In Bible college, there is lots of talk about dates with Jesus, spending time with Jesus, and doing devotions. Judgements about your "spiritual life" are based on your performance of these things. Those who have a nice solemn quiet time every morning will sin less, will be happier, and more zen-like. Those who don't, well, you can TELL. If one doesn't charge up their spiritual battery in the Almighty charger, they will run out of spiritual gumption and end up drunk in the gutter, very likely pregnant.
During this time, I too felt the pressure, judged myself based on my performance of such activities. I remember one night one of the girls on my floor came to me in tears with a humiliating confession, she hadn't done her devotions in weeks, and worse she didn't WANT to. I was sad for her and wondered at the benefit of it. I drifted back and forth in my feelings towards devotional time, or the special time with Jesus until I read a freeing book called "A Spirituality of the Road." I have since lent out 2, and neither has returned to me. Must be good... or getting forgotten. Ahem. I digress.
This book began an idea in me that has led to me freedom from devotional oppression. This ultimately freeing idea is simply this. There is no spiritual battery. Scandalous, I know. We are entirely spiritual beings, as well as entirely physical. When I wash dishes, it is a spiritual activity. When I go on a hike and witness natural beauty at it's finest, it is a spiritual activity. When I listen to a sermon on a Sunday morning, it is as a spiritual being. There are no activities that are more "spiritual" than another.
As Western Christians we are like our dichotomies. We like to keep our holy spiritual person safe and clear of our sexual person. We like to have tidy categories with which to judge our current status. Reading a good devotional-check. Daily personal "Jesus" time-check. Weekly Bible study- check. Getting to church early, toting Bible- check. Ahh. My Spiritual life is clearly thriving. With so many spiritual ticks, I can avoid disastrous sinful behaviour and earn (ha ha ha, not really, I'm a CHRISTIAN! I don't EARN Christ's approval!) Christ's approval. And yet, with such a fully charged spiritual battery, people fail. Mom's yell. Dad's swear. Kids sneak. Singles stumble. Married's trip and fall.
This blog post is meandering. I will end by saying this. Bible reading is awesome. I read when I can. I like to have my Bible reading time challenge what I know about God. I like to let it direct me, rather than my wonderful theology direct it. But I am not enslaved to this good thing. Jesus was there while me and my daughter coloured monsters. He was there when we chuckled about butt-jokes together. He was also there as we sang our VBS songs. He is more present than my husband.
And I'm just so blessed that there is never a moment that He is not around.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
To My Sister-
As you prepare to have your first baby, I am sad beyond all description to be so far. I am sorry I can't share this whole thing with you and be there in the hospital (after you've had her, of course) and bring you a hamburger and pizza and chocolate... (ok, those were the things that got me through labour... I suppose not everyone is as excited at the idea of eating a GOOD burger)
I was thinking this morning about what it means to have a child. The first one especially, changes everything. It changes the parents, it changes your schedule, it changes the way you do things, and how you do things, and how decisions are made, and who you hang out with. It changes where you eat, and sometimes what you eat. Your priorities change, and your list of daily accomplishments change. Your clothing size changes, and your body changes. Somedays all these changes make you want to scream. Somedays you won't even notice.
Your first child awakens the "Monster mom" and you feel as if you could accomplish great feats, do anything to protect your precious little person. But you can't. And that is more frightening than anything you can imagine. All of a sudden your worst nightmares are only inches away. You can only defend her against SOME of the bad in a world suddenly filled with BAD. One roque car, one unseen moment, one poor decision... It is now your heart at risk, and it is no longer safely tucked in your chest. It is outside. And in all this fear, you realise that the ONLY defence is the MAKER of the WORLD. The One who made it GOOD, and He can show you the GOOD in the BAD. You can curl up in His palm, because that is all you CAN do.
And while you are living on the brink of blinding fear, you are feeding, and rocking, and noticing, and caressing, and...unsure. Why is she crying? Why isn't she crying? Should I feed her the organic brand? Am I holding her enough? Studies say this, studies say that. La Leche League says this, my sister says that. But rest assured, God has given you the instinct you need. He gave you this daughter and He has given you the skills to care for her. Trust yourself. The internet will not help you. Trust your own instincts, and if you must, ask other mothers whom you trust and admire their parenting.
Parenting is the most exciting, exhausting, hilarious, insane adventure. Nothing else can make you laugh and cry in moments. Nothing else could make you more angry and more happy. Nothing else can be so cute and so frustrating.
May you be blessed in this incredible adventure, sister. There is so much blessing to be had...
I was thinking this morning about what it means to have a child. The first one especially, changes everything. It changes the parents, it changes your schedule, it changes the way you do things, and how you do things, and how decisions are made, and who you hang out with. It changes where you eat, and sometimes what you eat. Your priorities change, and your list of daily accomplishments change. Your clothing size changes, and your body changes. Somedays all these changes make you want to scream. Somedays you won't even notice.
Your first child awakens the "Monster mom" and you feel as if you could accomplish great feats, do anything to protect your precious little person. But you can't. And that is more frightening than anything you can imagine. All of a sudden your worst nightmares are only inches away. You can only defend her against SOME of the bad in a world suddenly filled with BAD. One roque car, one unseen moment, one poor decision... It is now your heart at risk, and it is no longer safely tucked in your chest. It is outside. And in all this fear, you realise that the ONLY defence is the MAKER of the WORLD. The One who made it GOOD, and He can show you the GOOD in the BAD. You can curl up in His palm, because that is all you CAN do.
And while you are living on the brink of blinding fear, you are feeding, and rocking, and noticing, and caressing, and...unsure. Why is she crying? Why isn't she crying? Should I feed her the organic brand? Am I holding her enough? Studies say this, studies say that. La Leche League says this, my sister says that. But rest assured, God has given you the instinct you need. He gave you this daughter and He has given you the skills to care for her. Trust yourself. The internet will not help you. Trust your own instincts, and if you must, ask other mothers whom you trust and admire their parenting.
