Worry

I was reading Jeremiah today, the satisfying part toward the end when the Lord tells Jeremiah He's going to destroy Babylon.  He tells Israel to flee Babylon because of the coming destruction, but then He says an interesting thing: don't worry when you hear rumors, and don't worry when you see violence break out.  (Jer. 55:41)

It recalled to me Christ in Matthew reassuring us that there will be wars and rumors of wars, but not to worry about them, because the end is not yet.

That made me think about the number of things we worry about that we're specifically told not to worry about.  For instance:

World events - wars, rumors, and political happenings.  We worry a great deal about things like gay marriage, federalized healthcare, and whether churches will have to pay taxes.  It's not that these things are good, pleasant, or that we should vote to support them, but ultimately they're not important and we have no business spending one morsel of extra thought on them.  (I.e., the process should go: is this thing I'm being asked to vote on supported in Scripture? No? Vote no. All done.  Stop thinking about it.)

Having enough - money, time, stuff.  Most Christians realize they're not supposed to worry about these things, but they do anyway because they have a hard time drawing the line between responsibility and worry.  I find that it's very helpful to consciously, every day, thank God for what He's given you, and acknowledge that ultimately money, time, and stuff are out of your control.  Then do your duty, work hard, and stop thinking about it.

The list goes on.  In fact there's not much--not anything that I can think of off the top of my head, but correct me in the comments if needed--that Scripture says we are allowed to worry about, in the sense that worry is cyclic fear that usually doesn't do much but distract us.

And that's the key.  Like lust, resentment, or discontentment, worry is a repetitive way of thinking that the Enemy uses to distract us.  If we are so wrapped up in the way someone's body looks, whether someone said that to us on purpose, whether the other person has a bigger sandwich, or whether the Republocrats are going to win the election, we don't have the mental energy left to think about things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, or praiseworthy.

The only way to fight repetitive thinking is to bop it firmly on the head whenever we realize we're doing it.  The easiest way is to have chosen, ahead of time, something else to think about or do.  For instance, I am tempted regularly to think about a church we left under bad circumstances and to sort of peversely hope that the bad things I told them would happen--happen.  How awful is that?  I don't want those things to happen to anybody, if I think about it objectively.  So I have decided that when I have those thoughts, I'm going to consciously stop and pray that the Lord protects that church and makes it grow in holiness.  I don't feel--at all--like praying for that church to grow.  But it's not such a big discipline, and I refuse to be drawn into resentment and bitterness.

Does this mean I have figured out how to avoid sinful thought patterns?  Of course not; I do my share of moping about infringements on my dignity and the fact that I can't choose how my time is spent, wanting something that isn't mine, and worrying about the price of tea in China.  But I share the technique in the hopes that maybe I'll help someone.

Cheers,

Breanna

Better and Better

Just a quick note to let you know that the sciatica has indeed improved, by leaps and bounds, when I followed the recommendations from the Spinning Babies website I linked below.

If you're pregnant or have sciatica, I highly recommend it.  Although, if you're not pregnant and have sciatica, or are a guy, all the recommendations about not twisting your uterine ligaments might not apply so much.

The things that helped me the most were:

1. Getting on my hands and knees and then raising and lowering the small of my back--like a cat and a cow, if that makes sense.  Do this like 40 times, the website says.  I thought this wouldn't help because I had done a few of them before without noticing improvement, but right about repetition 28 the pain started easing up and by 40 was almost gone.  Apparently the repetition is the key.

2. Sitting on the exercise ball, the floor, or with a pillow on the couch/recliner so that your hips are higher than your knees.  The pillow I've been using is now officially called my tuffet.

3. Forward-bending stretch--in yoga it's called downward dog--I used the coffee table to help; I kept my legs mostly straight and bent over with my posterior in the air to lean my elbows on the table.  Very undignified, but a wonderful relief to the lower back.

4. Good posture.  When your back instantly lets you know if you have bad posture, good posture becomes easier to maintain.

5. Sleep with a pillow to keep you in good posture--there are pictures on the website.

Cheers,

Breanna

Still Sciatica

It sounds like some obscure disease that should have been eradicated in the 19th century, doesn't it?

But alas, it's very much with me; I suspect that until February I shall have to be a model pregnant lady.  Dang it.

See, being a model pregnant lady isn't very fun.  It means I have to walk around thinking about my posture, drinking all my recommended glasses of water, avoiding caffeine, doing prenatal yoga or bellydancing, remembering to take my vitamins, eating my greens, drinking my nettle and raspberry leaf tea, and putting my feet up.

Granted, I try to do most of this stuff anyway.  (Well, not so much the prenatal yoga--the DVD lasts an hour and how they think a pregnant lady with two toddlers is going to get an hour to do a lesiurely yoga program, I have no idea.)  But looking back over the last couple of weeks I have to admit that I have 1) been lax about my caffine intake, although I always keep it under 220mg (the limit from the Scary Book, aka What to Expect) and 2) have been sitting in the recliner.  A lot.

