Enough Religion

Jonathan Swift said, "We have just enough religion to hate, but not enough to make us love one another."  I resolve this year to love.

I have always believed that love is a decision, not just a feeling that happens to me.  I resolve this year to love my family, especially my husband and daughter.  I'm going to tell them so every day.

I am going to love other people too.  I have great neighbors and friends, but I don't have them over enough.  I will offer hospitality at least once a month, even if it's just coffee and dessert.  

Well, so much for the ones that are easy to love.  I get a great return on that investment already.  Now the real work starts.

There are these people who live in the next block.  All day long they seem to wander up and down the street, eating junk food and throwing their bags and bottles on the ground.  A couple of times a day, I pick it up with a scowl.  This year, I'm going to smile when I'm picking up neighborhood litter and invite those neighbors for coffee and dessert too.  And not call them "those people."  Or even think of them in those terms from this moment on.

Sometimes I miss opportunities to love because I fear rejection.  I resolve to sincerely try to help when I see a need.  I'm not going to worry about whether the person accepts me or my help.  I am just going to try.

I think I can muster enough religion for that.

Kind to Ourselves

There was a time that if ever I had a spare half hour, I would weed the garden, sew something, do some laundry, generally make myself useful.  My husband, on the other hand, would use his spare time to nap.  

I napped too, mind you; I just felt guilty about it.  An emotion to which my husband is, at least in matters of household chores, immune.  (He does things around the house, but his chores are unadulterated by guilt.)

I used to marvel at his capacity for what I perceived to be his self-indulgence.  No matter how much I did in a day, the unfinished portion of my to-do list seemed to loom much larger than the sum of my accomplishments.  How wrong I was.

I have noticed that women in general seem to have a talent for self-recrimination.  We are so ready to take the blame for whatever is going forward.  Why?  Why are we so hard on ourselves, hard on each other?  

When will we learn?  It's not our job to be perfect.  It's our job to do our best with what we've got -- sometimes not even that.  

It's our job to love.  We run ourselves ragged loving everyone else.  But we are created in God's image too -- it's our job to love ourselves just the same.  

I used to carry around so many worries, regrets, fears...it was like carrying around a sack of rocks.  I thought, what if I just drop this sack?  Stop worrying about everyone's expectations?  Lower my own expectations to those of an ordinary mortal?

What I learned is that I could take every day just as it is.  I learned I could look at each person and see the good in him or her.  I learned that I could see the good in myself.

Does this seem obvious?  It didn't to me.  Why are we women so reluctant to see the beauty in ourselves?  

Here is one of the many things I have learned from my husband:  when I have a spare half hour, I deserve a nap.  I am worthy.

Lots of Friends, but Only One Mother

Situation:  4 year old Gem wants to eat her breakfast in front of the TV.  My line in the sand:  we eat at the table together and have conversation.
Gem:  "Adrian gets to eat in front of the tv.  I want to too."
Me:  "Well, breakfast is on the dining room table.  If you want to eat, you need to sit here."
Gem:  "But I want to watch Dragon Tales."
Me:  "Then you're making a choice not to eat breakfast."
Gem:  "But I'm hungry!"
Me:  "Then come to the table."
Gem:  "But I want to watch Dragon Tales."

Around some more until it's time to brush teeth and go to preschool.  Kicking and screaming.  (her, not me)  I went on to teach my classes, waiting for a call from Child Welfare for starving my daughter.


Situation:  14 year old (high school freshman) Gem wants to go to Chloe's with a group of girls after school, then on to Andrew's for a party that evening.  My line in the sand:  I need to go to the party, meet the parents, and make sure it's a situation I approve of.

Gem:  "You don't trust me.  Chloe's mom will bring us and meet the parents."
Me:  "You are 14.  Papa and I are responsible for you.  Chloe's parents are responsible for Chloe."
Gem:  "How ridiculous to go home with Chloe, then to have you pick me up from there to go to the party. Why even go to Chloe's?!"
Me:  "OK, just come home after school.  All the girls can come home with you after school.  I'm happy to bring everyone to the party."
Gem:  "I am so embarrassed to tell Chloe that you don't trust her mom to see that she is supervised."
Me:  "Chloe's mom will understand that I have to see for myself.  I'm sure she feels the same way.  Do you want me to call her?"
Gem:  "Please no!  This is so embarrassing!  I'll probably just come home after exams tomorrow and skip Chloe's house and the party and LIFE IN GENERAL!  I bet you didn't have this kind of micromanagement as a teenager!  Memaw is so nice!"
Me:  "I'll tell you exactly what Memaw told me:  I am not your friend.  I'm your mother.  You'll have lots of friends throughout your life, but only one mother."