Parenting is the most exciting, exhausting, hilarious, insane adventure. Nothing else can make you laugh and cry in moments. Nothing else could make you more angry and more happy. Nothing else can be so cute and so frustrating.
May you be blessed in this incredible adventure, sister. There is so much blessing to be had...
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The measure of a woman
The measure of a woman in not in numbers of inches or pounds. It is not in cup sizes, or waist bands. It's not in the complexion of her skin, or length of lashes. A woman is more than a sum of numbers.
The measure of a woman in not in how many children she has, or how they exited her body. It is not in her ability to have children, or how those children are fed. A woman is more than a birth story.
The measure of a woman is not in how many hours she worked, or how clean her house was. It's not in how many delicious, organic meals she could churn out, or how wonderful her pies are. A woman is more than a salary.
A woman is a sum of the people she loves. The true measure of a woman is her ability to love the unlovely, forgive the unforgivable, to serve humanity and her God. May she be measured by her compassion.
The measure of a woman in not in how many children she has, or how they exited her body. It is not in her ability to have children, or how those children are fed. A woman is more than a birth story.
The measure of a woman is not in how many hours she worked, or how clean her house was. It's not in how many delicious, organic meals she could churn out, or how wonderful her pies are. A woman is more than a salary.
A woman is a sum of the people she loves. The true measure of a woman is her ability to love the unlovely, forgive the unforgivable, to serve humanity and her God. May she be measured by her compassion.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
How to grieve with
I am not sure exactly why, but I have been asked a few times by people close to someone grieving "What should I do?" I have not had any more horrible times than any common man, thus I am not an expert, but my mother is, and I thought I would type out some of her wisdom passed on. All people grieve so differently, and some people will hate all these tips, but I think it is always better to err on this side as it will be easier for someone to say "I dont want to talk about it" than for someone to say "I WANT to talk about it."
1. Asking Questions- Ask questions about details. This shows you care, and for people who get concerned about burdening others with their grief, this is a way for you to invite sharing the load. It also leads the way in showing them what you are willing to bear. I know for myself, when I witnessed a traumatic event, I wanted people to ask me details. No one did. But I wanted to rehash again and again the colours and sights and sounds as a way of purging the images and sounds.
2. Allow them to say what they feel- No contradictions! They may have been a strong person of faith, but in the wake of losing a child, are struggling to feel loved by God. Allow them to express this rage, confusion and pain without contradiction, at least initially. You can gently remind them of truth in a year or two.
3. Say the name- For someone who has lost a loved one, it can be a balm to hear someone else acknowledge the person that they loved is still remembered. Loss is about as painful as it gets, gently and lovingly referring to a person who is dead will not make the pain worse, but will show that you remember them too.
4. Sit and cry with someone. No words necessary. Hand out tissues.
5. Resist the urge to say "It's ok, He's in heaven" or "At least you have other children" or "he's better off." A sister who has lost her brother, or a mother who has lost her child is really only concerned that their loved one isn't WITH THEM. Whatever comfort they may derived from where their loved one is NOW, is really up to the griever.
6. Be around, call regularly, remember them and their pain 6-12 months along. Go visit, and call to check in.
7.Above all, loving someone as Christ loves- practically, emotionally, and spiritually- will cover innumerable mistakes. Love is like that. I hope this can be a little bit helpful. It has been for me.
1. Asking Questions- Ask questions about details. This shows you care, and for people who get concerned about burdening others with their grief, this is a way for you to invite sharing the load. It also leads the way in showing them what you are willing to bear. I know for myself, when I witnessed a traumatic event, I wanted people to ask me details. No one did. But I wanted to rehash again and again the colours and sights and sounds as a way of purging the images and sounds.
2. Allow them to say what they feel- No contradictions! They may have been a strong person of faith, but in the wake of losing a child, are struggling to feel loved by God. Allow them to express this rage, confusion and pain without contradiction, at least initially. You can gently remind them of truth in a year or two.
3. Say the name- For someone who has lost a loved one, it can be a balm to hear someone else acknowledge the person that they loved is still remembered. Loss is about as painful as it gets, gently and lovingly referring to a person who is dead will not make the pain worse, but will show that you remember them too.
4. Sit and cry with someone. No words necessary. Hand out tissues.
5. Resist the urge to say "It's ok, He's in heaven" or "At least you have other children" or "he's better off." A sister who has lost her brother, or a mother who has lost her child is really only concerned that their loved one isn't WITH THEM. Whatever comfort they may derived from where their loved one is NOW, is really up to the griever.
6. Be around, call regularly, remember them and their pain 6-12 months along. Go visit, and call to check in.
7.Above all, loving someone as Christ loves- practically, emotionally, and spiritually- will cover innumerable mistakes. Love is like that. I hope this can be a little bit helpful. It has been for me.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Sugar Scrubs
Due to High Altitude, freezing temps, and running heaters my skin is SUPER dry. The only thing that seems to allowing relief has been sugar scrubs. I wanted to put some of the recipes I've come up with here simply because it's fun. I am now a huge fan of them and they cost pennies when made from your cupboard.
Chai Tea Sugar Scrub
1/2 sugar (white or brown)
3 Tbsp oil (olive or coconut are awesome)
Mix together
Add:
1 Tbsp honey
contents of one Chai Tea bag
Store in water tight container. A great face and body scrub.
Be sure to rinse well as tea can settle in places you'd rather not have anything brewing!
Lemon Sugar Scrub
1/2 sugar
3 Tbsp oil (coconut or olive)
Peel of half lemon
-warm oil with peel and mix in sugar
Add:
juice of half lemon
Store in water tight container. Great for face and body.
Chai Tea Sugar Scrub
1/2 sugar (white or brown)
3 Tbsp oil (olive or coconut are awesome)
Mix together
Add:
1 Tbsp honey
contents of one Chai Tea bag
Store in water tight container. A great face and body scrub.
