Family Rules Work For Me

Sorry to say, the chickadees have reached the ripe old ages of 9 and 6 with some confusion.  After a disastrous week of tears and trouble, lots of sibling arguing back and forth, and a bucket load of parental angst, I decided that I needed to go back to parenting 101.  I have had a book on my shelves for years and have dipped into it from time to time:  Greg and Lisa Popcak's Parenting with Grace.  The other day, after a particularly sinful exhibition of parenting that will probably land the chickadees in therapy twenty years from now, I took it off the shelf again.  Of course, we all know that the answer to everything is between the pages of a book (not).  But I did like this one, and it inspired me.

Trying to start the next day on a positive note, I brought each girl in to my bed separately for a morning cuddle and talk.  I asked #2 to tell me some of the rules we have here in our household.  After a long pause, she said something along the lines of "always zip the trampoline net closed".  This is a rule, but not really what I was going for.  I then asked her to name some rules at school, and she was able to trill five or six without any hesitation.  Chickadee #1 had an even more difficult time naming some household rules.  Truth be told, she also had trouble naming rules at school.  Maybe she was not focused.

Anyway, a light bulb appeared above my tangled bed head.  I went downstairs and told my husband that I had found the key -- the kids didn't follow the rules because they didn't actually know the rules.

Later that night, we had a family meeting and articulated the rules together.  We told the chickadees that, now that we all know the rules, there was no need for confusion. When a rule has been broken, parents will send chickadees to a list of rules and ask them to identify which rule they have broken.  It's working like a charm, both to reinforce the rules and stop the negative behavior.

And so, clearly articulated family rules posted in an easily accessible place to which Chickadees can be sent repeatedly throughout the day as they serially break them WORKS FOR ME!!

God Smacks, Again.

I've been feeling really discouraged lately.  I haven't been writing as much because I don't have anything positive to report and I've been treading water in many areas of my life.  School is almost at an end for the year -- I have a kindergartner graduating in two days, and a 3rd grader who is going to be in the upper wing of the school next year -- no more primary wing for her!  The end of the year is always stressful for everyone -- finishing up projects, end-of-year parties, bidding friends good-bye for the summer.  All of it is wonderful, to a certain extent, but also busy and overwhelming.  Add to this mix a new activity for the children, swim team, and it's all becoming a blur. Swim team is wonderful, but there are a lot of moving parts, practice every day, and expectations of parents about which I'm not entirely clear.

Discouragement:  I'm always going to be like this.  I'm just not strong enough/together enough/deserving enough to change.  

And then, today, at mass, a sermon so powerful that I had to take notes.

God makes hopeless cases hopeful: The widows whose sons have died.  Abram and Sarai.  Zechariah and Elizabeth.  

Bring all your anxiety to the Lord.  Do not give in to defeat.  Or anxiety.  Or depression.

Consider God's promises.  We have a God who is mighty in battle. Let him fight for you.  Look at Romans, 10:11.  Whatever your problem may be, bring it to the Lord.  Jesus is there to help you.  Let him be compassionate to you.  

God does not change.  We have the same God today that has always been.  

Do not surrender.  Persevere.  Call on the Lord.  In his own time, in his own way, he will help you.  He will change your hopelessness to hope.

Sometimes it's really scary.  But I'm so grateful for the God smacks.

  

Space for "I Can't"

I'm that curious kind of over-achiever who, having tasted a lot of success in some areas early on, decides that perfection is the necessary thing.  When perfection becomes harder to achieve or impossible, something stutters in our brains.  We become immobilized and resentful.  We stop trying because hell, if it can't be perfect, hang it up.

Case in point (and here I'll be posting something shameful):  my dining room table. Here's a balls to the wall, fully exposed shot of what I see from my perch behind my laptop as I write this:

Here we have the remainder of lunch-making supplies -- the kids had PB&J and SmartFood popcorn, among other things.  Also included is Chickadee #1's lunchbox, which was in the car overnight.  She went to school with her lunch in a paper bag today.  I have a plastic liter bottle of water on the table -- I was terribly thirsty after yoga this morning.  My purse (you can just see the strap) is on the chair opposite me.  One of the girls left her pink glass on the table this morning.  The telephone is at my side in case my sister calls from France.  My empty tea cup is farthest from me, patiently waiting for me to fill it again with my favorite tea, PG Tips.