Blah blah more drama on Gem's part.  She even squeezes out a few tears.

20 minutes later, she comes back into the living room with a big smile:  "Chloe's mom says could you please bring half the girls?  It's too many for her car anyway and she wants to go in too.  She knows Andrew's parents and said Andrew's mom will probably like having more adults there anyway.  Afterward, can Chloe and Eva and Maylynn sleep over?  Can you make cinnamon rolls for breakfast and take us to the movies to see Tangled on Saturday?"

Who is this kid and what did she do with my drama queen?

23 Reasons for a Happy Anniversary

My Sweetie and I recently celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary. 23 years later, we have some very different ideas about what is really important in life.  I know I've changed a lot from that young woman in a white dress and veil.  I've had a wonderful partner in this journey, someone who learns with and teaches me every day.

Here are 23 (of the many) things I've learned from my husband:

1. Slow down; if it's important, it will still be there tomorrow.
2. When you're listening to someone, just listen.  Don't be thinking about what you're going to say.
3. Take naps.
4. Eat slowly.
5. Eat dessert.
6. Eat just a little dessert.
7. Do big jobs a little at a time.
8. Make time for love.
9. Laugh more often.
10. Let it go.
11. The very old and very young can do whatever they want.
12. I am a great cook.
13. I am loved.
14. Family is the most important thing.  We are family.
15. I can count on my Honey.
16. Honesty is always best; don't take shortcuts.
17. Be patient.
18. Give bad news in private; good news in public.
19. Take vacations.
20. Do what you love.
21. Breakfast for supper is better than going out to eat.
22. I don't have to say everything I'm thinking.
23. It's o.k. to disagree -- and still love.

Thanks for everything, Sweetie

Baby Whispering

My husband and daughter call me "The Baby Whisperer," because my superpower is the ability to make all babies love me.  Really that's not true.  My real talent is the ability to love all babies.  Babies just recognize this and respond in kind.

I am always respectful -- I'm not a grabber, toucher, or kisser of babies I don't know.  But I am irresistibly drawn to make eye contact, smile, and play a game of peek-a-boo.  Since I have the great good fortune to work with young children (0 to 3 years) who have special needs and their families, my baby whispering skills are a great asset to me on the job.

Baby whispering isn't enough, though.  Parent whispering is often the skill I need even more.  Lucky for me, I have a heart to love parents too.  I am in a very privileged and delicate position, entering (intruding into?) a home, a family.  I often wonder how they can bear it; sometimes emotions are so raw and close to the surface.

One gorgeous little boy (M) has so many physical, cognitive, and medical needs that no less than 6 different therapists/care providers come into his home each week.  By the time I arrive on Friday mornings, I can tell Mommy and Daddy are exhausted.  

Last Friday it was obvious that they were distraught over their latest bad news.  They've already been through so much.  I fought my instinct to smooth it all over with optimistic cheer and just listened with all my heart.  I didn't agree or disagree as they talked for a couple of hours.  I tried to keep my expression neutral and not insult them with pity. 

Not for the first time, I tried to imagine what it is like to expect and plan for a new baby, only to relinquish cherished dreams over and over again as first one, then another and another obstacle is placed in your sweet boy's path.  And still find a way to hope; talk about grace under pressure.

I'm not saying that these (or any) parents are paragons or any such saccharine sentimentality.  But I do believe that it takes a special talent to find dignity, humor, and hope in the face of such continued opposition.

That is a real superpower.  M's parents have such gallant optimism about the future because they have a talent for love.  I am grateful to witness and be part of their love for sweet M.  The trick is that we see and value all of M -- not just focus on the disability.