Be sure to rinse well as tea can settle in places you'd rather not have anything brewing!
Lemon Sugar Scrub
1/2 sugar
3 Tbsp oil (coconut or olive)
Peel of half lemon
-warm oil with peel and mix in sugar
Add:
juice of half lemon
Store in water tight container. Great for face and body.
Leif's "Fire" Sauce
My oldest son has decided at random times, to begin his forays into culinary creation. He's made some fruit salad which was great and a green salad which was certainly alright for a 5 year old. He gets to use a sharp knife and a cutting board, and has ideas for sauces etc. He wanted to put lemon on the fruit salad, and it was delicious. Last night he came to me and wanted to make hot sauce. We decided we needed to go shopping for some hot chillies, and a few other things, so of course, all day he has been reminding me we need to go. Upon arrival at home, he whipped out the chillies, and onions and began cutting. He began cutting. His eyes were watering with onion juice. He located buttons on the food processor by letter recognition. Here's the REALLY delicious sauce my son created. I'm seriously proud!
1 hot chilly (whichever one you want)
1/2 brown onion
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp garlic powder (feel free to use fresh)
2 tsp apple cider vinegar
7 Tbsp tomato puree
Whizz up in a food processor to desired consistency. Eat.
1 hot chilly (whichever one you want)
1/2 brown onion
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp garlic powder (feel free to use fresh)
2 tsp apple cider vinegar
7 Tbsp tomato puree
Whizz up in a food processor to desired consistency. Eat.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Airplanes with kids on them.
My kids and I will be heading off soon and lots of airplane traveling adventures. I have traveled a bit with little guys, and am still struggling to find ways to make it super easy and smooth. That said, I have nailed down a few things that help. So here's my line up of helpful tips.
1. Bring enough nappies for a 48 hour period. Diarrhea always seems to happen on flights which means a million more nappy changes than one would expect. The more the merrier.
2. Wear travel friendly clothing. My travel uniform is thus- leggings, short sleeve dress, slip on shoes and cardigan. That way I am comfortable, but still look "pulled together" ish (for some reason people are more inclined to offer help if one looks nicer). But I do bring an extra t-shirt and leggings, as I've been pooed on enough to want to be prepared.
3. I try to dress the kids in track (sweat) pants, t-shirts, and jumpers (sweatshirts). Layers are good. Sleepable clothes are good. Probably some people would like to put socks on their kids, but for me, it is only one more article of clothing that gets abandoned. Some slip on shoes for kids is the way to go. Canvas ones preferable to plastic, as they breath, and will keep their feet warm.
4. I no longer pack activities for myself, aside from a "wisp" toothbrush. Although, a magazine with pictures wouldn't go astray. But I've found that I don't have a lot of time to sit and read things other than children's books... to children.
5. I like to make little "flight" packs for the kids. They get to open new little packages, and the excitement can last the whole trip...
6. Microbead neck pillows. That way if you have a chance, you will be able to sleep relatively comfortably.
Anyone have any awesome car travel tips?
1. Bring enough nappies for a 48 hour period. Diarrhea always seems to happen on flights which means a million more nappy changes than one would expect. The more the merrier.
2. Wear travel friendly clothing. My travel uniform is thus- leggings, short sleeve dress, slip on shoes and cardigan. That way I am comfortable, but still look "pulled together" ish (for some reason people are more inclined to offer help if one looks nicer). But I do bring an extra t-shirt and leggings, as I've been pooed on enough to want to be prepared.
3. I try to dress the kids in track (sweat) pants, t-shirts, and jumpers (sweatshirts). Layers are good. Sleepable clothes are good. Probably some people would like to put socks on their kids, but for me, it is only one more article of clothing that gets abandoned. Some slip on shoes for kids is the way to go. Canvas ones preferable to plastic, as they breath, and will keep their feet warm.
4. I no longer pack activities for myself, aside from a "wisp" toothbrush. Although, a magazine with pictures wouldn't go astray. But I've found that I don't have a lot of time to sit and read things other than children's books... to children.
5. I like to make little "flight" packs for the kids. They get to open new little packages, and the excitement can last the whole trip...
6. Microbead neck pillows. That way if you have a chance, you will be able to sleep relatively comfortably.
Anyone have any awesome car travel tips?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Why three is better.
Three to fuss and three to fight.
Three to keep you up at night.
Three minutes to rest, in a week.
Three small people that seem to leak.
Three small people who laugh at jokes.
Three small people who laugh at pokes.
Three little friends who love each other.
Brother sister, sister brother.
Six little hands sneaking crackers.
3 little hands getting smackers.
A sister to care, a brother to show,
a little one to go go go.
If two is good then three is better.
Just, perhaps, a little wetter.
Three to keep you up at night.
Three minutes to rest, in a week.
Three small people that seem to leak.
Three small people who laugh at jokes.
Three small people who laugh at pokes.
Three little friends who love each other.
Brother sister, sister brother.
Six little hands sneaking crackers.
3 little hands getting smackers.
A sister to care, a brother to show,
a little one to go go go.
If two is good then three is better.
Just, perhaps, a little wetter.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Survival.
Our week without buying groceries was good. I was surprised by how much food we had. It required me to spend more time in preparation but I was amazed how well we were able to eat. We were even able to have people over, and bring a salad to share to a party. In fact we probably could have gone a few more days, although we were beginning to really miss fresh fruit and veggies. The interesting thing about this week, to me, was the extra stress I felt. I didn't feel like I could eat much due to fear of running out of food. I was thinking what it would be like to ACTUALLY not have any food to feed my kids. I am SO grateful that I can. I will continue to pray for rain in Africa, so that next year will be better.
That said, today sucked. I woke up early thanks to a blabbing baby, and have spent my day grumpy. To try to boost myself I made yo-yos with pink icing (recipe here: http://www.bestrecipes.com.au/recipe/Yo-Yo-Biscuits-L1544.html ) which turned out a bit dense and heavy but tasted alright.
