One Step Ahead

One of the best pieces of parenting advice my mom has given me is: stay one step ahead of your kids. Stay ahead of them and they will have somewhere to follow (by implication: don’t, and they’ll hang out and bicker all day).

There’s some truth to that. I think I’m naturally inclined to do what strikes in the moment, or let the kids have free play, so it takes some planning to think ahead. Every Sunday, I try to sit down and update the dry-erase board with their weekly lesson plans. We do a few categories that are easy: catechism (I just use the next question on this new city catechism tool from Tim Keller), memory verse (I pick a song from the GT Halo series—memorizing to music is incredibly quick and effective), Chinese (pick a few new characters). Then math, science, history, art, and/or music: if I know what they’re learning at school in those categories, I teach those. Otherwise, I pick whatever topic strikes my fancy (this week: food groups and shapes; last week: history of Taiwan to go with the presidential elections). Typically this involves some online research and preparing some diagrams to put up on the wall or handouts to color. Lately I’ve gotten into looking up fun science experiments. It helps to check out related books from the library.

Generally, we try to do one lesson per night. Last fall, we were shuttling the older two to all kinds of outside lessons, but it just felt too busy; it was probably fine for Ellie, but Eric was clearly tiring out, and it split up the family too much. We decided to just stop everything for now and focus on teaching things at home. The range of ages is a challenge, but generally I teach to Ellie’s level and find the boys tag along fine, as long as I keep the activities varied.

Thinking ahead is good too in terms of stepping back occasionally and assessing how each child can grow in terms of their personality, character, and habits, and how to help build up their strengths and redirect or work through weaknesses.

Definitely takes some discipline, but it pays off: the kids have something to look forward to, or something to redirect them when they’re bickering from boredom. They’re like sponges; pretty much able to soak up whatever I teach them. And any forethought I’m able to give about their character growth equips me to make the most out of random conversations during the day.

Dunes

We dropped off the younger two today with my mom, I brought along the pump, and we went with the Ellie and Eric to the outer banks to climb sand dunes. So peaceful and utterly quiet. The kids took off their shoes and ran over the miles of sand.

Aligning Orbits

Dave means many things to me, but if I had to pick the one that I most value, it’s probably that he’s my best friend. I can connect better with him, talk about more with him, and be understood better by him than by anyone else. It’s ironic, then, that I think this is a season of life where it’s hard to communicate, both because of the kids, and because our worlds are increasingly different with my staying more at home. When we first met, we orbited in the same world, sometimes working in the same hospital. We both took care of Ellie the same amount.

In the last five years our paths have increasingly diverged: Dave’s advanced more and more in his career, with increasing recognition and responsibility and travel, and gone back for more schooling. I have worked increasingly less and been more and more at home. He thinks about work projects and dissertations; I think about the kids, their schooling, meals, and the house. Sometimes it can feel like we’re in different orbits, crossing only when we have to run the logistics of life together. We’ve gotten really effective at functioning together as caregivers, but it’s sometimes not as natural to connect about deeper thoughts and emotions. It’s easy to see Dave as childcare-relief, or errand-runner, but harder to see the real Dave, Dave for who he is, not for what we have to do in life together.

I can see why divorce rates are high twenty years in, after the kids leave for college and you realize you don’t have much in common anymore. I think it’s a real testimony to align more strongly together during these childrearing years—I think we have that, but it takes more mindfulness than it used to. I have to care about the details of his day and world, and have grace with including him in mine as much as he can, so that we can think together for each other. We have to schedule time to connect—regular date-nights, reading through a book together, praying together, going to small group together—and regularly ask questions like, what has God been showing you lately? what’s been on your mind? The Dave of today, after all, is not the same as the Dave of yesterday, last week, or last year, and I don’t want to miss out. If I grow closer to anyone these days, I want it to be him.

Not Yelling At The Kids

I think I’m yelling too much at the kids, and it bothers me. When they don’t do what I ask them to do, I repeat myself to the point of getting frustrated and raising my voice, at which point they finally respond. This morning, I had to get all of them out of bed/crib, dressed, diapers changed, fed, teeth brushed, table cleared, dishes washed, hair tied, nursed, jacketed, shoed, buckled in, bags and lunches loaded, in thirty minutes. I did a lot of put those books away and eat! if you don’t finish in ten minutes you don’t eat! and what did I tell you about getting dressed? don’t just stand there!