According to the interesting website Spinning Babies, I shouldn't sit in regular chairs at all, especially with my tight tendons.  I should, instead, use an exercise ball, a kitchen chair turned backwards, or sit on the floor.  At the moment sitting on the floor sounds as appealing as chewing on aluminum foil, but I am also pretty much willing to do anything, including chop off my leg, to be able to think in a straight line for twenty seconds.  (I.e., without having a zing! from my leg and back keep telling me naughty pregnant lady! thought you could get away with your coffee and your lifting of carpet steamers, didn't you?)

So, I get to be very, very good from here on out or pay the penalty.  Let this be a lesson to you: when you know you ought to do the stretches...do the dang stretches.  Sigh.

Cheers,

Breanna

Have Some Compassion On My Poor Nerves!

That's what Mrs. Bennet is always saying in Pride and Prejudice, and I confess I might be more tempted toward invalidism if I had a ruffled lacy-cap thing and a couple of servants to do the housework for me.

Yesterday afternoon, after a normal morning, I started having sciatica pain.  Lots of pregnant women get sciatica pain because the bigness of the belly pulls your lower back out of line, and it's easy to slip into bad posture.  My problem, I think, happens mostly when I sleep and can't consciously put my back in right alignment, but I also have terribly tight hamstrings which can aggravate the situation.

By yesterday evening I could barely walk, and the poor Husband had to get up with the kids last night when they woke.  Today I am hobbling around like an old woman and have called in reinforcements from Grammy's house, considering that Miss Boo and Buddy feel great today and are in a climbing sort of mood.

So, if you get a minute, pray for my sciatica, will you?  Being pregnant there's not a lot of medication you can take, and the exercises to do for it take a while to do their thing.  AND no chiropractor (yup, I was desperate enough to call them) can get me in until Monday, by which time hopefully this flareup will be gone.

In the meantime maybe I will do like the disparaging words of Mr. Bennet: "Still keeps to her room, does she?  Good, lends such an elegance to our misfortune."

Cheers,

Breanna

Seasons of Adversity

This is a famous statue, carved by Michaelangelo, called "Pieta".  It is, as you can see, Mary holding Christ after He has been taken down off the cross.  Presumably she did this, though we can hope Joseph of Arimathea and John the Beloved did as much as they could to spare her.

It's worthwhile contemplating.  There are a lot of little details.  For instance, look at Christ's face:

Do you see the smile?  "It is finished", remember?  But also look at Mary's face:

She doesn't understand.  Do you think any mama does, when she loses her Boy, even if He is Messiah?

This is to get us thinking in the right way when contemplating something I've noticed lately.  A couple of my good internet friends are having sudden, drastic health crises in their families, and literally almost everyone I know is dealing with some kind of out-of-the-way adversity. 

The Husband's plant is having, for the second year in a row, to lay off many of their hourly workers as the economy keeps getting worse.  (They re-hire them when the slow season is over, but that still means that plenty of families will be spending the holidays on unemployment.  I don't know many households that can comfortably take an income-cut of 50%.)  Others are dealing with deaths, sickness, and worries.

Adversity is no fun, otherwise it wouldn't be called "adversity".  And despite American tendencies toward a certain stoicism that I think is left over from our Puritan heritage, I don't think God wants us to deny that adversity hurts.  Just look at some of the Psalms, particularly those authored by David.  It's all right to tell the Lord that it hurts; it's not all right to accuse Him of not knowing what He's doing.

When adversity seems to come all at once, all around you, it makes you wonder if there's not something bigger happening than just the normal ickiness of life in a fallen world.  I don't think it's too much of a stretch to think that, in this spiritual battlefield where we're all stationed, there are times when the fighting gets particularly thick.  We can't see the war, so we never know when we're in the midst of a spiritual Battle of the Bulge.  (And we're smack in the middle of the bulge in the line.)

To which of course, the only sensible response is to determine to hold the line, a la Thlaylai (Bigwig) in Watership Down:

"My Chief Rabbit told me to stay and defend this run, and until he says otherwise I shall stay here."

To me, the best part of the quote is afterward, when the invading rabbit realizes what he's up against:

"A chill ran through the General.  It had never occurred to him that Bigwig was not the Chief Rabbit."

Remember that Smile on the statue above?  Michaelangelo was not inspired--he was not sculpting Scripture.  But I think he had the same ability to know the nature of God from created things that all of us do; and that Smile is important.  That Smile can help us remember that sheer, stubborn, donkeyish planting our feet and refusing to deny the love of God, and refusing to give in, even when it hurts, is our most powerful weapon.  (Hint: technically this donkey-ness is called Faith; there's a good reason in folklore that a donkey has a cross on its back.)  He has told us to stay and defend the run; until He says otherwise, here we stay.

Or, to go back to the Battle of the Bulge, we simply turn our backs on our Adversary and say:

"Nuts!"

Even Christ, on the cross, acknowledged the pain, but in the end He demonstrated for us that
we are squarely in the grip of God, Who finishes what He starts: "Into Thy hands I commit My spirit."

Sometimes that's all we can say; I just wanted to also give you the picture of that Face, and that Smile, to think on.