Then during "nap time" in which one child napped, another yelled from his bed, and another watched a David Attenborough video, I made some little wire bird's nests (how-to here: http://justsomethingimade.com/2009/03/little-wire-bird-nests/ ). All up, I made two in 20ish minutes, and that does include some butt wiping, and drink getting and other services. I made one with a little "egg" the colour of each birthstone of my kids. How sweet.
Yesterday, which started similar to today, I sewed together a pair of pants that I had cut out of a bed cover I bought in India nearly a decade ago. I've been wearing them all day despite the fact that they are highly unflattering and are a very close relative of jammy pants.
Creating is survival for me. Everyone may spend the day in misery, with the house disappearing under the dirty laundry and crunched up crackers. But at least I made something from start to finish today, dammit. At least one little happy thing got made.
Sho... Habby makig. (that's me wishing you happy making while being really drunk, which I'm not, but thought maybe it would be funny to allude to, and then thought it would be really confusing hence this parenthetical statement.)
That said, today sucked. I woke up early thanks to a blabbing baby, and have spent my day grumpy. To try to boost myself I made yo-yos with pink icing (recipe here: http://www.bestrecipes.com.au/recipe/Yo-Yo-Biscuits-L1544.html ) which turned out a bit dense and heavy but tasted alright.
Then during "nap time" in which one child napped, another yelled from his bed, and another watched a David Attenborough video, I made some little wire bird's nests (how-to here: http://justsomethingimade.com/2009/03/little-wire-bird-nests/ ). All up, I made two in 20ish minutes, and that does include some butt wiping, and drink getting and other services. I made one with a little "egg" the colour of each birthstone of my kids. How sweet.
Yesterday, which started similar to today, I sewed together a pair of pants that I had cut out of a bed cover I bought in India nearly a decade ago. I've been wearing them all day despite the fact that they are highly unflattering and are a very close relative of jammy pants.
Creating is survival for me. Everyone may spend the day in misery, with the house disappearing under the dirty laundry and crunched up crackers. But at least I made something from start to finish today, dammit. At least one little happy thing got made.
Sho... Habby makig. (that's me wishing you happy making while being really drunk, which I'm not, but thought maybe it would be funny to allude to, and then thought it would be really confusing hence this parenthetical statement.)
Monday, August 22, 2011
When I was hungry...
I, probably like much of the world, have been deeply impacted by the images coming out of East Africa. The idea of women having to watch their children starve to death leaves an ache in me that not even a brownie can cure. I am generally out of the loop of news etc, much to my embarrassment, but this particular news tidbit somehow landed in my lap. Usually, I would be able to just get on the internet and donate some money, but this time it's a smidge tighter fundage wise and I didn't feel comfortable donating what I wanted to. SO, the kids and I scrounged through the house looking for coins. We made a slotted tub for our coins, and were able to get some money, as Leif pointed out, "Still, it will help." I was so excited that the kids could get into it, but really wanted to do something more. So Saturday night we began brainstorming. We landed on an idea to not buy any groceries this week, and eat only what we have. That way we can donate the money we have saved on groceries. In that way, at least we (or really I) have to be conscience of our food, grateful for it, and aware of it, possibly by it's scarcity. I am generally a haphazard shopper so there should be enough if I can be creative. Although, I have no eggs, little milk, few veggies, and little fresh fruit, I've got canned fruit, dried beans, and some frozen things. I am excited about this little journey and what lessons we may have in store.
Tonight we will be eating weed stir-fry... evidently clover is edible.
Tonight we will be eating weed stir-fry... evidently clover is edible.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Seed Bombs
A while ago I found some ideas for some guerilla gardening. Things like planting flowers in ugly places, pulling weeds that aren't yours, and sowing seeds to see what happens. One idea that I found that I have been desperate to try for a while with the kids was seed bombs. The basic idea is that you puree some newspaper, mix in some seeds, squash into a mold or roll into balls in your hand, and then toss around in unsightly fields.
Usually my ideas of creative things to do with the kids end up in me making it while they play outside, or a huge mess, or both. This idea was a raging success! They helped me pick out the seeds (although I nixed some of Leif's ideas of rockmelon and zucchini mainly because we wouldn't be around to see em.) We put in a rockery mix, Australian natives, and some forget-me-nots for obvious reasons. The kids loved squidging in the gooey papery mush with their hands. Leif helped me make the balls while Pip just played. The next morning we all went out in our jammies and threw them around in a derelict field. The kids loved throwing "bombs" and L was happily announcing to everyone we came across that we were making seed bombs. It was a rolling success, and I would HIGHLY recommend getting your children involved in guerilla warfare of this nature. (Get it? Nature Guerilla?)
Usually my ideas of creative things to do with the kids end up in me making it while they play outside, or a huge mess, or both. This idea was a raging success! They helped me pick out the seeds (although I nixed some of Leif's ideas of rockmelon and zucchini mainly because we wouldn't be around to see em.) We put in a rockery mix, Australian natives, and some forget-me-nots for obvious reasons. The kids loved squidging in the gooey papery mush with their hands. Leif helped me make the balls while Pip just played. The next morning we all went out in our jammies and threw them around in a derelict field. The kids loved throwing "bombs" and L was happily announcing to everyone we came across that we were making seed bombs. It was a rolling success, and I would HIGHLY recommend getting your children involved in guerilla warfare of this nature. (Get it? Nature Guerilla?)
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Cloth wipes recipe
I've been struggling to come up with anything I could blog about without pages and pages of bleck... And I have been wanting to share this recipe so it seemed as good a time as any to put up some tripe.