M has worth all on his own whether or not he does the same things the same way other children his age do.  Not everybody gets that -- but I am lucky to see it.  M's parents and I made a list of all the things we love about him:

• liquid brown eyes with long, long lashes
• all boy!  He loves motorcycles and will turn his head whenever he hears one on the street
• dimples when he smiles
• the way he totally relaxes against my chest when we're reading Good Night Moon
• a fighter!  He does not like to roll from tummy to back and lets me know.
• the way he gurgles and smiles when his brother's new puppy licks his hand
• He spits out his sweet potatoes just like my daughter used to.
• Until Daddy says, "All right now, M.  Is that manners?" with that stern daddy voice.
• He's a football fan.  M shows real pleasure watching the big game with daddy, brother, and cousins.
• No one else will do but Mommy when he wakes in the night.  (a blessing and a curse!)
• If he is fussy anytime, he will instantly calm when Mommy sings "Sleep Baby."  Just her voice across the room ("I'm coming, Honey!") is often enough to make him content.
• Big brother plays too rough with M...and M loves it!  Like that time he took him outside to play in the sprinkler...

Well, the real list is way longer than this, but I am already more in love with M than ever just looking at these few things.  What more could any little boy be than M already is?

Happy birthday, Special Boy!  Today you make two, a real milestone.   I'm wearing black and gold for your favorite team.

Handiness Theorem Proves False

I married an engineer.  That means he is extremely handy around the house (can fix or build almost anything) and extremely nerdy around the house (makes waaaay more math references than I ever need to hear).  Over many years of experience with both, I have developed my very own mathematical theorem.

I have tested this hypothesis with a large sample of wives -- spouses, I should say to be nonsexist -- and it almost always has proved accurate.  Being artsy, I don't feel constrained to have 100% accuracy for my theorem to hold up.  (Sorry, math and science types.)  So "just about everyone I have talked to about it" counts as a sufficient sample to prove my hypothesis. 

So here's my Handiness Theorem:

The handiness of the man is inversely proportional to the permanence of his relationship with the recipient of the handiness.  

In algebraic notation, it is h²  + g²  ≥  w²  +  h² where h = handiness, g = girlfriend (temporary relationship he has to impress) and w = wife  (permanent relationship where not a lot of extra energy is needed because she already loves him).

This means that when my sweetie and I were first dating, I mentioned in passing how bright the lights in my dining room were and that I really preferred more indirect lighting.  The next weekend to surprise me, he colluded with my two roommates and installed dimmer switches in the living and dining rooms.   Motivating both roommates to try to steal him.  Didn't work.  A series of handiworks followed me from one apartment to the next throughout my college years.  (Did I mention my various landlords loved him too?)

Could I have ESP?  Is this why we dated for 5 years before marrying? Hmmmmm...

We became engaged.  The kitchen door wouldn't stay open properly .  Took him 3 weeks to get around to that one.  The toilet ran; another 2.  There were probably more handiness needs, but I can't remember it all.

Now we've been married for almost 23 years.  We live in an old house that almost always needs something done.  Suffice to say that there is a light bulb that has been burned out for a month now.  (I'd do it, but the ceilings are 14 feet high and I can't carry that giant ladder upstairs.)  

Well, shame on me -- I take it all back.  Despite the fact that my beloved husband just hates my chickens (calls them "raisin-brains"), he has built me the Versailles of chicken coups.  We call it the "poulet chalet."

It's actually a 96 square foot poultry compound.  There is a small roosting box which houses a roosting bar and a nest with an external egg door!  (The front of the box even comes off for easy cleaning.)  The food and water hang underneath it.  A ramp for them to exit the box leads to a protected outdoor area, completely predator-proof that I can shut in the evenings. (Even in the city there are lots of raccoons and opossums around.)  This is roofed (8 feet high) very sturdily.

This "protected pen" is inside a larger outdoor pen which has storage for hose, food, cleaning supplies etc.  It has a variety of perches, and lots of room to flap around.  This is also over 8 feet high and walled/ceilinged with hardware cloth.  I planted merlitons, tomatoes, flower and other vines and plants that will offer the chix food, cover and loads of chicken fun.  Other amenities too numerous to mention (and boring for everyone but me).  

Now that's love.  How lucky can one woman get?  Who needs light bulbs anyway?  Handiness Theorem retracted.

Musical Touch

When I was first married, we had a tiny house with 2 bedrooms, each about the size of a coffee table.  My sister was moving out of state and wanted to get rid of her piano.  Unbeknownst to me, she made a deal with my beloved husband:  he paid to have the instrument moved to our house and he could have it.