The point is, looking at this makes me exhausted.  This morning's disorganized rush for the door meant that I didn't have time to clear the table after making lunches.  Then I ran off to yoga and got caught in a massive, tear-inducing traffic jam.  After yoga, I rushed home again and, instead of calmly clearing the table, I sat down and started to write this post. 

I had something I wanted to say: 



Gomukhasana

 

 

The notorious cow-faced pose:

 



I've written about this crazy thing before.  I'm sorry to say that it is no easier now than it was then.  In some ways, it was more difficult today.  As I attempted to twist my legs into this position, I could feel the entire left side of my left leg burning as if it was on fire.  I could sort of do it, but it was miserable.  After class, I was talking to my yoga teacher about it and she suggested that I might want to do the pose in a chair.  I'm also using a chair for my foot exercises and I am a much happier person for it. 

I was thinking about this on the way home.  I think that one of the things I like the best about the yoga class and the teacher's approach to it is that it leaves space for "I Can't".  I can't twist my legs into that position.  I just don't have the flexibility.  And, instead of feeling defeated by that, I'm empowered to do what I can.  To try even though it's difficult.  I'm very grateful for the space Marianne gives me for "I can't" because I don't think I give it to myself often enough.  I look at my messy dining room table and beat myself up because it is that way.  I look at the number on my scale and actually consider doing surgical violence to my body because I am so discouraged with my progress.  I don't want to go through the process of succeeding.  I want to have succeeded. 

I remember telling a friend a long time ago that I wished my life were over -- I wished that I were 80 years old and looking back on a life well-lived, a happy marriage, wonderful children.  I wanted to know that everything turned out all right.   My friends laugh at me because I read the endings of books early on.  I want to know how the plot ends and then find out how it fell together.  I'm not sure what this says about me or my apparently permanently frustrating weight loss journey.  I'm sure it says something.

Psychoanalysis in the comments will be gratefully accepted.   

Fasting update

I've done the fasting cure for two weeks now.  This week I haven't started -- yesterday, we had some dental trauma with the chickadees that involved laughing gas, a tooth extraction, and an all-ice-cream diet for Chickadee #1 and two (count 'em, TWO) fillings for Chickadee #2.  We followed that up with a visit to the dreaded McDonald's, which we chose at the express wish of Chickadee #1 who, in my estimation, had been a trouper when it came to getting her tooth pulled.  I'm sure the nitrous oxide had a lot to do with that, but I was still proud of her behavior.  She got "ice cream" and Chickadee #2 got a cheeseburger.  I got the Angus burger and I really didn't like it, yet I ate it all.  Still have some more work to do on myself, I guess.  I did make up for the atrocious lunch I had by having lovely lentil soup and homemade ciabatta for dinner.  Today, I've had a slow start, having to oversee the drafting of a letter of apology to a teacher this morning, making lunches, and getting the chickadees off to school.  I sat in the car to plan my day, naming going to Curves, saying morning prayers, painting a kitchen wall, and prepping the back porch for spring as among my priorities.

Instead, I emptied and filled the dishwasher and made these disgusting things (Peanut Butter Oatmeal Bars).  The children will love them.  I'll have to be judicious with them or they'll devour the entire 9x13 pan today.  I think I'll wait til they are cool, cut them into bars, and pre-package them for lunches, then throw them into the freezer.

1 ZILLION WW POINTS PER SQ. IN.

From that, back to fasting... the four days of fast I've completed have been really good, with the exception of the first day.  I have felt empowered and strong each time and have been really proud of myself for staying on track.  It's kind of an amazing feeling.  I'm going to fast again tomorrow and Friday.  Will keep you updated!