I love using cloth nappies. It's nerdy I know, but I love it. I have settled upon the most fabulous system for us, sweetpea pocket nappies. I bought some bamboo inserts and now only have to change the baby's nappy 2 times a day. Yippee! I only have one in nappies now (sorta) so my washing isn't too out of control. It only makes sense, if using cloth nappies, to use cloth wipes as well. The best system I have found is to fold a bunch of my homemade wipes (or face washers, cut up terry squares, cut up flannel, etc) in a container with tight fitting lid and dump solution on em. This way they are wet and ready to go when needed. Then they go in the nappy bucket along with soiled nappy or... ahem... undies. So here is the recipe, as I have tweaked it, for your wiping delectation.
2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon oil of choice (I love to use coconut oil as it has natural yeast fighting properties)
1 tablespoon of liguid soap
2 drops tea tree oil
*optional- 2 drops of lavender
stir it up as you pour over wipes. Mine can last up to a week before there is even a hint of mustiness thanks to the tea tree oil. Make sure to keep the lid on it when not in use.
I love using cloth nappies. It's nerdy I know, but I love it. I have settled upon the most fabulous system for us, sweetpea pocket nappies. I bought some bamboo inserts and now only have to change the baby's nappy 2 times a day. Yippee! I only have one in nappies now (sorta) so my washing isn't too out of control. It only makes sense, if using cloth nappies, to use cloth wipes as well. The best system I have found is to fold a bunch of my homemade wipes (or face washers, cut up terry squares, cut up flannel, etc) in a container with tight fitting lid and dump solution on em. This way they are wet and ready to go when needed. Then they go in the nappy bucket along with soiled nappy or... ahem... undies. So here is the recipe, as I have tweaked it, for your wiping delectation.
2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon oil of choice (I love to use coconut oil as it has natural yeast fighting properties)
1 tablespoon of liguid soap
2 drops tea tree oil
*optional- 2 drops of lavender
stir it up as you pour over wipes. Mine can last up to a week before there is even a hint of mustiness thanks to the tea tree oil. Make sure to keep the lid on it when not in use.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Women and The Man's Problem.
Sex is generally referred to in Christian circles as a man's issue. Preachers will proclaim loudly and with gusto that avoiding inappropriate sex is a man's issue, and women struggle with... umm... not sure... um jealousy maybe? I grew up thinking that women shouldn't want sex, or have a sex drive, and that there was clearly something wrong with me if I did. Girls are told that if we could only dress modestly then the boys won't think about sex. The idea is that men want sex, women don't, and that sex is dirty, secret, monogamous, and uncomfortable to talk about. Pious women don't mention it, want it, and will cover every bit of flesh so as to keep men from the same evil. Maybe, if women can get their necklines high enough, their skirts long enough, their pants pleated enough, that no one will think about sex, ever.
Maybe someone needs to remind these pastors that just as men were made in the image of God, so women were. That just as men are emotional, physical, psychological and sexual beings, so women are emotional, physical, psychological, and gulp, sexual beings. When men preach and make comments about how it is a man's issue, he alienates 1/2 of his congregation ostracising her from help. I am, of course, making the assumption that sex IS an issue for women. Of course a woman's sex issue is different from a man's, but not non-existent. Women cheat on their spouses, feel disappointed in their sex lives, feel "pent-up", desire sexual attention, fantasize, etc. Maybe christian women need to be discussing sex more. Girls need to know that they DO have a sexual self, that they MAY find that they want to have sex, that they MIGHT enjoy sex when it happens. Girls/Women need to have the conversation. And maybe within earshot of a preacher. If we don't know each other's stories and issues how can we help each other? How can we help the lonely and frustrated married women who finds a man who wants her attention? How do we help the teenage girl who gets a new boyfriend and discovers that she does want sex? The discussions are nipped in the bud as soon as we are told our "issues" are real.
This is a very non-organized rant. But I would love discussion on the topic. This is obviously from an Evangelical-Christian perpective, but I would LOVE perspectives from all sides. Let's talk about SEX!
Maybe someone needs to remind these pastors that just as men were made in the image of God, so women were. That just as men are emotional, physical, psychological and sexual beings, so women are emotional, physical, psychological, and gulp, sexual beings. When men preach and make comments about how it is a man's issue, he alienates 1/2 of his congregation ostracising her from help. I am, of course, making the assumption that sex IS an issue for women. Of course a woman's sex issue is different from a man's, but not non-existent. Women cheat on their spouses, feel disappointed in their sex lives, feel "pent-up", desire sexual attention, fantasize, etc. Maybe christian women need to be discussing sex more. Girls need to know that they DO have a sexual self, that they MAY find that they want to have sex, that they MIGHT enjoy sex when it happens. Girls/Women need to have the conversation. And maybe within earshot of a preacher. If we don't know each other's stories and issues how can we help each other? How can we help the lonely and frustrated married women who finds a man who wants her attention? How do we help the teenage girl who gets a new boyfriend and discovers that she does want sex? The discussions are nipped in the bud as soon as we are told our "issues" are real.
This is a very non-organized rant. But I would love discussion on the topic. This is obviously from an Evangelical-Christian perpective, but I would LOVE perspectives from all sides. Let's talk about SEX!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Stay-At-Home Shame
Lately, I have been on a tyrade about the stay-at-home gig. People are not acknowledging enough, obliging enough, or even proud enough of me or whoever they know who stays at home. I have bellowed on and on about how the stay-at-home housewife is the shame of society. That if I could only "Contribute to society" enough then I could be of some value. I could label myself by that noble venture, and leave the humiliating kid wrangling to someone else. I could even get acknowledged on Women's Day, because I'm so "successful". If only I had it all, a thin body, a burgeoning business, CEO of some NGO, and a mum of the fashionable 2ish kids, people would "ooo" and "aahh" about how I've got it all, the SUPER-MUM. Our celebs, the icon of "Super-mums", are people who burst babies forth from their perfect, unmarred bodies, then show up the next day for their runway show or movie. The rest of us who don't escape our jammies due to sleepless nights and days, dealing with our own children have a lot to live up to.