Cheers,

Breanna

Pumpkins

Yes, in a fit of literary genius, I mean both the squash-type of pumpkin and the loving ephemism for round-headed children with little hair.  October, you see, means pumpkins.

Well, and apparently for us, it also means salt clay sculpting.  Miss Boo was more into this than Buddy.

"Oh, little sticks, Mama!  I can draw with them."  (We "can draw" with absolutely anything that will make a line on any surface: rocks on concrete, vaseline on glass, spagetti sauce on a plate... I just keep buying art materials in hopes of meeting her capacity for creating art, but so far am unsucessful.)

"Wama.  EEEEeee.  Uh-oh."  (Translation:  "So, let me get this straight.  I don't get to eat the salt clay.  I don't get to eat the toothpick.  The spoon is supposed to be for sculpting.  So this is fun how, again?")

Pumpkin drawing was more popular with both of them.  Miss Boo wasn't entirely sure what a pumpkin was, so, when we went grocery shopping, I bought three tiny ones.  One for Miss Boo, one for Buddy, and one for Littleman-yet-to-be-born that theoretically Mama was going to color, but that Miss Boo graciously colored instead.  Oh, and she also helped Buddy with his.

He didn't care.  All he wanted was to figure out how to uncap the markers so he could color on his lips.  (We bathed afterwards.)

Our pumpkins turned out very...colorful.  Theoretically they were going to have faces on them.  In actuality, they are just colorful.  Miss Boo has decided she thinks "Punkins are very adorable, Mama."  She also said something else about pumpkins that was hilarious but that I think she'd kill me over if I put it on the internet and then she grew up and had to worry about people finding it...so I'll tell you aunties and grandparents about it on the phone, or (more likely) Baba has already spread the word.

She was a princess yesterday, by the way.  To the grocery store and everything.  Thank goodness it's acceptable for princesses to wear coats these days.

We were trying a new schedule yesterday in hopes of having bedtime go better: get up at the same time as Daddy, nap early, play hard outside and keep busy all afternoon (thus the pumpkins), bath at about 3pm because it revs the kids up but also puts them in a great frame of mind, and then wind-down activities after supper.  Here we are reading in our jammies.

Yes, we needed all three books.  Miss Boo is even "reading" in German, there, and Buddy was actually watching both his book and mine.

Oh yeah.  The woman who used to read medical texts for work and philosophy and giant novels for fun is now spending a lot of time memorizing "Go Dog Go".  If you'll look at Buddy's face here, you'll see it works.

Largely our plan was successful yesterday.  They went to bed within 20 minutes of goal time and fell asleep--in their OWN beds, a major victory--and stayed there all night.  Even Buddy, who has only been sleeping in the big-boy-bed for two nights now.  (Between weaning from nursing and having colds, I haven't wanted to move him out of our room until now.  It was just easier...)

Miss Boo had a string of wakeups in the night that we finally realized were due to needing to go potty.  She hadn't been entirely clear on knowing that she *could* ask to go potty at night because...well, it's nighttime, and aren't the rules different?  A potty trip and then she hugged me, said, "you make me happy, GOODBYE MAMA!" and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Thank goodness Buddy is a heavy sleeper, because that farewell was pretty loud.

I am out of training for this sort of thing; getting up ten times between 1 and 3am is tricky when your hips don't quite fit together the way they're supposed to anymore, what with the baby rearranging them from the inside.  You might pray for my patience; I caught myself last night telling Miss Boo "Look, Mama gets grumpy when she doesn't sleep.  I need to go back to the big bed now and sleep so I won't be grumpy anymore and I need you to stay on your bed and be quiet so you don't wake up Buddy.  It's been three hours."

To which she looked at me pityingly, patted my face, and said, "Here Mama, I give you a night-night hug."  Then she said goodbye, as I mentioned above.

But I don't want to be a grumpy Mama, even if I have meanly been making everyone sleep in their own perfectly good beds.  Sigh.

It's 6:24 as I type this; it's just about time to go wake them up.  Getting up with the Husband has this advantage for me: I can read my Bible all at once, like a civilized person, and actually have time to pray in a chunk (instead of in my usual mental Mom-prayers, which go something like oh yeah, please help Grammy's bronchitis--and don't let Bud get sick from eating that, and "Honey, don't get in that drawer, it's got owies inside" make me more patient).  Hopefull the schedule works again today.

We have a well-child appointment for them both today, to see how they're growing; here's hoping the shots will be minimal and that the doctor will understand when I tell him that the scrape on Buddy's forehead is from Buddy testing out his hypothesis that gravity has less pull if you stand on concrete.

Cheers,

Breanna

The Laundry is Eternal

Executive: I want you to come up with something new--proactive, edgy, and thinking outside the box.

Staffer: Proactive? Edgy? Outside the box?  Aren't these just buzzwords used by stupid people to make themselves feel smart?

(Eerie silence.)

Staffer: I'm fired, aren't I?

--the Simpsons



Note: you see the attribution in the pink bar at the bottom of the picture.  I haven't been to their website, but hopefully this plug will satisfy them if they're coming around looking for who's using their pictures.  I'm willing to take it down, too...but it's the best use of "proactive" I could find.


