I'm finding the return to academic life a bit difficult. I guess the reason is that I mistakenly thought that it would be a return to college life. Only with grown-up accessories... I know, I can hear the laughter.
The start of classes felt a bit like what I imagine ski-diving to be. A little anxious at all that wide open space and then the glorious plunge right into it. Imagine my surprise to find that instead of a parachute, I had a rather secure bungee cord attached. Quite the shocker. The first rebound was definitely a large smack on the underside of the small prop plane, which quite clearly jostled all remaining passengers, as well as leaving me a bit disgruntled.
So here I am, taking two classes and realizing that if I study as much as I want to (and let me pause here to remark on the difference that the internet makes. In college, if I ran across a term or concept that I didn't fully understand, I did not fret. I simply wrote it down in my notes. If it was important then the professor would certainly comment on it during the lecture. However, GOOGLE has altered my strategy. If I come across something unfamiliar, it takes two seconds to find a plethora of information. How interesting! Before I know it I have wondered down a rabbit trail that may or may not be pertinent to my studies but which I find fascinating. Hours can pass before I realize just what has happened and how far I have been side-tracked. Don't even get me started on Wikipedia. Which I am beginning to realize is a bit more like a gossip column than a reliable source of information. Urgh.) Anyhow, while this "learning is happening" I fall further behind in my actual class requirements and the laundry can pile up in alarmingly tall and wide heaps, and the house (which is always twittering on the very edge of a disaster zone) can sprout a life of its own, and the children begin to melt-down in a "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy" chant that is appallingly loud and pitiful. It really does take the slightest nudge to push us over the collective line into total chaos. Sigh.
But, I am nothing if not a planner and fairly soon I came up with a college-ish sort of idea. Monday, Wednesday, Friday I would devote to my hereto for normal SAHM routines....cleaning, shopping, mending, laundry, bills, appointments, exercise, etc. All of those tasks, both large and small that keep our life running smoothly. On Tuesday and Thursday I could dive right into school and spend hours reading, listening, arguing and thinking.
I'm sure other folks would do it differently. But I tried that other way. And for me, my multi-tasking abilities kept leading me astray. Okay, actually this single-minded devotion had to be suggested to me by a close friend since I am still clinging to my multi-tasking superiority like a dog with a bone or a sleep deprived two year-old. And the harsh truth is that I'm just not disciplined enough to do both in one day.
Other than my Google forays, I find that if I listen to the inner voice that tells me it is okay to stop studying for a minute to throw in a quick load of laundry, I get easily distracted by the growing playmobil chaos in the reading room which surely needs to be picked up before the kids come home, which leads to vacuuming the rug and under the sofa, and somehow dusting and then sweeping the stairs and then a quick swipe at the toilet and shower... I have come to the realization that my inner voice is related to that children's book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Before long the kids are home and I have read only 2 pages of assigned reading. It is all so easy to justify that I could end up with no time to actually think unless I am brutal with myself.
So it is that I find myself on one day sitting at a desk with a hot cup of coffee, notebook full of lofty thoughts as I ponder the concept of sola scriptura and its implications for the community life of the church and the next day on my knees scrapping snot off the wall with a Clorox wipe. A little yin and little yang.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Keeping House
I'm reading a thoroughly delightful book these days, written by a dear friend entitled Keeping House: The Litany of Everyday Life. I won't get into all the details... those are provided in plentiful measure on Amazon, but the writing is excellent and the subject matter both familiar and challenging.
I continue to be fascinated by becoming a "grown-up." Which has meant to me thus far... learning to drink my coffee black (those who know me well, know that I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar), wearing what I guess would be termed "business casual" clothing instead of blue jeans and rumpled t-shirts, and putting my kids to bed at night at a reasonable our, with their teeth brushed, without a Mommy meltdown. The bar might seem too low to some, but I continue to whack my head on it.
Thanks to Karen, for years I've been a flybaby, working on my zones and decluttering as much as possible. But I tend to fall off the bandwagon and end up with a house that looks like a hurricane has recently swept through more days than not. As a result my home is loud both in volume (four kids and a dog will do that) and in aesthetic appearance. I also hate to fold clothes and put them away. Not a pretty admission, but there it is. My "hot spots" are any horizontal surface. I dreamed recently of decorating only with pyramidal structures to thwart the accumulation of school papers, snack wrappers, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and junk mail. Instead I have large IKEA coffee tables that tend to grow the above like magic rocks. Having a messy, cluttered house (let's not even go into the amazing amount of black dog hair that Jazz contributes) means that more often than not I am hesitant to have people over for dinner. Which is something I love to do and which is definitely part of being a grown-up for me and mine.