I first learned about this deal when the behemoth was being hauled into our second bedroom (no kidding, I have friends with bigger closets).  When I asked about it, he was giddy with excitement:  "Isn't it great?!!  Can you believe Perrine didn't think this was worth moving to Virginia?"  I said, "Wow, Sweetie, uh, so you thought it would be a good idea to bring it here?"  

Because, uuuuuhhhh, the one thing we needed was a giant musical instrument that neither of us could play.  Actually, I had taken lessons as a child and had heard my elders remark that I had "touch," which was what passed for musicality in our family.  The truth is, I wasn't much for practicing.  I just wanted to sit down to the keys and amaze the whole room.  After that kept not happening, I gave it up as a hopeless cause.  Suffice to say, there was no good reason for me to give up that kind of house space to a piano.

A few years and one mortgage on a larger residence later, and our sweet daughter Gem turned seven and entered second grade.  We had decided that she should learn to play a musical instrument.  Since we already owned a big honking piano, we had it tuned up and found a teacher.  Mrs. Cradic was a nice lady in the neighborhood and an excellent, patient teacher for Gem.  

From the beginning, Gem liked playing.  She practiced conscientiously and matriculated under Mrs. Cradic's tranquil guidance.  Liked playing, but did it mostly because it was required, like reading and math.  There were times when she said she wanted to quit, but we didn't let her (didn't let her quit school, either).  There were times when she really enjoyed piano, and those became more and more frequent.

Now that she's almost 14, we are all reaping the rewards of Gem's hard work.  She is at the stage now where she plays for herself.  Her classical training mixes nicely with her teen penchant for rock/heavy metal.  She got a chance to participate in a Jazz ensemble at NOCCA, too (not her thing, but had a great time).  

I love working in the kitchen, looking over the stove and watching her as she works out a musical puzzle for herself on the keyboard.  The sound tracks of movies (Pride and Prejudice!), computer games, and iTunes all provide new musical ideas and directions for her curious mind and eclectic sensibilities.  So far the only thing she doesn't like are Christmas carol sing-alongs (maybe this year...Good King Wenceslaus is my favorite).

Gem still studies and practices what her teacher (since Katrina a new teacher -- also much loved) assigns.  She also plays whatever strikes her fancy.  When we signed Gem up for lessons, what we wanted for her was to have this music, this skill that she can enjoy for herself and share with those around her for the rest of her life.  It is such a delight to see this dream taking shape.  Lucky us!

Temper, Temper

Yesterday we were packing to go to a family wedding a long drive away. True to form, my beloved husband asked me all details of the plans (route, times, places) about 4 - 5 times. As we were loading the car this morning, he did it all again. At various times during the drive, you guessed it. It's in him, and it's going to come out.

I find these repeated reviews unhelpful. My first instinct would be a snarky retort, but I know that love means biting my tongue. If I just answer the litany of questions with good humor (and a little feigned interest) we move on to the next topic relaxed and casual. If I let my temper get the better of me, we all end up stressed and snippy.

Years ago I learned that if my husband came home tense and in a bad mood, my reaction made all the difference. Instead of taking offence, I decided to think about how hard my beloved husband works, the frustrations and stresses he deals with every day. I realized that he just needed a safe place to express all of this. With a few minutes of my responding to his agitation in a loving way, he would be telling me about things that happened at the office and thanking me for listening and understanding.

It works the other way too. Times when I have been annoyed at something and fussed about -- what? silly, trivial things ... he has responded to me with patience and tenderness. He knows me so well...knows that I was not really upset at him. He just listened while I let off steam until pretty soon we would be laughing together.

Some say that love is most rewarding in the early days of marriage.  (Then what?  It's all downhill?)  But I have good news for newlyweds:  in my experience, love gets better with the years.  In my case, after almost 23 years love is smoother and easier.  Beloved husband and I have continually striven over the years to anticipate and care for one another's emotional needs. With the passing days, months, and years we accumulate more and more instances of love and caring for one another until it has become our instinct to (mostly) respond to an angry word with a soothing gesture.

Love is a choice, a discipline, as much as anything else. It is a living, changing thing that we are continually creating. Keeping my temper doesn't come naturally to me -- I have to work hard at nurturing my loving relationship with my husband. I know how to value a husband who works just as hard.

When we wake up tomorrow, I know I'm going to hear, "What time is the wedding? Where is it? Do we have the directions? Is it casual or dressy? Is it...?" I'll try to answer with a smile as if it's the first time I've heard it all -- and I will not roll my eyes.