So in school I had to read The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, a book that has been endlessly yammered on about in the pseudo-philosophical way that this kind of book is yammered on about.  I.e., people without a driving spiritual force in their lives try to use this kind of thing as a personal code or a moral compass.  For this it doesn't work.  You have to ignore a lot of the advice in the book that is trying to persuade you that you can build your life on something as nebulous as the concept of "character" or "values" without piddling details like "Religion" and "God".  (Item: see a lot of Glenn Beck's stuff for the same mistake, stemming from the same foundation...)

However, if you take the book as merely a plan for the efficient use of time, it works--for businesspeople but for housewives as well.  Now, if you're just going about a housework schedule I highly, highly recommend A Mother's Rule of Life--it gets its priorities straight.  But if you are a man (MROL is definitely feminine), or organizing your work life, or trying to organize housework and a job, 7 Habits is the classic for a reason.

It even applies to laundry.

Here's a list of the 7 Habits.  They might be rearranged to apply to housework thusly:

1. Be proactive - means realizing nobody is going to swoop in and do the housework for you, as Leila (Like Mother, Like Daughter on the sidebar) would say.

2. Begin with the end in mind - in other words, have goals.  "Finish the laundry" is not a possible goal because the laundry is like the dishes or other entropic forces: it will never end this side of Christ's return, and perhaps not even then (there will be work in Heaven, who says there will be no laundry?).  "Wash two loads and fold them on Monday" is a realistic goal.

3. Put first things first - this is the key, the one that MROL gets right and actually, in my opinion, that 7 Habits gets wrong.  (Because if you're putting first things first, why is this step 3?  Why isn't this step 1?)  In other words, your day doesn't begin with laundry.  Your day begins with prayer, even if you can only snatch five minutes.

4. Think win-win - this should be a no-brainer in family and household relationships, and actually should be in business too, but often isn't.  In other words, let's make sure that the situation works for everyone.  It's not going to do me much good to have time off from cooking if eating out throws our budget into such disarray that the Husband has to take on extra work, keeping him away from home and making me feel more frazzled because I feel like I have no adult support.

For laundry, it's easier on everyone if they have a decent stock of clothes in their drawers and it's easier on me if I can stick to doing a load a day (or at least every other day--it's every day when there's a newborn or you're potty training...).  That's one load to fold and put away, not two.

5. Seek first to understand, then be understood - this is easy if you've ever told a todder "Stop pulling on Mama, please.  Now what is it?"  and gotten the answer "But Mama, Buddy's outside."  (As in, by himself.  Yes, he learned to open the door.  Shortly thereafter he learned NOT to open the door.)  Listen before making a decision and you'll save yourself a lot of heartache.

6. Synergize - this always makes me laugh, because I can't help but see Dana Carvey with interlaced fingers saying "Thousand points of light".  Very silly way to put it, Dr. Covey, but I know the word was fresh when you first used it.  At any rate, this means that instead of batting the toddler's hands away from the laundry, you let them fold the washcloths, rejoicing in the fact that at least they are in sight and not poking the dog in the eyes.  And then you refold them.

7. Sharpen the Saw - or, keep learning stuff.  I don't know why people assume that being a mom or housekeeper means mental deterioration.  It doesn't, any more than being a nurse means you stop learning when you leave school, or being a football player means you never have to do anything but lift weights and run around.  You have to keep reading, observing, and figuring out a better way, no matter what your occupation is.  Laundry?  Well, go read Leila's series.  It's the most sensible laundry system I've yet run across.

The point?  Well, Monday is washday and I didn't do a lick of clothes-laundry last week (vs. towels, sheets, and kitchen washcloths).  So, being proactive, I spent Sunday night after the kidlets were abed shoving things in the washer and dryer.  I got two and a half loads done last night, while catching up on a few other things (but not folded).  This morning I tumbled the last load of darks into the washer and basketed the other loads (have more than one laundry basket, if you're smart), so today when we hit "chore time" at about 9am we'll only have to fold, not start the whole process.  Also, we were out of clean underpants.

It would be better if I hadn't gotten behind in the first place, and this week I'll try not to, but if you are behind, don't sit and stew about it.  Be "proactive".  (You know, and "edgy").  Or, having decided on a plan of attack, just get up and start doing something about it, already.  You'll feel better.

Cheers,

Breanna

P.S.  Mom, not you.  You still are recovering from bronchitis.  Do not start cleaning out a closet, scrubbing the kitchen floor, cleaning the sunporch, or pulling out the fridge/couch/stove/bed/tv stand to vacuum behind them.  Or I'll be vexed with you.

Faith

Do you know why Faith is a virtue?

I mean, as C.S. Lewis points out, if faith is believing it doesn't seem like it would be a virtue.  It doesn't seem like it would be voluntary, in fact.  If something is proved, it's proved.  If it's proved, you believe it.  If not, you don't.

But he goes on to say that this assumes that humans only stop believing because of insufficient evidence, or because of new evidence becoming available.  In other words, it assumes that we believe and disbelieve things based on rational proof.