The most disturbing part is that no amount of house cleaning ever truly gets the job done. I give my family a good 12 hours in ANY house to completely wreck it. And that's with the only get one thing out at a time rule. So it is with great pleasure that I am reading Margaret Peterson's book which is about among other things making a home a beautiful, safe place. Which of course, requires effort, thoughtfulness and plain old hard work. The work is repetitive, often thankless and has its own aspects of drudgery. Cleaning toilets is definitely yuckier than arranging flowers. But with two 5 year-olds perhaps more important. At the moment, however, all of this is compounded by the fact that I am drowning in cardboard boxes or their up-ended contents. Sigh.
I'm only through the first few chapters of Margaret's book but it is just the shot in the arm thing I have needed to get my behind in gear. Thus, I am encouraged to continue to tackle the job of settling in here and unpacking. To be thoughtful of which things to put where. To embrace the chore of making this place our home.
Today, I started with the playroom. We (the kids and I) didn't get very far but all the furniture now has a place and the toys can be sorted through at a later day and put away. Perhaps tomorrow.
I continue to be fascinated by becoming a "grown-up." Which has meant to me thus far... learning to drink my coffee black (those who know me well, know that I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar), wearing what I guess would be termed "business casual" clothing instead of blue jeans and rumpled t-shirts, and putting my kids to bed at night at a reasonable our, with their teeth brushed, without a Mommy meltdown. The bar might seem too low to some, but I continue to whack my head on it.
Thanks to Karen, for years I've been a flybaby, working on my zones and decluttering as much as possible. But I tend to fall off the bandwagon and end up with a house that looks like a hurricane has recently swept through more days than not. As a result my home is loud both in volume (four kids and a dog will do that) and in aesthetic appearance. I also hate to fold clothes and put them away. Not a pretty admission, but there it is. My "hot spots" are any horizontal surface. I dreamed recently of decorating only with pyramidal structures to thwart the accumulation of school papers, snack wrappers, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and junk mail. Instead I have large IKEA coffee tables that tend to grow the above like magic rocks. Having a messy, cluttered house (let's not even go into the amazing amount of black dog hair that Jazz contributes) means that more often than not I am hesitant to have people over for dinner. Which is something I love to do and which is definitely part of being a grown-up for me and mine.
The most disturbing part is that no amount of house cleaning ever truly gets the job done. I give my family a good 12 hours in ANY house to completely wreck it. And that's with the only get one thing out at a time rule. So it is with great pleasure that I am reading Margaret Peterson's book which is about among other things making a home a beautiful, safe place. Which of course, requires effort, thoughtfulness and plain old hard work. The work is repetitive, often thankless and has its own aspects of drudgery. Cleaning toilets is definitely yuckier than arranging flowers. But with two 5 year-olds perhaps more important. At the moment, however, all of this is compounded by the fact that I am drowning in cardboard boxes or their up-ended contents. Sigh.
I'm only through the first few chapters of Margaret's book but it is just the shot in the arm thing I have needed to get my behind in gear. Thus, I am encouraged to continue to tackle the job of settling in here and unpacking. To be thoughtful of which things to put where. To embrace the chore of making this place our home.
Today, I started with the playroom. We (the kids and I) didn't get very far but all the furniture now has a place and the toys can be sorted through at a later day and put away. Perhaps tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Madly packing
Or at least should be madly packing. I'm at the point where everything is getting thrown into boxes and marked misc. I hate that, but you gotta do what you gotta do...especially when the World Cup keeps pulling me onto the sofa to watch. Sigh.
This morning Joe sat on the sofa looking quite mournful and asked, "Do we get to take the sofa?"
I realized in that moment that I knew exactly what it meant that we were moving across campus... we were packing all of the stuff up here and taking it there. After several probing questions, I found that the kids all thought this move would be like the last few. I would pack up some of their most precious things, the rest would be given away or left behind for others. Especially true of the furniture. No wonder they have been watching me like a hawk as I pack their rooms. No wonder the shouts of dismay when they see their clutter replaced by a row of cardboard boxes. Here I thought they would compliment my efficiency and hardwork. Instead they were wondering what toys and possesions I decided to toss or give away in their absence.