In the midst of this angst, I have realized how ashamed I am of my own job choice. I introduce myself as "just" a stay-at-home mum, awaiting the sound of crickets. I don't acknowledge my job enough, nor am I obliging enough to what I do. Being a mum of three is a choice that I made. I decided not to abort two surprise pregnancies, so I ended up with 3 under 3, an amount of children that seems preposterous to many sales clerks, and an irritation to everyone else in the shops. I feel the need to apologize for living, all the while resenting everyone around me for "making" me feel like that.
So, I am now beginning my journey toward accepting the true and inherent nobility of the job I do. It is a worthwhile one. I am raising my own children, doing the hard-yards, being bored sometimes, stressed other times, lonely, and tired at all times towards a noble end. I am doing it because it's right, because it's the best thing for them. It's the best thing for me. I've been given children, and it is my duty, privilege, and honour to raise them. I, and not some child care center, am meant to be the catalyst, good or bad, to help them become who God wants them to be. To teach them to love humanity, live with humility, and serve a mighty God. After all, that's a pretty big deal. So, Hello, I'm Erika and I am a stay-at-home mum. What are YOU doing to change the world?
In the midst of this angst, I have realized how ashamed I am of my own job choice. I introduce myself as "just" a stay-at-home mum, awaiting the sound of crickets. I don't acknowledge my job enough, nor am I obliging enough to what I do. Being a mum of three is a choice that I made. I decided not to abort two surprise pregnancies, so I ended up with 3 under 3, an amount of children that seems preposterous to many sales clerks, and an irritation to everyone else in the shops. I feel the need to apologize for living, all the while resenting everyone around me for "making" me feel like that.
So, I am now beginning my journey toward accepting the true and inherent nobility of the job I do. It is a worthwhile one. I am raising my own children, doing the hard-yards, being bored sometimes, stressed other times, lonely, and tired at all times towards a noble end. I am doing it because it's right, because it's the best thing for them. It's the best thing for me. I've been given children, and it is my duty, privilege, and honour to raise them. I, and not some child care center, am meant to be the catalyst, good or bad, to help them become who God wants them to be. To teach them to love humanity, live with humility, and serve a mighty God. After all, that's a pretty big deal. So, Hello, I'm Erika and I am a stay-at-home mum. What are YOU doing to change the world?
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Christmas- The real deal.
Christmas time is a bit of a conundrum. We all are filled with longing for things... not quite sure what "thing" it will be this year that will fulfill our wildest dreams. Of course, we won't get it (because we never knew what it was anyway), and we'll inwardly grumble about getting yet another pair of grandma's homemade socks that aren't the same size or colour.
We stuff ourselves cross-eyed with food and roll around in the lush decadence of the season. Drunk on cheap wine, frothing at the mouth with eggnog, loosing teeth to the fudge, and packing on kilos, increasing our pant sizes by 3 or 4.
All the music, which begins to haunt our shopping centers in early October, is about how magical and wonderful Christmas is. And about a Silent magical night many years ago that something(if only I could remember what?) happened. And how it's a wonderful, joyous time. It's a time for families to skip around together carrying hams, for friends and neighbours to come together and hold hands and sing and smile and sprinkle glitter into the air.
We fly from shop to shop spending millions of yet un-earned cash on frippery. A dolly for mom, and skateboard for gramps, and some reduced-price tea towels for hubby. Maybe the kids can get another electronic gaming console to add to the 4 they have already. Maybe the "fit" one so they'll get some exercise.
By the time the glorious day arrives, and the presents are stashed under the tree which has been decked out in this years latest teal baubles, we are haggard and harried. In debt, fat, and tired. And why do we do all these magical and wondrous activities? For fun? Was there ever a purpose to all the expense, the faux magic, the red and green? If it is, it's been buried somewhere beneath 5 meters of santa wrapping paper.
Is it really the way to celebrate the birth of a homeless, religious fanatic? Is it really the way to celebrate a teenage mother giving birth in a stable? It's hard to find the real deal in all the fudge-covered lust, tinsel covered avarice, and sparkling debt.
But here we are, in a season of juxtaposition, celebrating the birth of our rebel Saviour and homeless KING of the UNIVERSE. So Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
We stuff ourselves cross-eyed with food and roll around in the lush decadence of the season. Drunk on cheap wine, frothing at the mouth with eggnog, loosing teeth to the fudge, and packing on kilos, increasing our pant sizes by 3 or 4.
All the music, which begins to haunt our shopping centers in early October, is about how magical and wonderful Christmas is. And about a Silent magical night many years ago that something(if only I could remember what?) happened. And how it's a wonderful, joyous time. It's a time for families to skip around together carrying hams, for friends and neighbours to come together and hold hands and sing and smile and sprinkle glitter into the air.
We fly from shop to shop spending millions of yet un-earned cash on frippery. A dolly for mom, and skateboard for gramps, and some reduced-price tea towels for hubby. Maybe the kids can get another electronic gaming console to add to the 4 they have already. Maybe the "fit" one so they'll get some exercise.
By the time the glorious day arrives, and the presents are stashed under the tree which has been decked out in this years latest teal baubles, we are haggard and harried. In debt, fat, and tired. And why do we do all these magical and wondrous activities? For fun? Was there ever a purpose to all the expense, the faux magic, the red and green? If it is, it's been buried somewhere beneath 5 meters of santa wrapping paper.
Is it really the way to celebrate the birth of a homeless, religious fanatic? Is it really the way to celebrate a teenage mother giving birth in a stable? It's hard to find the real deal in all the fudge-covered lust, tinsel covered avarice, and sparkling debt.
But here we are, in a season of juxtaposition, celebrating the birth of our rebel Saviour and homeless KING of the UNIVERSE. So Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Grief
When someone old dies, we don't grieve so much for all the things they weren't able to do. We are glad that there is no longer pain and the chronic irritations of an aging body. We are glad that they are with their loved ones who have gone on before. SO glad that they are finally at rest.