Other common yelling scenarios include cleaning up after playing, starting lessons, not bickering, getting into the tub, getting out of the tub, getting into bed, getting out of bed, eating, sitting down in their chairs while eating…

I’m just challenged that any yelling or talking in frustration is bad. It teaches disrespectful communication. Some studies suggest verbal aggression is linked to issues with self-esteem, aggression, and depression (not sure how far to take that, but disturbing nonetheless). And it should be something I can decide not to do. Otherwise all I’m teaching them now is not to listen when I ask them to do something (by repeating myself with no effect), or that they only need to listen when I sound frustrated (since that is when they respond).

Here is what most articles have to say about getting your kids to listen to you:

1. Make sure you have your kids’ attention. At the very least, eye contact, and verbal affirmation from the kid that they heard you.

2. Say it once. Don’t repeat yourself.

3. If they don’t obey, explain your rationale.

4. If they still don’t obey, warn them about consequences (either natural consequences or discipline). Then be consistent about allowing/enforcing those consequences.

Some random thoughts I have about how to work on this issue for me:

- again, examine myself: how can I give myself more physical and emotional reserve to deal with this? For example: I obviously need to get up earlier in the mornings to give us more time to get ready. Perhaps I should be intentional about praying before the day starts.

- prepare the child for my expectations and explain rationale earlier, before the situation occurs. For example: explain the night before why they need to obey the next morning.

- get verbal affirmation: ask the kids to say “okay, mom” when they hear me. Keep in mind that kids’ peripheral attention may be worse than what I’d expect from an adult, especially if engaged in play. Don’t assume they are disobeying unless I’ve confirmed they did hear. Expect myself to be physically close enough to tap them on shoulder or squat down to their faces if I want full attention (don’t shout across room or stories).

- be open to natural consequences: eg, no time for a bigger breakfast if they lag at getting dressed.

Anyway, it’s clearly a spectrum. I don’t want to be giving them a time-out every time I have to repeat myself about anything, nor do I think I expect them to jump up and obey every little command—they’re kids, not soldiers. I guess what I want is an atmosphere of respectful communication—where they listen to what I say, and I listen if appropriate to their thoughts—and a habit of timely obedience—because they respect my authority and have faith in my love, just as we ought to obey God immediately, even when we may not want to or may not understand why. And I want not to yell, which is ultimately up to me. Still thinking this one through.

Apple Cider Donut Cake

So I have made this cake twice already this week, with leftover cider we had in the pantry. Credit for recipe goes to my friend, who pinned it from this blog, who adapted it from two in the kitchen, who adapted it from serious eats... I decreased the sugar coating so now I can say I've adapted it too! Very yummy.

Cake

2 large Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, and chopped

1 1/2 cups apple cider

1/2 cup milk, at room temperature

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 cup of unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cup white sugar

1/2 cup packed light brown sugar

3 large eggs, at room temperature

1/4 cup vegetable oil (may sub with coconut oil)

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1. Preheat to 350. Oil up a bundt pan.

2. In a small saucepan, bring chopped apples and cider to boil over medium; reduce heat and simmer until apples fork tender, ~10-12 min. Remove from heat, cool, and puree. Measure out 1 cup, stir in milk, and set aside. (there’s extra apple-cider-puree; the recipe overshoots to make sure there’s enough as yield from apples may vary)

3. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon and set aside.

4. Cream butter, white sugar, and brown sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy. Mix in eggs one at a time. Add oil. Alternate adding the flour and apple/milk mixture, scraping bowl as needed. Add vanilla extract.

5. Pour into bundt pan. Bake 35-45 min or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan x 10 min, then remove from pan and cool x 30 min.

Cider Glaze

1/2-1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup sugar

1/8 cup water

1/4 cup cider

Melt butter, sugar, and water over medium high heat; boil for 1-2 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in cider. Brush over cake in several passes.

Cinnamon Sugar Coating

6 TB white sugar

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

Combine and sprinkle over glazed cake, using fingers to rub it into the sides.

How Decluttering Changed My Life

“You own things, then they own you.”

“A proper place for every thing and everything in its place.”

It started when we visited the home of an older mentor couple at church: their living room had two sofas and two end tables, and that was it. Nothing very large or fancy, but the feeling was clean and spacious: refreshingly simple. I found out one of the wife’s favorite books was Don Aslett’s Clutter’s Last Stand; after reading that, I went on to read about Marie Kondo’s method (she’s so huge—see article here—that a bunch of googling was all I needed). Last summer, I decluttered our entire house, and it’s really changed the way we live.