As the sighs of relief washed over their faces this morning, I realized yet again, how important communication is. I know when I am flexing my missionary muscles. I used to live in Uganda, but in my heart I am American, I grew up here and while my worldview has been broadened and expanded. While I will always reflect those years in Africa, I understand the unspoken rules here. My kids, though, are deeply different than me. Their early life in Bundibugyo and their subsequent adjustments to NC and NH have them still playing a catch up game in many regards. Still trying to figure out what's going on, still trying to know what questions to ask, what to assume to be true.
Don't get me wrong. They are doing a super job, but every so often I get a reminder that part of being a missionary mom, indeed the most defining part is parenting them well. More important than packing, even.
This morning Joe sat on the sofa looking quite mournful and asked, "Do we get to take the sofa?"
I realized in that moment that I knew exactly what it meant that we were moving across campus... we were packing all of the stuff up here and taking it there. After several probing questions, I found that the kids all thought this move would be like the last few. I would pack up some of their most precious things, the rest would be given away or left behind for others. Especially true of the furniture. No wonder they have been watching me like a hawk as I pack their rooms. No wonder the shouts of dismay when they see their clutter replaced by a row of cardboard boxes. Here I thought they would compliment my efficiency and hardwork. Instead they were wondering what toys and possesions I decided to toss or give away in their absence.
As the sighs of relief washed over their faces this morning, I realized yet again, how important communication is. I know when I am flexing my missionary muscles. I used to live in Uganda, but in my heart I am American, I grew up here and while my worldview has been broadened and expanded. While I will always reflect those years in Africa, I understand the unspoken rules here. My kids, though, are deeply different than me. Their early life in Bundibugyo and their subsequent adjustments to NC and NH have them still playing a catch up game in many regards. Still trying to figure out what's going on, still trying to know what questions to ask, what to assume to be true.
Don't get me wrong. They are doing a super job, but every so often I get a reminder that part of being a missionary mom, indeed the most defining part is parenting them well. More important than packing, even.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Grateful
I am grateful to God for unexpectedly preserving Kevin's life a year ago today. For the amazing chain of events.... for Joe's presence and coolheadedness in time of great panic, for a neighborhood where people walk their dogs with cellphones ready to call 911, that Eric listened to the voice that told him to turn down Alabama St. to find Kevin collapsed with no pulse just days after Eric completed his CPR re-certification, for the EMT crew that rushed him to Duke after advanced CPR and three AED shocks failed and he flat-lined... but still tried "just one more time," successfully shocking Kevin en route to the hospital, for the new cooling procedure that Chris initiated at Duke and that both the ER team and the cardiac intensive care unit carried out, for Allan's speedy arrival at the hospital, for the prayers lifted up in Durham, Philadelphia and around the world for Kevin's life and full recovery during his coma, for my support team who gathered around me at the hospital and wouldn't let go, for the immediate physical response and loving care of family, friends, church and mission, for the cardiologist who diagnosed the underlying problem, for the surgeon who replaced his faulty heart valve via a new cutting edge open heart procedure and the HEARTS program that rebuilt our confidence in starting to exercise again.
While the outcome was incredibly, abundantly more than we all expected (he woke up with NO brain damage), it was certainly a hellish way to celebrate 15 years of marriage.
So today we celebrate two anniversaries. 16 years of marriage and 1 unexpected year of life. May we continue on this life journey together, intertwined with God and in deep community with others.
While the outcome was incredibly, abundantly more than we all expected (he woke up with NO brain damage), it was certainly a hellish way to celebrate 15 years of marriage.
So today we celebrate two anniversaries. 16 years of marriage and 1 unexpected year of life. May we continue on this life journey together, intertwined with God and in deep community with others.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Flexing missionary muscles...
As Kev and I used to enjoy saying "We are two control-oriented people living in a place that completely defies and thwarts us." While we learned many valuable lessons in Bundibugyo, one of the more important ones was the continual and ruthless shattering of our illusion of control. We surely didn't respond graciously every time our plans changed or something completely unexpected happened to shift those best laid plans around. I'm pretty good at the private temper tantrum thing, but quickly and consistently over the years in Uganda I gradually learned about acceptance. Of course, my best defense against the unexpected is to formulate hundreds of worst case scenarios in any given situation and then problem solve my way through them so I'm emotionally prepared, just in case. (I know, I recognize how weird and time-consuming this is-- you would think four kids would occupy all available thoughts but paradoxically no. Planning for the worst case no matter how unlikely somehow feels like good parenting to me...) Thus the ability to coast through unexpected change and emerge with a new perhaps similar, perhaps radically different game plan was a crucial part of being a missionary for me. The understanding that while planning is a good thing, many times flexibility is required. The ability to let go of what you thought would happen and focus on the positive nature of what is currently happening and adapt.