And of course, we don't.

For instance, we all have days where we are depressed.  Sometimes this has a physical cause--like lack of sleep or hunger--and sometimes we've just had depressing circumstances happen to us.  Usually I start by losing faith in myself and then in the Husband.  The mental script goes like this:

You're a bad mom.  You're letting your kids eat dry Lucky Charms and juice for breakfast while they watch their fourth cartoon.  And you're still in your pajamas.

I should kill it right there.  I know I'm not a bad mom.  Maybe I'm not the world's best, but I'm not a bad mom.  But usually the script is subtle, so I combat it feebly at best.

Meh, I'll just read this one more thing online and then I'll get them some fruit.  I've screwed up my good mom morning opportunity, might as well take a little break, since I won't have any peace if I shut the cartoon off now.

Pretty soon my depressed thinking is being used by the Adversary for overt temptation:

You noticed, didn't you, that the Husband went off to play computer games as soon as you got up?  (Note: not true.  He might be playing computer games, but he greeted me quite kindly.  Should be my next red flag, when my thoughts are lies, that this is not all me.)  He's not acting very loving.  (Note: also not true.)  And can you blame him?  You're still in your pajamas.

Quickly, if I don't stop it with some pretty harsh language and immediately flee to prayer, the temptation moves from doubting myself and my spouse to doubting the Lord Himself:

Why can't the Lord arrange things so that your kids sleep more?  Or maybe He's trying to tell you you're not very good at this writing/mom/wife/whatever thing and that you should give up.  And yes, reading your Bible will be too difficult to accomplish this morning.  Look how distracted you are already.

Hear it?

The opposite of Faith is Doubt, and here's the thing about Doubt: it's a lie.

We like to confuse skepticism and the scientific tradition with Doubt, but Doubt is not rational.  Doubt is when we question something we already know to be true because of emotion or circumstance, not because of proof.  Doubt, I think, delights the devil because it's so painful--if you actually knew that what you feared was the case, well, you could do something about it.  I.e., if the Husband announced "I am unhappy with you and so I am going away for an hour", I could say, "Why, dear?"  And I would immediately feel much better, because I would have picked a direction.

(Yet another note: this is all hypothetical.  The Husband doesn't pull stuff like that.  Don't give him any dirty looks--I love him.)

Doubt is sheer wondering, clinging with each hand to different opinions, paralyzed in fear and indecision.

Faith is a virtue because Doubt is so easy.  Doubt puts me in charge of the universe and makes my experience the ultimate arbiter of reality.  Faith is hard, as hard as realizing that an optical illusion isn't real.  It means persevering through agony, and--what is sometimes more difficult--through day after day after day after day of sheer irritation.  It means repeating to yourself what you know is true: God is just.  God is holy.  God is love.  He is not surprised by your no-good, very bad, terrible, not-such-a-great-mom day.

Faith does not mean belief without reason.  It means refusing to make your own truth.

All of which is easy to say; obviously if I had a handle on consistently asking for more Faith and shutting down my temptations toward Doubt I wouldn't be writing this blog.  But perhaps writing it down will help me recognize the slide downhill faster next time.

And those are my thoughts, as we get on toward Sunday.

Cheers,

Breanna

Comes A Time

...when you realized you've entered the Lamness of Mom Land.

And you don't even care.

Like today, when I caught myself dancing around the living room, blissing out to "Polliwog in a Bog" by the Barenaked Ladies.  (Note: a band comprised entirely of fairly heavy and not terribly traditionally-good-looking guys, none of whom appear nude; the name is supposed to be a joke about their physiques.)  Seriously, geek Canadian bands rock the children's album market, in my opinion:



This obviously is their video for the song 789, because I couldn't find an official video for Polliwog in a Bog.  But if you have a parent you love who has musical kids but who hates albumbs of kid's songs that feature a choir of yelling middleschoolers on vocals and a synthesizer on everything else, get them Snack Time by the Barenaked Ladies.  They will hug you and give you cookies.

Plus, who can not love an album with lyrics like this:

There are things that make me mad

You are not one of them

There are things that make me sad

But you are not one of them

There are things that make me Dad

You seem to be all of them.

Cheers,

Breanna

(P.S.  Yes, like everyone else I love the song "If I Had $1,000,000", but I have to say my loyalty to the band has dated from the Christmas album which includes a version of "Deck the Halls" to which the only lyrics are "Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young".  Sing it.  It works.)

Some Practical Suggestions - Quiet Bags

Today Buddy, Miss Boo, and I painted (dried) salt clay sculptures, read several books, and now those two are happily engaged with a cardboard box filled with such of the Husband's tools as seem to hold the least possibility of gouging out eyes and the remnants of a broken phone, an old doorknob, and an adding machine.  They are "fixing".

With two little people who are this busy, all before 11am, you can imagine that the contents of a quiet bag might have to be kind of varied.

