figure out if it's because that's what they print, or if they print what I secretly want to read... I guess that's a chicken and egg question, like that of the Paparazzi. Are they worse for taking those pictures or are we worse for gawking at them? (I'll admit I wanted to read about ANGELINA'S LIES today while I was in line at Ralph's...)

Wild Things

Went to see Where the Wild Things Are with Kyle and the boys. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it.

There were some beautiful moments in this film, though NONE of them included the Wild Things- they were all just lovely moments of truth from Max's point of view, that brought back to me all the passions and heartaches of being a kid. Max, crying because his sister's friends broke his igloo, Max destroying his sister's room because he is so angry about it, Max lying under his mom's desk, looking lovingly at her face at an odd angle, pulling gently on the toe of her pantyhose to get her attention (that last one was so beautifully shot and so honest it made me cry).

But when he finally gets to Where the Wild Things Are, the movie just disintegrates. Some of the Wild Things have personalities that reflect aspects of Max's own (or of people in Max's life). One of them, called "KW" obviously represents Max's sister Claire and his feelings about her growing up. She goes off and talks to "Bob" and "Teri" (a couple of owls who everyone seems to understand except for Max and Carol; Carol is the angry monster who exemplifies Max at his wildest and angriest), leaving her old playmates who long to have her back. Bob and Teri are standing in for his sister's friends, who Max can't understand.

But KW is the only Wild Thing who is even remotely likeable. The other Wild Things are so obnoxious and self-centered. They fight, and argue, snap at each other and expect Max to fix all of their problems for them, and when he doesn't, they threaten to eat him! Living with them looks like a horrible nightmare!

To top it off, they live in a bland, colorless world that reminds me more of something from Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic The Road than of someplace a wild young boy would dream of going.

Where is the color, joy, and magic of childhood? The most fun thing the beasts do in this movie is have a dirt clod war, and everyone in it ends up squabbling and angry anyhow.

I just don't get it. Why would anyone imagine this? If they did, why wouldn't they want to wake themselves up as soon as possible?

I always thought the book was about a young boy's quest for self-control, his need to tame the Wild Things inside of him so that he can function in the world, and that the beasts represented his own wild side- his becoming their King representing his mastery of his own emotions.

And I guess the movie did present the story in that way. However, it made the journey from out-of-control young boy to emotionally mature young boy look dark, disturbing and fraught with danger.

To me, acquiring self-control is an act of great courage that leads to great reward! How interesting it would have been if the movie focused more on Max's efforts to control the beasts within rather than what happens once they make him their King (which happens right away with no struggle).

What if he had to trick each beast, trap it, train it, bend it to his will, each one symbolizing a struggle in his life? Wouldn't that have made a much more interesting movie, and one much more true to the theme of the story?

As it was, I just didn't see the point of anything that was happening. Granted, seeing Wild Thing Carol and his uncontrollable anger helps Max to understand how destructive his own behavior is. But other than Carol and KW, the other characters were superfluous, though I love Catherine O'Hara, so I enjoyed her performance as Judith, because she is amazing in everything she does!

I also would not recommend seeing this with your kids. There is nothing bad in it (except bratty behavior from Max), but after an hour of obscure psychobabble amongst colorless creatures that seems to go nowhere, my kids were restless. Once the popcorn ran out, they all wanted to go home.

Compassion

When Jesus heard what had happened (John the Baptist was killed), he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

- Matthew 14:13-14 NIV


As a mother, no passage of the Bible is more convicting to me than this very simple story of Jesus's compassionate heart.

Yes, we all know that Jesus was an amazing teacher, healer and friend to the persistent crowds who followed him wherever he went, some loving him truly, others just hoping to witness a miracle.

Some people just take this story as they find it, and say to themselves, "Well, yeah- he was the Son of God! That's what he ought to have been doing, and more besides!"

But keeping in mind that Jesus was also a human being, look at the circumstances of Jesus's compassion.

His great friend, the one who baptized him, has just been beheaded for the entertainment of Herod's dinner guests. Not only is Jesus sad for his friend, but he probably could see in this sordid tale an echo of his own future suffering. He knew the road he was going to walk, and I can't imagine this event not bringing the reality of his own death to mind, the way the death of a friend pulls the ground out from under you or I, revealing that our own hold on life is tenuous at best.