God is gracious to me, in that none of those lessons learned were wasted. I am especially glad because we learned today, 7 days before our move to a house 2 doors down, that we are instead moving into a boy's dorm across campus. Same move date, just a different location. New responsibilities, deeper community, and amazingly a bigger living space.
Now back to packing...
God is gracious to me, in that none of those lessons learned were wasted. I am especially glad because we learned today, 7 days before our move to a house 2 doors down, that we are instead moving into a boy's dorm across campus. Same move date, just a different location. New responsibilities, deeper community, and amazingly a bigger living space.
Now back to packing...
Friday, May 21, 2010
Moving Again.
We're moving again... not to another continent, another state, or even another town. In fact, not even another road. Our new house is just two doors down from this one. Why the shift? Each faculty member is required to live in a dorm for at least 10 years. The apartments are quite nice and spacious- even for a family of six. As a result many faculty choose to stay in for the maximum 15 year amount. Which can leave quite a waiting list for the newbies. And with a larger size family there are fewer available apartments which makes the process... tricky. Bottom line: someone else has to move out of one of the bigger apartments for us to move in, and, of course, anyone above us on the waiting list moves first.
In the meantime, we live on campus in what is called a "pre-dorm" house, while Kevin is affiliated with a dorm. He has student advisees and does dorm duty 1 weeknight and every fourth weekend. Not a bad set-up for our first year. A slow integration into life here, with our own space and plenty of time to think through "boundary issues" as we watch how other faculty approach dorm life.
A faculty family who has completed their years of dorm service normally moves on to "post-dorm" housing. It is a sweet deal. 10 years in the dorm equals 10 years in a house... all of which are rent free. The only hitch is that the pre-dorm and post-dorm houses are one and the same. So in the early spring of the year, faculty who are considering leaving the dorm for post-dorm housing tour all of the available houses for the following year. If, as in our case, a post-dormer chooses a house that is currently occupied by a pre-dormer, the pre-dormer is assigned to another pre-dorm house. With multiple folks leaving the dorm and multiple folks waiting to get into a dorm and some people switching from dorm to dorm or from pre-dorm house to pre-dorm house the whole process can get complicated. My hat goes off to the group of individuals here who are in charge of figuring it all out and making the decisions of who goes where, when and how. The academy covers all the moving costs and arranges and schedules everything during the summer months. The campus gets all shuffled up and put back into place in the few weeks before and after summer school.
Thus, in the early spring lot's of people came in and looked at our place and we were informed a week or so later that our house had been chosen as a post dorm house. So we knew we would be moving...but where? During March and April, dorm apartments opened up and people in the line in front of us were assigned to them. We guessed we would move into another pre-dorm house. Just a few days ago we got the letter confirming that. And, since our current house needs quite a bit of work, we will be one of the first faculty to move.
This will be our 7th move in 3 years. 6 moves that were each accompanied by fairly traumatic circumstances... that each had a certain emotional flavor and packed their own distinctive punch. Fortunately we had multiple people who came along-side us to help, lending practical and emotional support every time. It is hard to imagine being able to move so often and through such circumstances and remain unscathed. Community (both dear friends and family) is a powerful, powerful thing.
With three weeks to go, this move could be the easiest one yet. We move only two doors down. Our "new" house is 3 years old and is (in our opinion) one of the coolest houses on campus. It is a LEED award winning house, with geothermal heating and cooling, energy efficient appliances, solar water heating, a beautiful, well designed lay-out and plenty of room for our family and guests. And because the Lord knows that I need baby steps, even though this shift should be the least emotionally challenging... my sister (with her family and dear friends) will be coming to visit within a few days of our move.
If only I could twinkle my nose and have everything glide magically into the correctly labeled cardboard box! As that power is not in my skill set, for the next few weeks I'll be purging and packing.