I did an internet search for "quiet bags" and surprisingly, most of the ideas are from Mormon sources.  This, in my opinion, is a bit sad; without further ado, here are the things that I think are the best of the best:

These cloth books.  We ordered some, and for the money they are a lot of entertainment, and difficult to make noisy.  They are obviously made in China, if that bothers you; I also think they'd be dead easy to make, but we're assuming you have little kids and no time to sit for the hour it would take at the sewing machine.  But if you're a grandma, or a ladies' Bible study group who wants to make quiet books, they would be very simple and would require, I think, only some 4-for-a-dollar felt sheets from JoAnn's, some of those little circles of velcro, a bit of interfacing, and some fabric pens.  (I wouldn't put the letters in applique like the purchsed books do, unless you really want to.)

This cloth Bible.  Helps maintain the point that this is a church quiet bag.  Again, I think if you could purchase the felt from JoAnn's (they would probably order it), that this would be easy to make, but I am at such a point in my crafting abilities that I pretty much can only sew when the kids are sleeping.  And then I would like to be sleeping.

These markers and paper--the markers won't mark on anything but the paper.  A bit too spendy, likely, if a church was putting together complimentary quiet bags, in which case I think you'd want to go with crayons and tiny half-sheet-type coloring books, but good if you've got a little person who thinks markers are WAAAY cooler than crayons (i.e., Miss Boo).

I drew on the 4-for-a-dollar felt sheets from Jo-Anns, cut them out, and made something similar to this felt face guy for $8, only we have 4 base faces to choose from and it doesn't take up so much room.  Don't pay $48 for Mr. Fuzzy Felt Face; if I can, with Miss Boo's help, sit with a Sharpie and create something that they find just as fun, then you can too.  Keep the bits in a ziploc bag, or sew a felt pouch if you're really feeling creative.

Miss Boo has a tiny dolly that sometimes works in our quiet bag, and Buddy sometimes likes toy cars, but these are going to be judgement calls based on what your kid likes; I wouldn't necessarily include them in a church quiet bag.

You only want three or four things in the bag at once, and you want to have a lot of other things in reserve that you can put in and take out, so they're never sure what's in the bag.  For instance:

-Sandpaper cut into shapes like a star, circle, etc., and different lengths of different-colored yarn that they can stick to it.

-Pipe cleaners or leather lacing and large beads in shapes that won't roll (i.e., square, stars, etc.)

-Stickers and a small notebook to stick them in (note: will not work if your kid thinks the pews really need stickers.

-Playing cards you don't feel are sacreligious.  I do think that it might be inappropriate to start playing stud poker during the sermon, but Miss Boo's method with her Dora playing cards is to line up six of them then put them back into the box, and then repeat.

-Some people recommend finger puppets, but to me, what fun are puppets if you can't make them talk?  If your kid will go for silent finger puppets, by all means get them some.  Our finger puppets always have to have noisy adventures.

-Bendaroos are good but sticky--pack wipes.

-A sketchbook and a pencil for you, if you are artistic; I've found this idea from Edith Schaeffer does really work if you happen to have a visual kid.  Miss Boo can watch a sermon illustrated; Buddy absolutely cannot and keeps grabbing the pencil.  So if you can tag-team with a spouse or a friend, or if you've only got one kid to keep occupied, the idea works better than otherwise.  However, it seems like a neat way to transition to listening to a sermon without aids.

Whew.  That should be enough to go on with.  Of course if you've got little kids you're also going to think of the tiny container of Teddy Grahams (they make less crumbs than goldfish crackers or cheerios), the sippy cup, the wipes, the blanket, the binky, and anything else essential, right?  Those go in your diaper bag or purse, not necessarily the quiet bag.  I mention them here so that the grammas and the ladies' Bible studies that might be perusing this list can keep in mind that little kids might need to eat and drink at 11:30, even on Sundays, even in the sanctuary.

Cheers,

Breanna

A Clarification

A reader whose comment got eaten by Blogger pointed out that some parents need clarification on what exactly appropriate church behavior looks like.  In one sense they should be able to learn this the way humans learn all social skills--by watching what the big kids do--but we are living in a world where there isn't a reasonable assurance that the big kids know any better.  I don't want anyone to think I'm advocating turning the baptistry into a ball pit and letting the kids run around like it's Chuck E. Cheese.  (Actually I don't think it's even a good idea at kids' parties to have them run around wildly, but that's another rant.)

So here's an idea about acceptable church behavior for kiddos, so you understand what I'm asking for:

1. They will sometimes burp, toot, fill their pants, ask for a drink of water, or state "I HAVE TO GO POTTY."  They will sing when the songs are done.  They should shush when told to shush or be taken out.  They might make noise as they leave; I think this is part of the learning process and acceptable as long as Mom and Dad are clearly trying to teach "be quiet" and/or get them out of the sanctuary as quickly as humanly possible.  Not acceptable is a kid standing on the pew singing "I want to be a sergeant major!" while Mom and Dad blink sweetly around, pretending nothing is happening.  But let's face it; sometimes there is going to be an occasional kid who wants to try this, and Mom and Dad have to just throw a coat over his head and hustle him out of the sanctuary to meet his doom in the foyer.  (And there should be doom.)