My biggest roadblock to decluttering was feeling like it was a waste to get rid of stuff: but Aslett argues that we should consider the time and effort it takes to store, clean, insure, transport, and protect our stuff. Consider the cleaning alone: Aslett, who owned a cleaning company, estimates that only fifty percent of cleaning is the actual scrubbing things clean; the rest is moving around all the stuff. Clutter is one of the greatest stealers of efficiency and time: it can take more time to get what we need than to use it. Aslett suggests that the mental and physical toll of keeping an unused item around is greater than throwing it out. Aslett quotes the 80/20 rule: 80% of value comes from 20% of things. We actually rarely notice that something is gone.

Then there are the economic principles. There’s the principle of sunk cost: you’ve already incurred irrecoverable cost in the stuff; you shouldn’t let that factor into your decision about its future. There’s the principle of status quo bias, when you let most of your stuff stay just because you can’t think of a good reason to get rid of it (instead, for example, of every item you own being thrown away unless you can think of a compelling reason why it should stay). Finally, there’s the folly of prediction, which states that we systemically make bad guesses about the future: we shouldn’t hang on to something because of potential future value, but should only use present-day valuations.

But I think decluttering also reflects a deeper mindset, a prioritization of your life. It is being respectful of and thoughtful about what you own. It is taking attentive care of what you have. It reflects for us a discipline of simplicity, where we consciously try not to acquire too much.

Practically, the process is simple: 1. decide what is clutter, 2. throw it away, and 3. take good care of the rest. Tidying is not the same: that simply shifts clutter from place to place. Similarly, storage solutions aren’t really the answer (Aslett likes to say, “room is doom”). I liked Kondo’s technique: you go by category (clothes, books, papers, etc) rather than room, and decide what is clutter by asking yourself: does this spark joy? If it doesn’t, thank it and let it go.

I didn’t quite get that anthropomorphic about it, and as I read I began to doubt Kondo has kids—I had to stage the process and do it when they weren’t around—but it worked. Probably the biggest (and easiest) category was clothing: it was so freeing to give away stuff I had hauled around since college that didn’t even fit anymore. I liked the thought process for gifts: thank the gift for what it’s done for you in the gift-giving moment, then let it go. The most enjoyable part was decluttering our closets, which now have more space than things. Aslett says, “when you clutter your closets and drawers with things, you’re cluttering your feelings and thinking—freedom in your dwelling allows freedom to dwell in you.” Interesting.

The ultimate change was really in mindset, which is the only reason these techniques last: we’ll habitually give or throw things away, we keep things in their places, and we try to be careful about what we acquire: we consider not just the moment, but the future keeping of it. I care more about cleaning and it’s easier to do so. Looking back, it helped me take greater ownership of our home, which made it easier to stay home more, which has certainly changed our lives.

Parenting In The Interruptions

“But the reality is that if your eyes ever see, or your ears ever hear the sin, weakness, rebellion or failure of your children, it’s never an imposition. It’s never an interruption. It’s never a hassle. It’s always grace. God loves your children; he’s put them in a family of faith, and in relentless grace he will reveal their need to you again and again so that you can be his tool of awareness, conviction, repentance, faith and change. And because in these moments he asks you to forsake your agenda for his, this opportunity of grace isn’t just for your children, it's for you as well.” – Paul Tripp, Parenting: It’s Never An Interruption

Det. William 'Bunk' Moreland: You know what you need at a crime scene?

Det. Shakima 'Kima' Greggs: Rubber gloves?

Bunk: Soft eyes.

Kima: Like I'm suppose to cry and shit?

Bunk: If you got soft eyes, you can see the whole thing. If you got hard eyes -- you staring at the same tree missing the forest.

Kima: Ah, zen shit.

Bunk: Soft eyes, grasshopper.

- Season 4, The Wire

Some of the hardest things for me to deal with in my day are the kids interrupting my plans. Dave and I are both task-focused people, and I value efficiency perhaps too much: from experience we allow for contingencies, but somehow the interruptions always happen. We’re late for school because Elijah refused to get into his car seat, then bucked like a bronco when I tried to forcibly buckle him in. Ellie gets to bring a toy into the car, so the other two insist on bringing toys too, then they all argue over what type and how many to bring. Eric and Elijah bicker so loudly that they wake Esme up, and now I have to hold her and can’t continue the lesson I was trying to do with Ellie.