Flawless Girl

The other day, I saw a beautiful video from Dove about women's perceptions of themselves.  It's part of their Campaign for Real Beauty.  It was very moving and poignant, and I've been wondering how others would describe me to a forensic artist.  I look at my face and see its flaws - the skin tone that is muted, the circles under my eyes, the falling chin, the short eyelashes and small eyes and mouth.  I try not to look too closely:

(FYI, the poem on the whiteboard to my left is James Joyce's Go Seek Her Out, which I put on my poetry whiteboard in dual honor of Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day).  Guess I need to change to T.S. Eliot's opening lines of The Waste Land or Chaucer's opening lines of The Canterbury Tales.  I try to keep it fresh.  I'm hoping the chickadees will learn to love poetry by osmosis.)

Right now, my daughters are watching Phineas and Ferb, probably the only program they like than I can stand (with the exception of the Science Channel's How It's Made).  The episode is called "Attack of the 50 Foot Sister" and is a fantastic send up of the unreasonable expectations women have of themselves and how the "beauty industry" feeds their insecurities.  My favorite is the song, "Flawless Girl"

Psalm 139.  Psalm 139.  Psalm 139. 

I know I'll never be a flawless girl.  And really, I don't want to be -- I'd rather be able to run out of the house to pick up the girls after a long day of spring cleaning in a tunic and pj bottoms (sadly, my outfit of today).  But the pressure is still there. 

Psalm 139 works for me.

Fasting, Day 3

I didn't write about it, but last Thursday was my second day of fasting.  For some reason, I must like self-torture because I ended up in the grocery store on Thursday morning, as I had on Monday.  But I did wonderfully well at the store -- I had 2 boiled eggs for 72 calories each, 3 pieces of mini-pita for a total of 90 calories and about a cup of raw spinach (thank goodness for Whole Foods!).  So that is a total of 234 calories for breakfast.  For dinner, I did less well, but still reasonable.  I had 1 cup of spaghetti with 1/2 cup of Classico spaghetti sauce and a big salad.  The spaghetti noodles were about 220 calories and the sauce was 70 calories.  So, all in all, I did really well (yeah me!)  at 524 calories.  The only issue I had with the whole thing was that I ate breakfast a bit later than I should have (around 9 rather than 7:30) and had dinner earlier than I should have (around 5 rather than 7:30) because of some issues with my schedule.  So I only had eight hours to contend with rather than 12.  I'm not sure that matters, but it still wasn't what I wanted.

Today is my third fast day.  I had oatmeal for breakfast (145 calories) and just now had an orange  (62 calories).  Tonight, I am making Lentil soup (better have a back up plan for the husband and children).  I've got a bit of headache now, which is why I decided to have the orange, and I am really thirsty, so I'm drinking seltzer right now.

I plan to stay busy, busy, busy today - I certainly have enough to do.  This morning I had a planning meeting regarding Girl Scouts for next year.  After that, I stopped by the Eucharistic Adoration chapel, looking for a few minutes of peace before the Blessed Sacrament.  I was shocked that there were so many people in the chapel, until I remembered that 9:30 am mass was getting ready to start.  I stayed for mass, and I am really glad that I did.

I'd stopped in the chapel to get some fortification for the day ahead and, once again, God didn't disappoint - today's mass reading was from the Gospel of John (6, 30-35).  In this Gospel, we see the crowd asking Jesus for a sign so that they might believe in him.  They recall the sign of the manna in the desert, and Jesus tells them that it was not Moses who gave the Israelites manna, but God the Father.  He then tells them his Father gives the true bread from heaven, the bread that comes down and gives life to the world.  Of course, they want some of this bread (who wouldn't?).  He then tells them, "I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst."  Isn't that an incredibly appropriate mass reading for a fasting day?

Charged with Grandeur

Last night, at School of Community, I (badly) tried to articulate my thoughts on finding God in the everyday.  Gerard Manley Hopkins described it.  James Joyce (purportedly an atheist, and certainly a modernist icon) developed a whole theory of epiphany to describe it (even though, IMHO, he "knew more than he could say" as one of my college professors said of me in his grading of my Junior Poet oral presentation).

Today, I found this little gem.  God in the every day.  Amen.