I'm sure Jesus wanted to be alone to mourn his friend, and probably to have some quiet prayer time to receive comfort from God. He withdraws PRIVATELY to a SOLITARY place. He expects to land his boat and maybe have a quiet nature walk. To hear only silence echoing in his eardrums- no needs to meet, no hurting people demanding his time, no critiques or questions from disciples or Pharisees. This is certainly what I would have wanted, and as Jesus was a man, I'm sure it's what he wanted too.

Can you imagine landing your boat under those circumstances and seeing a mob of people waiting to throng you with their endless, endless needs? Heal me! Teach me! Help me!

I think I would have crumbled and wanted to die. That's how I feel sometimes when Kyle is out of town, especially if one of the kids is sick or if I have an especially busy week with a number of places to run.

I've always desperately needed alone time to rejuvenate myself. I love to read quietly, sit quietly, and let my thoughts meander without interruption.

I think that's why motherhood was so rough for me the first couple of years. I just could not get used to never being alone, never NOT having a need to meet. Endless, endless days- changing diapers, wiping snot, giving baths, comforting, soothing, crying myself to sleep because I was so tired I couldn't sleep (the irony!). And now that there's less of those physical needs, there's more mental and emotional needs to meet.

I feel that my brain is co-opted by three ceaseless little tyrants- "Mom. What did you do with my McDonald's coupon. Mom. When can we use my McDonald's coupon? Mom. Why don't we ever go to McDonald's? Mom. Mrs. Summers says it's time to put the Halloween decorations up. Mom, can we put them up? Mom, can I have a snack? (Right now behind me is Owen reading the Pop Tarts box- "Mom, can we order a Pop Tart shirt? All I want is that shirt. That one right there. Look at it.") Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom! Make a decision! Make it now! And know that whatever you say, however abstracted your brain is, we will try to hold you to it with the tyrannical words "BUT YOU SAID...".

(This problem actually led me to ban the words "you said" from my house last year; I told them the only thing that matters is obeying Mommy RIGHT NOW. I'm not sure if that was exactly the right way to handle it.)

I just can't imagine having patience for the multitudes like Jesus did. I can't even deal with three little children without a break!

And yet, much in need of a solace, hoping for a little "me" time- Jesus lands, sees the crowds, and HAS COMPASSION on them and heals their sick!

How did he do it? There's really no answer except that he relied on God utterly, and never pulled back his heart. No matter how tired he was, his heart could still go out to hurting people; he never withdrew into himself and pitied himself as I so often do. He totally exemplified the grace of compassion; the act of feeling with others.

For me, compassion rarely springs of its own accord, but needs to be cultivated. It's just not a natural part of my nature. I am a more logical person, and I've noticed that for passionate, emotional people- compassion flows more naturally.

A few of them, I like to watch and learn from; my cousin Stephanie, my friend Mike. They are natural "feelers" and as such, never lack empathy and always have time for friends who are in need. I noticed that even back in high school, everyone felt that Mike was their best friend. I used to wonder what it was about him that endeared him to everyone, regardless of peer group or status, and now that I am a Christian, I realize that the same thing that draws people to Mike is what drew people to Jesus; true and deep compassion for others.

I truly desire this for my own heart, and fervently believe that it isn't good enough to simply say "I'm not that type of person" and leave it at that. Just because I have to work hard to be compassionate doesn't mean I am off the hook. When the kids are crying and need me, and I am emotionally worn out, wanting to just wall myself into a cone of silence and retreat, is it okay to do that? Are my kids going to stop needing just because I want to stop giving? Of course not!

And I know that God is with me in each baby step I take toward feeling with my kids, experiencing with them each scrape, bruise, or welling feeling of injustice, and not brushing them off with my usual "Well, you shouldn't have been running in the house!" or "Well, life's not fair!"

Not that I'm saying my kids are never in the wrong. Of course there's a time to check whining and complaining, a time to review the house rules (no running), a time to teach the valuable and true lesson that life isn't fair. But I know all these lessons mean so much more coming from a warm and compassionate woman who loves them like crazy than from a mom who turns her back on them when they are in need because she just "can't deal with it right now!"