In the meantime, we live on campus in what is called a "pre-dorm" house, while Kevin is affiliated with a dorm. He has student advisees and does dorm duty 1 weeknight and every fourth weekend. Not a bad set-up for our first year. A slow integration into life here, with our own space and plenty of time to think through "boundary issues" as we watch how other faculty approach dorm life.
A faculty family who has completed their years of dorm service normally moves on to "post-dorm" housing. It is a sweet deal. 10 years in the dorm equals 10 years in a house... all of which are rent free. The only hitch is that the pre-dorm and post-dorm houses are one and the same. So in the early spring of the year, faculty who are considering leaving the dorm for post-dorm housing tour all of the available houses for the following year. If, as in our case, a post-dormer chooses a house that is currently occupied by a pre-dormer, the pre-dormer is assigned to another pre-dorm house. With multiple folks leaving the dorm and multiple folks waiting to get into a dorm and some people switching from dorm to dorm or from pre-dorm house to pre-dorm house the whole process can get complicated. My hat goes off to the group of individuals here who are in charge of figuring it all out and making the decisions of who goes where, when and how. The academy covers all the moving costs and arranges and schedules everything during the summer months. The campus gets all shuffled up and put back into place in the few weeks before and after summer school.
Thus, in the early spring lot's of people came in and looked at our place and we were informed a week or so later that our house had been chosen as a post dorm house. So we knew we would be moving...but where? During March and April, dorm apartments opened up and people in the line in front of us were assigned to them. We guessed we would move into another pre-dorm house. Just a few days ago we got the letter confirming that. And, since our current house needs quite a bit of work, we will be one of the first faculty to move.
This will be our 7th move in 3 years. 6 moves that were each accompanied by fairly traumatic circumstances... that each had a certain emotional flavor and packed their own distinctive punch. Fortunately we had multiple people who came along-side us to help, lending practical and emotional support every time. It is hard to imagine being able to move so often and through such circumstances and remain unscathed. Community (both dear friends and family) is a powerful, powerful thing.
With three weeks to go, this move could be the easiest one yet. We move only two doors down. Our "new" house is 3 years old and is (in our opinion) one of the coolest houses on campus. It is a LEED award winning house, with geothermal heating and cooling, energy efficient appliances, solar water heating, a beautiful, well designed lay-out and plenty of room for our family and guests. And because the Lord knows that I need baby steps, even though this shift should be the least emotionally challenging... my sister (with her family and dear friends) will be coming to visit within a few days of our move.
If only I could twinkle my nose and have everything glide magically into the correctly labeled cardboard box! As that power is not in my skill set, for the next few weeks I'll be purging and packing.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Results...
Kev finished right in the middle of the pack with a time of 29 minutes and 30 seconds. Wahoo! Which means he was able to meet his goal of running each mile at the 10 minute or better pace. We are celebrating.
As for me, I got to run the 1/2 mile fun run with Nate and Savannah. Definitely a "Mommy Race" as I ran holding hands, cheering and encouraging with my hip pack full of essential items flopping up and down. Nate and Savannah ran alternating between giggling and serious as we wound our way around the elementary school and along the road. Very fun.
Joe and Louisa ran the mile long fun run with gusto. Joe finished in the top 20, racing up the hill at the end with determination. Louisa ran just as she swims, with her eyes wide open and a grin of delight on her face.
And so all ends well, today. Of course, as we were eating lunch Nate came running up to say that Louisa was hurt. Evidently she was playing tag (in flip flops, sigh) and dodged along the library wall only to look back at the wrong time. Wham. Face and small toe ran right into the brick wall columns. She's fine, but limping. Just in time for soccer tryouts tomorrow....
As for me, I got to run the 1/2 mile fun run with Nate and Savannah. Definitely a "Mommy Race" as I ran holding hands, cheering and encouraging with my hip pack full of essential items flopping up and down. Nate and Savannah ran alternating between giggling and serious as we wound our way around the elementary school and along the road. Very fun.
Joe and Louisa ran the mile long fun run with gusto. Joe finished in the top 20, racing up the hill at the end with determination. Louisa ran just as she swims, with her eyes wide open and a grin of delight on her face.
And so all ends well, today. Of course, as we were eating lunch Nate came running up to say that Louisa was hurt. Evidently she was playing tag (in flip flops, sigh) and dodged along the library wall only to look back at the wrong time. Wham. Face and small toe ran right into the brick wall columns. She's fine, but limping. Just in time for soccer tryouts tomorrow....
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