2. Ideal behavior is a kid singing during songs, and then sitting and quietly occupied with something non-messy until they are old enough to start listening to the sermon; once they understand there's something there to listen to, they still might require visual aids like coloring pages or Mama "illustrating" the sermon.  (Drawing it like a comic book.  Miss Boo is almost able to sit for this, but Buddy makes it a trick for me to do.)  And because church services happen during naptimes and mealtimes for little kids, they might need a blanket or a sippy cup of something too.  Inappropriate would be to bring a pillow and stretch out across a whole pew, snoring.  But holding a blankie and sitting on Mom's lap, I think, is pretty much the best you can hope for when the subject is 20 months old.

3.  It's my responsibility as a parent to provide my own quiet activities, like it is to provide diapers and wipes.  However, if the nursery provides diapers and wipes as a kindness, a couple of church quiet bags might be a good thing.  (They are easily supplied from the dollar store and can be made bright orange and emblazoned CHURCH NAME--and the parts emblazoned with a labelmaker--if you are worried about them walking out the door.)  This is just an idea to prove that you welcome kiddies; I wouldn't fault any church that didn't do this.

4. The easiest way for clueless parents to learn about what good parenting looks like is for those of us who have an idea to demonstrate good parenting, without getting in anyone's face.  But, like I said below, we don't get the opportunity to demonstrate good parenting if we're encouraged to just hide our children in the nursery or basement until they're adults.

5. The goal of having kids in church is to teach them to sit in church reverently and pay attention/enjoy the service.  It's like potty training.  If you can put in a few weeks and months of effort, you're repaid by a lifetime of essentially hands-free church.  And like potty training, it's just made more difficult if everyone insists you're doing it wrong.

Now, I haven't had a chance to chat yet with the reader who started the clarification, and she may have some more good ideas that I'll share with you later, but her comment did have a point--so I put this out there, for the parents who are wondering whether there's anything wrong with the talking Scooby-Doo doll or letting their kids play with the Communion cups.  Yes, yes there is. ;)

Cheers,

Breanna

Kids in Church - A Plea to the Grownups

The concept should exist, right?

After all, "Let the little children come unto Me."

Also, I have another argument.  Remember when Nehemiah read the entire law to the nation of Israel?  They pass out refreshments afterward to everyone, including "the little ones", which I discovered means kids of about three years old.  So everybody should be in church services.

The problem is that, at least the way that most churches do business in the United States, it's very awkward to have your kids with you in church.  Notice I said "with you".  Not, "in nursery".  Not "in children's church."  Because here's my theory, a very simple one, really:

"How on earth are they supposed to learn to sit in church and listen if they're in nursery from birth to age four and then in children's church from ages four to ten?"

Age ten is too late to start learning to sit in church.  By age ten the kid can already be mouthy and refusing to go to church, if you don't watch out, or at the least sitting pouty and bored and kicking at the back of the pew.

Now, *cough* if my children ever get mouthy or kick at the pew unrestrained may I get the pox, but the principle holds.  I want my kids with me in church, both so I don't have to trust random nursery workers' ideas of discipline, nutrition, and safety and so the kids actually can learn to enjoy a church service.  I learned to enjoy a church service when I was little, so I know it's possible.  I want them to look at church as something desirable and necessary, and not a boring chore that they used to get out of, but now that they're 10 their parents make them do it--like cleaning hair out of the shower drain or turning their socks right-side-out before throwing them in the hamper.  (Accompanied by mental mutterings of "When I'm a grownup...")

This is all great, of course, except for when it comes to other people.  They're well-meaning, but it's incredibly discouraging after a service where you've taken the kids out three times and have tried (in vain) to keep the 18-month-old from answering the pastor's rhetorical questions, to have someone come up and say, "What lovely children!  We have a great nursery, did you know?"  (Bends down to look at children.)  "WANNA GO PLAY IN THE NURSERY WITH THE KIDS?  THEY HAVE FUN TOYS!"  (Kid recoils in fear.  Grownup looks at Mama.)  "They always told me my kids only fussed for the first five minutes."

It's already embarassing when the kids make noise--especially the time when Buddy had a (very) audible blowout right as they were getting ready to serve Communion.  We KNOW that they are not sitting quietly with folded hands, and we are trying our best to keep them quiet and occupied. 

We have (see above) strong feelings about our children remaining with us; if the Biblical argument wasn't enough, we also have had a bad experience in a church where nursery supervision was lax and a known sex offender was granted active membership.  (We weren't harmed, but it just reinforced my innate refusal to leave my kid sobbing and terrified in the nursery in the care of workers who believe "all kids have to cry a bit" and "moms have to leave".) 

For us church is a choice: we can either make it terrifying for our children or embarassing for their parents.