However, knowing that is one thing; doing it in the heat of the moment, when I am tired, cranky, and overwhelmed is quite another. That's when I need God and I need prayer.

Many of you know that I was raised in a Christian home. People who grew up with me in Rochelle know that my parents were deacons and devoted attendees of our small, Protestant congregation, and that I was pretty much a goody-two-shoes.

There was no question of my ever having smoked, drank or "done it", and yet, I would never have defined myself as a Christian. Sure, if someone asked me, I'd say "Yes, I'm a Christian"- because I believed in God, and chose to believe SOME of the Bible (the parts I believed in were those I was already obeying... everything else I found convenient to chuck as "antiquated" or "unrealistic", because to believe that they were commands from God put me squarely in the wrong and that wasn't where I wanted to put myself).

For many years I was confused. I read my Bible every night before bed, truly pondering its words and wondering what they meant, how I was supposed to live. Living like a Christian according to the Bible seemed so unbelievably difficult and I wondered; who could possibly forgive seventy times seven? Who can go through their life without gossiping? Am I supposed to give all my money to the poor, like Jesus tells the rich young ruler? What do all these stories mean for my life?

And then there was the fact that most of the Christians I met seemed to irritate me. Number one on their list of faults (in my non-Christian mind) was that none of them seemed remotely to have sense of humor, except at the blandest and stupidest jokes. Number two was that none of them ever seemed to struggle with anything. Their husbands seemed so perfect and helpful, them so kind and patient. I never saw the slightest hint of humanity from any of them- no one ever had a bad day with their kids, no one ever struggled with their temper or with an unloving spouse. They were constantly saying things like "God is good", and "Amen" and "God worked", "I'm so blessed"- and I kept wondering what they meant. It sounded like they were using God as a band-aid to delude themselves into the idea that their lives were perfect.

And I really didn't feel I fit anywhere into these perfect lives. I was struggling with a little boy who was two and a half and barely spoke, who would have incredibly difficult, hours-long screaming fits and I was nursing another little one. My husband was disengaged, struggling with his own problems and had little time or sympathy for mine. My own nerves were frazzled and my temper shot. I'd yell at my kids, expect WAY more of them than was possible for toddlers, and shoot bitter and sarcastic barbs at my husband any time I got the chance, hoping to break him down, that his reserve would crumble and I would get through to him in some way- trying desperately to get my message across: I AM SLOWLY DYING.

What could I possibly have in common with Christians? And yet- I couldn't reject Christianity any more than I could embrace it. Life without God seemed a life without hope.

And so I went on.

It wasn't until I moved to Santa Clarita three years ago, and was invited out to the Church of Christ by Ron and Cheryl Hammer that I really "got it."

There I met Christians who were totally committed to following Jesus's example and living according to the words of the Bible. They were kind, loving, forgiving, accepting, merciful, compassionate- to their husbands, their children, their neighbors and even to me, a total stranger. I was cowed by their graciousness, especially as I compared it with my own bitter, cynical attitude.

But this was par for the course as far as my experience with Christianity; it would have been easy to let myself off the hook by branding them as saints and telling myself that "I'm just not that good of a person. It's easy for people like them to be kind."

And I'm sure that's what I would have done had it not been for their total and complete honesty. Not one of them pretended they were perfect or had it all together; actually quite the opposite! They were instead confessing their sins to each other, revealing the imperfect attitudes of their hearts and encouraging each other to change. This was the salt that gave flavor to their conversation, zest to their personalities and attracted me like a moth to a flame.

Honesty!

All of the women I met were trying to be good wives and mothers and none of them pretended it was easy. They never diminished the pain of the struggle; yet they never denied the worth of following Jesus. I listened with relish as they described their efforts to be women of God, and their very human failures and successes.

And as I listened to them; I laughed! I actually laughed! They were FUNNY. Funny Christians... I had thought they didn't exist, like ligers and unicorns- but I now realize it's because they were truthful. They had no desire to cover up who they were, to mask their faults and failings. Rather, they were willingly exposing them to each other, not to poke fun at them or just for a laugh but to change, to grow closer to God, to follow Jesus more closely.