When the interruptions happen, I always want to react a certain way: I’m angry they interrupted my plans. That they caused me extra work. That they embarrassed me in public. When I’m really tired, it seems like they’re doing this on purpose to make my life harder—why can’t they not bicker for one minute? why can’t they not knock over cups of milk I have to clean up?

Sometimes it’s just accepting that kids are kids, and will be messy and inefficient and all that. But my friend, who is a fan of The Wire, mentioned a phrase that’s always stuck with me: seeing the situation with “soft eyes”—seeing the issues behind the behavior. I can then address the root issue instead of snapping at the symptoms. And I can almost always find a way to bring in the gospel. And really, that’s more important than whatever I have planned—so in a sense, the interruptions are God catching my attention and saying hey! this is more important than the laundry!

Here are some questions I ask myself to try to see with soft eyes:

- Does this reflect an issue I have? My mom once gave me great advice: when you’re bothered by something from your kids, examine yourself first. Sometimes I’m grouchy and tired and that attitude leaks into the kids. Sometimes my own biases and insecurities influence how the kids act.

- Have I spent enough time with this child? With lots of kids, it’s easy to give some less attention without meaning to; plus I get too distracted doing chores to get on the ground and play with them. Sometimes just holding them, or taking them out for a date, is what they need.

- What is really the wrong here? It’s not just because it annoys me; how does it offend God? What weakness or sin was behind it? From there I can go into discipline, or focusing on the right way to behave.

- Is there any root cause behind the wrong that I’m missing? Sometimes a strategic change upstream can prevent the situation. Sometimes I can give the kids tools to help them prevent recurrences in the moment—for example, helping them identify and verbalize emotions can help prevent tantrums.

But the main thing is to not react in anger or disgust, but to see with gospel eyes that interruptions are opportunities. They are hard, they are frustrating, they nearly always come at a cost of something else getting done, but they are some of the most important chances I have to teach the kids. To demonstrate grace to them. And really, I see this in my life too. I’m sure my life would be a lot smoother if I would just obey God all the time—but it’s in the struggles, the derailings, the overcoming of my rebellion, that I experience his love, his grace, and respect his commands. I want that for my children too.

Boys and Girls

Joyful Submission

I confess that sometimes I struggle with thoughts like, how come I always take care of the kids alone more? How come I’m the one getting up in the middle of the night?

And they escalate: he’s never had to deal with this. He has no idea how hard it is.

Now, there are logical answers to these questions: I wanted to work less. I’m the one nursing. I have no regrets about working less and no grief about where my career is. We agreed together for him to pursue a doctorate; that and his job entail occasional travel and I support that. He’s there one hundred percent as a caregiver when he’s home. It doesn’t do any good for me to get grouchy before he leaves for trips, to get inwardly resentful while he’s gone.

I’ve been realizing that at heart, I have not been submitted to Dave, to unreservedly supporting his outward pursuits, and providing the unconditionally peaceful home that allows him to lead without fear. Well, okay, mostly and definitely outwardly, things are fine, but inwardly I haven’t always had that heart attitude. Ultimately, I have not been in submission to God. It isn’t an accident that I find myself in this situation. God surely has something for these kids, and surely something for me, and until I embrace that fully, without comparison or resentment, I am not being submitted to God. He hasn’t called me to tell Dave how to do his job, or look at how my former classmates or current colleagues are doing their jobs; he’s called me to do my job, and do it well, with the strength he provides.

Frankly, it’s tough. I mean, yeah, I worked pretty hard in the past, but it was always for myself, and any suffering was temporary. But now—trying to meet everyone’s needs while fatigued, dealing with the endless demands and bickering and occasionally discipline, cooking, cleaning, doing lessons, coordinating rides and naps—doing it alone for most of the day—it’s probably the toughest thing I’ve ever done.  There’s no way to pretend, no reliable break, and my true self comes out in a jiffy. It’s a spiritually raw situation: I either submit to God and live it out by his strength and wisdom, or I tank as my fatigue-induced irritability naturally overwhelms the situation.

Sometimes I think: how much of my life has really been lived out as Christ lived? Have I just said I would follow, thought about and studied it, or have I really put myself aside, given up what’s comfortable, been willing to suffer, been driven to witness? Well, if anything, this is probably the period of my life that looks most like how Christ lived. I am a witness to these kids. I am putting myself aside and trying to live out the gospel in service with joy and intentionality. God, I submit myself to you. Give me the strength I need.