When someone old dies, I think the grief is more about what wasn't done. All the "I love yous" never spoken, all the time never spent, all the cards never written, the phone calls never made.
I've pulled my head out of the sand of my PND and have discovered someone that I loved very much is gone. I ache for all the things undone. The photo book I had in mind to make... undone. Now it will never be seen by the eyes it was meant for... All the phone calls I never made. I didn't say I love you enough. I didn't go to Chicago while I was in the states. He will never see my babies in person... because I took for granted my time. I selfishly left people who have loved and cared for me, unconsidered.
I will not be able to hear "Yallo" when I call. Grandpa's tired and tremulous voice will no longer be there. The way he called my Grandma "Soph" although her name was Jean. There is no one to call me "peanut" or sing silly little songs to me.
He was truly a good man, and I look forward to running with him again. someday.
But right now, I am just so sorry.
I'm so sorry. I really am, really sorry. I wish...oh how I wish I could change things.
When someone old dies, I think the grief is more about what wasn't done. All the "I love yous" never spoken, all the time never spent, all the cards never written, the phone calls never made.
I've pulled my head out of the sand of my PND and have discovered someone that I loved very much is gone. I ache for all the things undone. The photo book I had in mind to make... undone. Now it will never be seen by the eyes it was meant for... All the phone calls I never made. I didn't say I love you enough. I didn't go to Chicago while I was in the states. He will never see my babies in person... because I took for granted my time. I selfishly left people who have loved and cared for me, unconsidered.
I will not be able to hear "Yallo" when I call. Grandpa's tired and tremulous voice will no longer be there. The way he called my Grandma "Soph" although her name was Jean. There is no one to call me "peanut" or sing silly little songs to me.
He was truly a good man, and I look forward to running with him again. someday.
But right now, I am just so sorry.
I'm so sorry. I really am, really sorry. I wish...oh how I wish I could change things.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Home
Being an American in Australia was a relatively painless transition. I had a few months of culture shock, and will always be a little on the "outside" but only a little. But yesterday I was reminded how truly far away from "home" I am. My grandfather died. He's the only one I had, and now he's gone. I feel each mile that separates me from the family that knew him. I desperately wish I could be there to cry with them and swap stories. I am alone in this country, and feeling, for the first time really, my foreignness.
Goodbye Grandpa. I am so sad you are not in this world anymore. But I am thankful that you can finally rest. Your days of dreaded physio are over. No more worrying about sugars and steps. No more having to navigate the world with a cane or in a wheel chair. I loved you... although not very well. I'm sorry I took for granted your final days.
Goodbye Grandpa. I am so sad you are not in this world anymore. But I am thankful that you can finally rest. Your days of dreaded physio are over. No more worrying about sugars and steps. No more having to navigate the world with a cane or in a wheel chair. I loved you... although not very well. I'm sorry I took for granted your final days.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Points of Gracious Humanity
I recently traveled back to the US with my 3 little guys. Along with me, was my intrepid teenage helper, Jane, who helped entertain the kids during the 24 hours of travel to and fro. There are so many stories I could tell from our trip, the thorough unhelpfulness of United, the amazing feeling of coming "home" to summer and family, the opening up of the spirit in the wide skies of CO, etc etc, but I decided to write about the 4 people who truly shined on our trip.
Jane and I were outnumbered from the get-go. That we knew already. So she would shepherd and herd the older two while I fumbled boarding passes and passports with Asher in the front carrier. All was well until we got on board. The older two fell to sleep a few hours into the flight and slept for a good long bit, but the baby, who struggles to sleep unless conditions are right, struggled to sleep, as conditions weren't right. The floor bassinet provided was conveniently made too large to put on the floor. Asher doesn't sleep very well being held. He was becoming more and more miserable as he was WAY overtired, and I was in tears as I was over-tired too. About 6 hours in, I was fighting rising panic that he wasn't going to sleep at all... At some point in my delirium Ken and Bess sitting catty-corner to me offered to hold Asher for a bit. I gladly accepted. I rested my arms and shoulders... for 6 hours. I glanced back again and again to see Bess holding him gazing down as mother's do. I kept asking if they wanted to hand him over, and they consistently declined. Even after 6 hours, as we were heading towards descent, they seemed reluctant to hand him over. Asher slept the whole time, and I was even able to rest a bit. God Bless you, Bess!
Our time in CO went fast and wonderfully. We played in the sun and the kids wore next to nothing and played in my parent's fountain. It was great. But I lived in terror of the return journey, dreading, once again not being in a bassinet row, and dealing with the money grubbing United Airlines.
True to form, United was not helpful once again, but we sat next to Sonya from Denver to LA. She asked to hold Asher, and was so friendly the kids were lining up to talk to her. We exchanged information after the flight and I have heard from her since.
Our La to Melbourne besty, was Jenny. She listened as the kids jabbered away at her from between their seats. She chatted back to them. Leif was excited that she didn't have to be a stranger anymore.
Perhaps if United had been more helpful, or if we had had more comfortable seats, those people would not have shone so brightly. They generously touched our lives and I will be forever grateful that, instead of running scared, they jumped in the foray with us, and made the trips bearable. Despite everything, they left us with good memories of a difficult time.
Jane and I were outnumbered from the get-go. That we knew already. So she would shepherd and herd the older two while I fumbled boarding passes and passports with Asher in the front carrier. All was well until we got on board. The older two fell to sleep a few hours into the flight and slept for a good long bit, but the baby, who struggles to sleep unless conditions are right, struggled to sleep, as conditions weren't right. The floor bassinet provided was conveniently made too large to put on the floor. Asher doesn't sleep very well being held. He was becoming more and more miserable as he was WAY overtired, and I was in tears as I was over-tired too. About 6 hours in, I was fighting rising panic that he wasn't going to sleep at all... At some point in my delirium Ken and Bess sitting catty-corner to me offered to hold Asher for a bit. I gladly accepted. I rested my arms and shoulders... for 6 hours. I glanced back again and again to see Bess holding him gazing down as mother's do. I kept asking if they wanted to hand him over, and they consistently declined. Even after 6 hours, as we were heading towards descent, they seemed reluctant to hand him over. Asher slept the whole time, and I was even able to rest a bit. God Bless you, Bess!