I was convicted. I wanted to be different. I studied the Bible with these women and I learned about God in a way I hadn't in years of plodding through chapters and verses on my own, because I understood that I needed to change from the inside out. This wasn't about "being good"- this was a total heart transplant, in which all of my previous attitudes and assumptions about my place in the universe needed to be thrown out and God placed at the center of my life.

It wasn't always easy- I was used to putting myself at the center of my life. My needs. My wants. My notions of justice, fairness, equality. What I think. What I feel. What I deserve. It wasn't natural for me to think about God first. God's mercy. God's justice. God's compassion.

But once my thinking was turned toward God, I found that I didn't have to struggle so hard to "be good" - mercy, love, self-control, patience - all sprang to life in my heart as a natural fruit of turning to God, not as a result of any effort of my own. This was it! This was the secret! This is how these saintly women did it! Stayed patient, stayed loving even in the worst circumstances!

Does this mean I became perfect? Of course not! I struggled daily to turn to God for help, but I became more gentle, patient and kind with my kids, more helpful and forbearing with my husband, more honest about my own shortcomings (before that, my own faults were always the result of something someone else had done to me and no fault of my own, OF COURSE).

I was baptized nearly two years ago, on October 21, 2007 and I am happy to say I am a different person than the one I was. Not perfect. But different.

Why am I sharing all this? Because now that I am a Christian, I want to share some of my struggles to stay faithful and be a Christian woman. It's not going to be the total focus of my blog, but it will necessarily be a part of it, because Christianity is now the lens through which I view the world. I felt like I needed some kind of "statement of faith" on here though, because this blog goes way back to my pre-Christian days and I would never want to confuse anyone who is searching for the truth by writing as a Christian, but having old posts up that reveal all my old sinful attitudes. At the same time, I think it's hypocritical and wrong to remove the old posts; I want to stay in touch with who I was before I was a Christian- to be able to hear the biting, bitter sarcasm in my voice - to remember the lack of mercy with which I treated people, to remember my contemptuousness, my pride, my feelings of desperation- some of which came through in my writing, some of which are just personal recollections connected to the events I've written about.

I know very few people will read this, and some that do will probably say, "Well, I thought you were funnier when you were sarcastic and bitter" or something similar, and you may be right. Maybe I've crossed the line into the world of the UNFUNNY CHRISTIAN and am in it so deep now I can't even see how UNFUNNY I am.

I have one thing to say to you: Poop.

That one goes over pretty well in my house. Not your taste? Butt. Buttcheeks.

Any takers?

No? Come on, this is my best material, people! "That's gold Jerry, gold!"

I don't have a final thought... I've said what's on my heart.

The Revelation Continues

Since last year's "aha" moment when Owen came face to face with his own mortality, Owen and Stewart's knowledge of death has grown in leaps and bounds.

They were discussing Michael Jackson's heart attack at the kitchen table on Thursday. Let's listen in:

Owen: He had a heart attack. That's when your heart stops working. Everybody dies. Everybody in the whole Earth. What will you do with me when I die Stewie? (Thinking). Ugh, what if you just put me in the dump?

Me: No! We'd put you in a nice grave and bring you flowers every day.

Stewart: (wanting to be nice, knowing as only a 5 year old boy can that flowers are a crap offering for a 7 year old) I would bring you toys, Owen. I would throw toys at you (the desire to be nice slowly being eclipsed by the desire to be funny)... I would dig you up and throw toys at your bones.

Great Green Gobs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts

A short one today:

I made the boys some fish filets for dinner the other day.

"Is this the fish's guts?" Stewart asked.

"It's a fish and it's delicious," I said, immediately getting defensive, as Stewart is an extremely picky eater and I didn't like where this was headed.

"Yes, but are these the GUTS?" he insisted.

"Yes, I suppose so. But they're good," I replied grumpily.

To my surprise, he was THRILLED. "WHOA! Cool! We get to eat the fish's GUTS!!!" he exclaimed.

I must've had a weird expression on my face, because Owen explained helpfully; "He always wanted to eat the guts out of something."

He has been a little obsessed with "guts" every since we read "Runaway Ralph" and the children sing the song about "greasy, grimy gopher guts." But I had no idea we were dealing with a lifetime ambition, here.