It's really, really hard for us to go to church.  If we didn't think it was important it would be on the list of things like Gymberoo classes and library storytime to which we say, "Nah."  First of all it's a trick and a half getting everyone ready and out the door on Sunday mornings, but we can do it.  Second it's not like we get to sit and immersively enjoy the music and listen attentively to the sermon, but it's important to us that our kids learn to sit in church, so we can sacrifice our own ability to worship as deeply as we'd like to.  But thirdly, when our natural embarassment is so amplified by the reactions of others, it makes us seriously question whether the juice is worth the squeeze.  If we're going to go and kill ourselves to make something happen, and then be told we shouldn't have bothered because the kids aren't welcome anyway, well, it becomes a lot easier to just stay home, have Bible stories and songs with Daddy, and be able to watch the Steelers game.

So help me out, huh?  When someone's got happy-but-talkative kids, or kids who are not talking but making noise with their dolly, or kids who keep singing when the songs are over, please just extend them some grace, smile at them, and don't say anything about the nursery.

I don't care if your kids did fine in nursery.  Mine don't.  Period.  Isn't it possible that not all kids can tolerate it?  What if I had a special needs kid?

I'm sorry if the sound of crayons on paper interrupts your worshipful thoughts.  I truly am, and we'll dispense with the crayons as soon as possible.  But perhaps you ought to question why it is that you can listen to music, text, and drive, but you find absolute silence a necessity for prayer and worship.

Please note that I'm not saying my kids should be allowed to run screaming up and down the aisles, throw food, talk and jabber, or sit and scream.  I'm just asking the churches of the nation for tolerance for the occasional peep or crayon that rolls under the pew, without assuming that I'm a clueless mom who has never heard of childcare.  You're the grownups--you have the ability to concentrate.  Please?

I promise I'll give you back the same grace when your kids/grandkids, wound up from bouncing off the walls in nursery and children's church, run shrieking through the parking lot without watching for cars, and I will refrain from running them over.  Ok?

Phew.

This was a rant, and I'm sorry; it's a frustration that has been building since my daughter was born and decided that the umbilical cord never should have been cut.  I actually have some positive strategies for keeping kids quiet in church that I'm excited about--I found a felt Bible story set, for instance--but I had to get this off my chest first.  Thanks.

And now back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

Cheers,

Breanna

Fall Means School

I have the somewhat ego-inflating but also tricky problem of being the mama of a three-year-old who is bored by preschool.

You know, shapes and colors?  Circle time?  "Farmer-in-the-Dell"?

All that is so six months ago.  We are raring to go for numbers (of which she recognizes the numerals up to 10, which is tricky since it's a 1 AND a 0), letters (of which she has a suspicion that V is just A turned upside-down) and reading (of which I don't do enough, according to her).  She even suspects that Dora and Deigo might be patronizing her.

Buddy, meanwhile, is learning colors, but pretty much just would love to eat the tips off the markers.  (Non-toxic.  Every art supply that comes into this house has to be non-toxic and washable.  Sigh.)

Here is a picture Miss Boo drew and had me label.  It's a picture of Daddy (I didn't help draw it).  You  notice he has a mohawk.  However, she was very particular that we label his beard.  I don't know what the blob to the south of him is.

Here is another picture we made him, with a message Miss Boo composed and I wrote.  She chose the leaves from the yard and told me how to glue them on the paper  She's got an eye for size and color, doesn't she?

Here are her freehand pictures, with her own "writing" (see the pothooks and scribbles?  They say, "I love you Daddy, I really do" and "Good Morning, Eddie".)

I figure it's time to move to this book, since preschool has become blase.  I am using the preschool one still for Buddy, but Miss Boo looks at him pityingly.

Here's his book of choice.

Whaddya mean, I'm not supposed to suck on the marker caps?

"Letters, Mama, LETTERS!  I made LETTERS!"

Ah, October.  It's nice having school in my life again, a lovely excuse to go every year and buy new pens.  I missed it, when I realized I had graduated college but didn't have any children to buy for.  It's difficult, when you love notebooks and pens and hate scrapbooking, to come up with a reason to buy school supplies.

School aisle here we come, armed with the list from "What Your Kindergartener Needs to Know"!

Cheers,

Breanna

Things I Thought I Would Never Say

There are all kinds of things that, before I became a mother, I just never pictured myself saying.  For instance:

1. "Are you poopy?  Well, are you poopy?"

2. "Don't play in the dog water."

3. "Don't take your sister's potty chair seat!"

4. "Don't eat playdoh."

5. "Please stop hugging/riding the dog--he doesn't like that."

6. "We don't let bugs in the house, it's okay, they won't get in your bed.  Yes, we put them outside and they will fly back to their families.  Yes, in their bug houses.  Yes, they have little tiny bug potty chairs.  No, they don't want to use our potty chairs.  Their bottoms are too small."

7. "Don't eat dirt."

8. "Yep, Mamas go potty too.  Yep, and Daddies.  And Pat-pat.  Yes.  Doggies have to go potty outside.  Yes, on the grass.  Can Mama finish going potty now?"

9. "Don't paint with your pickles, please."

10. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!!!!"


It seems like there's an amazing number of "don't"s on that list.  Hmm.  I promise I don't spend ALL day saying No; it's just that you forget that little brains that haven't even been on the planet for 2 years don't realize that some things, like the equality of man and not bathing in a hot cup of coffee, are self-evident.

Cheers,

Breanna