Our time in CO went fast and wonderfully. We played in the sun and the kids wore next to nothing and played in my parent's fountain. It was great. But I lived in terror of the return journey, dreading, once again not being in a bassinet row, and dealing with the money grubbing United Airlines.
True to form, United was not helpful once again, but we sat next to Sonya from Denver to LA. She asked to hold Asher, and was so friendly the kids were lining up to talk to her. We exchanged information after the flight and I have heard from her since.
Our La to Melbourne besty, was Jenny. She listened as the kids jabbered away at her from between their seats. She chatted back to them. Leif was excited that she didn't have to be a stranger anymore.
Perhaps if United had been more helpful, or if we had had more comfortable seats, those people would not have shone so brightly. They generously touched our lives and I will be forever grateful that, instead of running scared, they jumped in the foray with us, and made the trips bearable. Despite everything, they left us with good memories of a difficult time.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Confessions of a stay-at-home something
The truth is I've been battling post-natal depression. I have been depressed before, but didn't recognize it this time. I am ashamed to admit I spend my days counting down the minutes until Chad comes home so I can tell someone who cares that I am tired and want to go to bed. I cry nearly every day, and spend lots of delicious time feeling sorry for myself (while fully acknowledging that I have it pretty damn good). I have no room for anyone else, even my children, and feel unable to cope (although it has been pointed out to me that I am coping). Fortunately, some days are better than others, some days I can shower and smile and care. But others I am barely able to get through without screaming and crying. I am disconnected from my emotions, and feel that I am being demanded to perform far beyond my abilities. I should be able to feed the kids, get a bit of laundry done, dress myself and them, and make it down the street to the park. Yet, some days, that is an unimaginable task.
I feel keenly that my children should see me as a functional adult, I want to be molding and shepherding them, that is the entire reason that I stay home with them. But I am aware that the person that they see now is someone who is hanging on by a fingernail. I want to change something but feel incapacitated to do anything. I know I should be loving and caring for people around me, my neighbours, my friends, my church-mates, but I can't seem to carry anyone else. I feel crushed beneath the weight of the constant demands of the people I've made.
So, I suppose, I am writing this as a justification for my failures. I don't want to be doing any ministry. I just want to survive. I don't want to line any more jobs up for myself, I just want to make it through today. And hopefully, the cloud will lift, and I will be able to do more than just survive. Hopefully, someday soon, I will be a person I can be proud of. But it's not today.
I feel keenly that my children should see me as a functional adult, I want to be molding and shepherding them, that is the entire reason that I stay home with them. But I am aware that the person that they see now is someone who is hanging on by a fingernail. I want to change something but feel incapacitated to do anything. I know I should be loving and caring for people around me, my neighbours, my friends, my church-mates, but I can't seem to carry anyone else. I feel crushed beneath the weight of the constant demands of the people I've made.
So, I suppose, I am writing this as a justification for my failures. I don't want to be doing any ministry. I just want to survive. I don't want to line any more jobs up for myself, I just want to make it through today. And hopefully, the cloud will lift, and I will be able to do more than just survive. Hopefully, someday soon, I will be a person I can be proud of. But it's not today.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Notable Faith of Enoch
In my new attempt to read through the Bible, or at least to read the Bible regularly, I stumbled upon a character that had escaped my attention before. While doing my obligatory reading through the boring ol geneaologies, I read about a man named Enoch. Enoch was noted as walking with God. It says very little about him apart from that except that he walked with God and he didn't die because God took him away. It never mentions how many hours he spent in his daily devotional readings, or how many times a day he bowed in holy prayer. It doesn't mention whether he was a glorious preacher of a church of 10,000, or if he was a missionary in the outer regions to a people who only had gourds as clothing. I have been stewing about him for days now. How does someone walk with God in such a notable way? All it says is that he walked with God. So whatever it was that he did, whether it was being a Doctor, or a teacher, or a preacher, or just some boring old stay-at-home mom... ahem... dad, he was noted for his walk. A walk of faithfulness to his creator God.
I went to a party yesterday, and invariably the question was asked "SO, what do you do?" and invariably my answer was "I stay at home with my 3 kids!" and, invariably, the silence ensued. There was a time when I would feel a sting of shame, after all, I made a fuss about their boring real-estate careers. I know, however, that although my current career may seem boring (it is not) it is not the sum of who I am. I like to create, I like trying to be "green", I like home made things, I like getting recipes (although I will never use them properly). And above all, I am a believer of and in Christ.
Someday, it will be different. I may become some famous Doctor who cures people by blinking in their general direction, or I may change the rotation of the world with my mediocre sewing skills. Whatever I do, I will be a Christian, a follower of the creator God. Enoch and I share the same God. My prayer is that some day, my epitaph will say the same, simply that I too walked with God.
I went to a party yesterday, and invariably the question was asked "SO, what do you do?" and invariably my answer was "I stay at home with my 3 kids!" and, invariably, the silence ensued. There was a time when I would feel a sting of shame, after all, I made a fuss about their boring real-estate careers. I know, however, that although my current career may seem boring (it is not) it is not the sum of who I am. I like to create, I like trying to be "green", I like home made things, I like getting recipes (although I will never use them properly). And above all, I am a believer of and in Christ.
Someday, it will be different. I may become some famous Doctor who cures people by blinking in their general direction, or I may change the rotation of the world with my mediocre sewing skills. Whatever I do, I will be a Christian, a follower of the creator God. Enoch and I share the same God. My prayer is that some day, my epitaph will say the same, simply that I too walked with God.
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