Good Read

In Case of Blizzard, Do Nothing (NYT)

My sister forwarded me this-- some life-giving writing, there. He used the word "quotidian"!

Life-Giving

Dave’s sister coined that term a while back and it’s a concept that’s stuck with me. Even when she’s out here spending time with the kids, she’ll schedule life-giving things for herself: a jazz concert, time for deep conversation.

I think to me, something life-giving is something that restores a part of myself that I’ve maybe lost, or lost sight of. That’s the thing about mothering: it’s all-consuming in a way no other venture really is. God created me to enjoy and be good at a lot of things: to write, to play music, to travel, to teach, to knit, to draw, to study, to enjoy stories, to linger in deep conversation, to be in nature, to shop, to bake, okay, to sleep—the list goes on. Some of those things are incorporated into what I do with the kids, sure, and there’s a unique kind of pleasure in that, but the parts I did for myself just fade away. Not so much amputated as atrophied, until one day I find myself with some time off and don’t even know what to do.

You would think doing something life-giving is automatic, but it’s not, especially when you’re out of routine. My default isn’t really to ask, “what can I do to restore a sense of myself?” My default is to eat chocolate ice cream (which I’m doing right now—why aren’t there more ice cream places around here? that’s one thing I miss about Boston) and read escapist novels. Which usually leaves me more loath to return to real life rather than refreshed for it.

Everyone’s list probably looks different, but things that generally fall into this category for me are: a deep conversation with a friend (away from the kids; play-dates don’t count). Playing the piano for a length of time (again, away from the kids, who like to join in—sensing a theme here). Visiting a yarn store. Browsing in a bookstore. Meeting with a friend. Shopping for myself. Taking an art class (taking any kind of class). Journaling to God. Eating something new. Being surrounded by nature. Giving a good lecture. Taking a nap in a quiet house.

Sometimes I don’t know I need to be doing something life-giving until I’m at the point of burn-out, but one of my resolutions this year is to be better at taking care of myself. I tend to get obsessed with a task at the exclusion of all else, and since parenting is one non-ending task, I actually need to remind myself that it’s okay to leave the kids, to get out, to do something that helps me remember who I am. The more I enjoy myself in the different ways God created me to be, the more I enjoy God, the more I enjoy the kids, the more life I can pour into them. I actually need to put some forethought and nearly always some planning into it, since it’s not a default, and since doing anything without kids involves planning. But it’s always worth it.

I'm Back! (I Think)

So my sister asks me over Christmas break, “hey, are you going to write in your blog again?” and I’m pretty much speechless. Blog? What blog? Does that page even exist anymore? Does anyone care if it does? “I check it regularly,” she says. Wow, okay. So that’s where the one page hit I get a week comes from.

But the thought stuck. I’m going to try writing regularly, even though it feels like overcoming an incredible level of torpitude (is that a word? it should be), in an attempt to solidify the reflections I have from day to day, in particular what God is teaching me. If it provides food for thought, or empathy or encouragement for anyone else, great, but since I’m not even sure who still reads this, I think the point is to get something out there for myself.

Obviously I had to update the page. I could only do surface stuff of course since I’ve forgotten whatever rudimentary html I used to know. Couldn’t change the pretty meaningless banner text (“mysteries of life”? what is that?). Changed the profile photo from an artistic one of Ellie to a chaotic one with all the kids (but representative: at least one not looking at the camera, one about-to-get-a-root-canal grimace, one face blocked, all in jammies). Changed the job to part-part-time as I now work around ten hours a week. Really wanted to change the font (I love the new San Francisco font, ironically, from Apple), but no luck. The biggest laugh was updating the “on the bookshelf” list… I wish I read all those edifying things… settled for sticking in a kids’ book and leaving out the useless comfort-novels I’ve really been reading.

I used to have a lot of standards for my blog: must not talk too directly about the blog itself. Must be edifying and have an enlightening conclusion. Must be carefully edited. Must remain vague on personal identifiers. Ideally have an epigraph prefacing each entry. In other words, post only if it’s good enough to publish. I suppose those rules worked back in 2005 when it got Dave to blog-crush on me, but if I stuck to them now I’d never post anything. Especially the “reach an enlightening conclusion” part. So I am officially chucking them out the window. I’m just going to be honest about where I’m at. Here goes.